#r: a soft blue oblivion

[velvetpantylines]

Me and who

[me-uglypretty]

It's Kate

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Reader

Summary: Trying to express how you feel isn't easy and Kate's oblivion makes it worse.

Warning: 18+ (General), fluff, very useless flirty, mission injury (r), mention of weapons and blood || Word count: 3931

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The building striking structure collapses, shelving the bow of roofs beneath escalating flames. Three outline forms a silhouette from behind. Round eyes marvel at the sight, hues of red and yellow, fire flickering with pops, and relentless tumbles of matter. In the distance, booming loop of firefighters dashing through the street.

“Whoa, a single match did that?” Kate questioned, disbelief coating her voice and expression as her hand gestures at the sight.

Yelena felt equally in awe, but not entirely outward about it—hummed, her eyes shifting from the fiery scene to meet eyes and nods her head towards the archer. The silent conversation retorts with the shake of your head, denying her hushed proposition. Although she stands between the two skilled assassins, Kate remains unaware of the exchange.

A single matchstick wouldn’t spark enough fire to combust through compact walls. You almost burned your hair from messing with the wires to trigger a short-circuit. Kate’s single match trick—albeit her brass showcase of archery expertise, entirely too compelling for one to divert their attention away—didn’t work, not even the slightest hint of its success. The implanted barrels of explosive weren’t durable for a massive explosion without a greater trigger.

But you wouldn’t confess that out loud. It’s Kate.

“Look at that, very poetic,” Yelena pointed her forefinger at a fallen picture and a satisfied grin on her face as nudges Kate’s side.

The picture was charred by the corners, but enough to present the individual exhibiting their egotistical smirks. A suited man among those in laboratory coats. The same faces they fought before fire shallowed them whole. Now, this picture burns the same as their unethical agenda.

“We need to leave before the police gets here. Let’s go kids!” Yelena exclaimed, combining with a slight push to Kate who was still far too immerse by the fire.

Coincidentally, the police indicate their arrival with blaring alarm in addition to beaming red and blue illuminating the ground, puddles seeming so carefree while reflecting fire and the authority appearance. The trio walks away from the scene with minimal injuries as the authorise fills the lot. Out of the three, Kate’s eagerness hasn’t reached an end. Yelena disregarded the rumbling from her friend’s mouth after knowing her enough to recognise her friend’s puppy like excitement.

Kate’s shoulder relaxed as she imitates echoes of her bow striking through guards, some words falling from her mouth about knocking some bad guy out with a single kick, and how the sheer speed of an arrow had cut through wire. Something along the line of; let’s do it again!

And you were there, clinging to every word that left her round mouth.

However, they were few blanks that you had filled with something because every glance her way made your thoughts and focus stumble over the other. Your mind refused to operate accordingly from the sheer presence of Kate close to you—but your face remains neutral. A nod towards your years of training. Besides, she doesn’t need to know that you almost tripped and nearly graze a bullet when you were astounded by the way she fought.

“What about you? How was the mission? Did you have fun?” Kate directs her attention solely on you.

It was then, you realise your blonde friend wasn’t walking along either of you, but she’s trailing far behind. Before you could throw an insult at Yelena or display your irritation, your gaze meets those smooth-edges blue and you swear under your breath when her lips curbs with a soft smile. That was enough to seize your attention, eyes attentively memorising the details of her face; how she’s smiling at you, her eyes glimmering of a childlike joy, the dirt smeared on her cheek doesn’t waver her beauty.

“We should do it again,” you declared, while those words were your inner thoughts escaping through your throat and greeting her ears as she halts—

Not a moment after, your hand breach the space between you and her, nimble fingers grazes her cheek and your thumb gentle wipes the grey dirt on her skin. “Just the two of us,” you uttered, courageously staring into her wide eyes.

Gazing into each other’s eyes lasted for seconds or perhaps, years of ogling at your mind’s persistence. Eventually, you continued walking, internally losing your calm over the rare moment of bravery. It was unpredictably—one second you were staring into her ocean eyes, the next second you were distractedly moving closer to her without realising the reality seeping in your touch and it wasn’t another daydream consisting of her glorious self.

As you continue walking with your swirling thoughts, Kate was left stunned, still standing at the same spot and watching your form moving further away from her. Closing into her distance, Yelena was equally distracted from the flickering on her phone screen—a newly bought phone and her current obsession with its renowned functions—and she doesn’t notice her friend which resulted in her body bumping into the taller frame. Russian swears left her mouth as she scolds her friend.

But the archer doesn’t say a word of response. Did you really touch her skin and stare into her eyes with such intensity or was it just her imagination?

First clash of fist, the second failed attempt of cover, the third ruthlessly hit and Kate was left heaving on the rubber mat, hand clutching her stomach as she groans in agony. She didn’t expect for her years of surpassing others’ abilities, earning various medals, acing all her classes and owning a black belt—would serve no difference when compared to Yelena’s skill.

Their regular training and sparring were proven affective which supported by her mentor’s kind words; a grunt followed by a good. It wasn’t successful enough to overtake her tough opponent, despite her towering figure over a woman who’s much shorter than her. Ending up on the ground and rethinking her life became an occurrence. Former assassin or not, Kate holds on to her beliefs that Yelena was harbouring unexplainable power.

“Oh, come on, Kate Bishop! You can do so much better than that!” Yelena yelled, barely glistering of foul swear. Her eyes fringe with disgust when Kate muttered various excuses, most incoherent to understand when mixed with her heavy breathing.

And you entered the training room at that moment.

Habitually, a smile graces your face after witnessing Yelena struggling to help Kate. Relying on her bow and arrow wasn’t enough, which made her on-site combat training mandatory. Even you would admit that her level of combat, fully focusing on her sheer strength, wasn’t anywhere close to former assassin.

But that couldn’t stop you. It’s Kate.

“Switch?” you offered, and the instant mischievous grin appears on Yelena’s face when Kate excitedly agree, thanking you for saving her.

The first move was made by you with a shift swing of your fist, a cluttered kick from her and few dodges after—your body fell roughly on the rubber mat and Kate straddled your waist, hands pinning you down while a proud smile adorns your face. Victory floods her consciousness as she uttered the next words.

“It’s amazing being on top for once!” Kate cheered, exhaling and inhaling tiringly, but still overwhelmed with excitement.

You were completed at awed, “I’ll let you hold me down anytime,” you mumbled the confession, nudge from reality and nervousness was shoved down as you gaze at her.

Kate’s eyes seem to widen by the seconds, realisation casting over her senses when she gazes down at the sight of you beneath her. Hastily standing up, she almost falls from her rash reaction and takes few steps back, overlooking the churning in her stomach.

“Hmm, sure you won,” Yelena mocked, the bite of sarcasm was caught by you resulting with the instant glare at your blonde friend while the brunette—seemingly emerging from her consciousness, still pulsating from her first sparring win—shifts her attention to her friend. Rambles of their sparing matches continues while you were left in the same spot.

You clear your throat to obtain their attention, “Still here…”

Kate spurs with apologies from her distraction and immediately assisting you off the mat. Words fell from her mouth that you barely understand. On the other side, Yelena observes the scene playing out in front of her, eyebrow raised pointedly at you and you rapidly shake your head in response. Maybe this wasn’t your level of combat either.

“Good job, Kate,” you said, instantly making her stop rambling and staring at you, bewildered from your kind words. Again, your hand extend to firmly clasps her arm in your hand, “We should do this again.”

The archer, often flamboyant with her words, only nodded her head while her attention remains on you. Gentle features spread on your face, smile kind as your eyes, and the permanent carefulness touch of your hand. The initiated gestures swarm her mind, dismissing of everything—till her she remembers, the minutes before of your body beneath hers, the words that left her mouth and yours. When she was gleefully pinning you down.

You meet her eyes once more, offering a genuine smile at her then shoving your friend playfully. Yelena’s taunts were ignored as you walked away.

But the archer doesn’t realise your absent. Did she really win against you and you were admittedly pleasant about it too?

Azure sky spattered with cottony clouds in grey and white, different shapes and sizes. Summer announcing its presence with warmth and taste of fresh air. Friends and family unite across the grassy backyard. A comfortable bubble of life beyond their lethal occupations.

“I’m pretty sure that I can win against Clint,” Kate proudly affirmed, while squeezing more ketchup on her hotdog.

Yelena scrutinise her friend’s choice of condiment as she pointedly grasps her own bottle of hot sauce and pouring a generous amount on her double stacked hotdog. “Maybe, but I’m a very fast learner,” she smugly proclaimed.

You were observing their exchange curiously. Kate’s immeasurably craving to find herself in unnecessary trouble, either challenging Yelena or colliding with the enemy then having a conversation with them, as if there wasn’t a sign of danger.

“Okay Belova, I challenge you…”

And that’s exactly how you inevitably find yourself watching two friends curating dusky bows in their hands. Arrows dash across clear air, hitting straight into the brass target. Neither backing away from proving themselves better than the other.

“Y/n, please stop them,” Clint pleaded, his youngest son clinging to his leg while Laura shakes her head at the scene.

They, more than anyone else, know enough of the troublesome duo. Arguments of who’s better which were both endless and tiring, the ear-splitting howls to announce their victory or more so Yelena’s gracious wins and Kate’s disappointment casting a gloomy cloud over her head.

Natasha skilfully inserts herself into the conversation, her arm slings around your shoulder and playfully drags your body down. A teasing smile on her face when you tried mustering the courage to push her away, but Natasha is never not persistent.

“Yeah, go talk to your girlfriend,” she mocked and wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“It’s not funny,” you groaned, successfully pushing her away.

Yelena never outwardly said anything, besides her more than teasing looks between you and Kate—but Natasha, she wasn’t afraid of shouting it. You would had laughed, why wouldn’t you laugh at your constant failed attempts for Kate to notice you pass being her co-worker?

“Aw, are you blushing?” Natasha pinches your cheeks, pouting her lips as you huffed and push her from your space.

The only course of action was walking away from more teasing and bridging the frame of two friends arguing. In other circumstances, you wouldn’t put yourself in a quarrel between friends and not choosing sides is always the best choice.

But that wouldn’t stop you. It’s Kate.

Trying to obtain some sort of distraction or excuse to draw them way from their battle, your eyes catch the sight of an abandoned bow and arrow on the grassy ground.

“Hey, do you think this works like a cupid bow?” you questioned, switching gaze from the bow to meeting the archer’s eyes. “If I was to…” you raised the bow in your hand, aiming it for her heart.

Kate’s eyes widen immensely, sheer look of shock on her face as she struggling to utter a reply at your question.

Watching the screen from afar, Natasha smirks when her sister joins her side. “She isn’t as smooth as she thinks,” she nudges her head at your spurs of words.

“I know! Always trying to impress the girl, but never confessing her feelings,” Yelena groaned, stumping her feet as she sees your hands fumbling with the bow in your hand.

Kate wasn’t aware of her friend’s absent or acknowledging the previous argument, her attention far too occupied on you. “Maybe you should put that down,” she reaches to take the weapon away from you. “I don’t think you should…”

At that moment, any kind of common sense was melted by the sun’s flares—contrasting behind Kate, whooshing of dark brown hair that appears golden beneath the sun’s shine, the hues of her eyes seemingly pulling you into her closer, and the glimmer of such liveliness softening with her features. Why does that moment feel like a scene out of a movie?

The corners of Kate’s mouth stir at every word that left while you stand there, admiring her beauty as such unlikeness to grace your life. Realisation doesn’t dare touch your mind when Kate’s hands swiftly removes the bow from your hold and the gentle skims of her fingers wakes you from your daydream.

It was her and you, existing within the space of which the sun sings of summer’s ways. Birds chattering so happily in the distance, the wind singing a song so sweet as her, and you couldn’t look away from her. Fears gnaws at your chest that she might disappear if you do.

Mindlessly, your hand extends to the round of her cheeks, fingers brushing the wisps of hair from falling before her eyes and tucking those stands behind her ear. Your hand seems to linger, head leaning forward to admire the details of her face, birthmarks that lines to every part of her that you adore, and you swear, Kate was leaning forward too.

Suddenly, a scream erupts close by and Kate’s hand loses its grip on the bow. It almost lands on your feet, but it wouldn’t flash as much ache when compared to Kate hastily distancing herself from you.

And you looked away, everything appearing far more interesting than knowing what you were bound to do if not interrupted. The expression on Kate’s face when she pulled away was enough stop your heart from falling to her hands.

“Kate! Help me here!” Clint shouted, gesturing to the ground where toys were scattered, and she hurriedly runs to his direction.

You watch her leave you there. A complete swap scenery and the deep frown on your face as you lift your head and stared at the sky. Colours so bright and happy then gloomily shakes your head. Yelena offers a comforting smile when you meet her eyes and Natasha gestures for you to join them instead.

Kate didn’t know why her body jolted immediately with the need to answer her mentor’s request. Truthfully, she was perplexed by the abrupt touch of yours and how your eyes seem to buzz something in her heart. Every single time.

But she must had been dream too, had you really gazed into her eyes as if you were ready to kiss her like she wanted to?

Bullets pierced through walls, dust of destroyed structure fall around like snow, but bitter and murky. Screams melded around gunshot thuds, enemies crying and cursing, trying to bash another into success. The mission wasn’t that. From the second you found the important documents to Kate discovering a swarm of Hydra agents, and Yelena screaming at the heard of them marching towards your direction.

“Okay, can you guys chill for a minute!” Kate shouted, expertly shooting two agents within seconds. The arrow nestled behind her shaking at very rash movement.

Yelena swiftly pushes your body away from meeting the wave of bullets and you nodded your head at her, appreciating her quick action of saving you. While both of you and Yelena were equipped with years of training, both traumatising and efficient in crafting your skills—Kate wasn’t, nor has she encountered a mission that showers with bullets and endless threats.

You couldn’t help yourself from worrying. Despite your blonde’s friend reassurance—her clothes equally grimy as yours, and Kate’s dotting with blood, stress lines on faces and the obvious uncertainty—you couldn’t help but feel responsible. If anything were to happen in your presence, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.

The shooting continues, calls for backup hasn’t arrived and bullets almost empty while the enemies were towering with their overloaded barrels. An idea flashes across your mind in the form of an escape.

“Yelena, you and Kate get out through that window. There’s about two floors down, but you know what to do,” you pointed at the clear space where neither of the agents had crossed.

Kate’s head quickly turns to you, “But they’re firing and…”

Her friend nodded her head, “Sure. We should totally leave you here, right?” Yelena mocked, swiftly shooting several agents down then dunking her head back behind the pillar.

“We won’t leave you,” Kate countered, bumping into Yelena as she readily hides behind the same pillar.

You felt happy—the warmth that engulf your chest, a friend you love so and another who holds something far more passionate. A hug wouldn’t utter the amount of care you hold for them, or how you know those lies of being okay wouldn’t prove your safety.

“Trust me,” you tried and glance at your friend, “We need this information. Think about the ones we need to save,” you reminded them, sensing the conflict in their eyes before noticing the slight shift in Kate’s reaction as she nods her head.

The plan constructed in seconds and easy to execute. They would make a run for it and you would hold the enemy’s attention by running to the opposite side. Almost perfect, till bullets flew pass closer than you expected, grazing your skin then the next which easily cut through your suit and skin.

Kate doesn’t miss the sound of your cry when she looks over her shoulder, the sight of your body falling on the ground and her heart soaring. Yelena wasn’t sure of the abrupt halt till she follows her taller friend’s gaze, landing on your body trying to stand and defend yourself. What idea you had planted in their head was ignored immediately.

You felt someone hauling your body, dodging the bullet nearly piercing through your skin, and a blurry figure towering over you. Blinking hazily, you finally grasp the image of your saviour.

It’s Kate.

“You saved me,” you mumbled, eyes glazing over. “You are marvellous Kate Bishop.”

Yelena huffed, apprehending your attention when you shake your head with a blood smile. “I’m literally helping too, you know?” Do you see this?”

Kate flutters at the sound of your laughter amid chaos, and she cried when your coughed, blood seeping through your clothes and tainting her hands trying to press your wound, trying so hard to stop the blood from draining your body dry.

“You have always helped me, let me do that for once,” she whispered, her eyes darting at her blonde friend who seem equally afraid.

Kate has never seen Yelena like this—and it terrifies her to know the dire of consequences if they didn’t find a route of escape.

“You need to be okay, please be okay,” she begged, and you chuckle slithers through her ears and pulls at her heart.

“Help is here. Let’s go,” Yelena announced, hurriedly holding you up in replace with Kate covering you both. Grumbles left your blonde friend, threats of killing you with her bare hands if you ever decide to leave her with Kate.

Prayers were tumbling around Kate’s mind. Watching your eyes flutter close, mouth wavering at every hush word and slowly losing consciousness. She couldn’t lose hope for you when you were always so close to risking your life for her.

Blinding lights makes you close your eyes shut, probs behind your eyelids with explosion of colours and the stabbing pain scattered around your body. Trying again, you squint your eyes, turning your head right to catch the sight of dark hair sprawled near your hands and weight equally pressed there.

An itch scratches your throat as you cough, instantly waking the guest in your room.

“You’re awake!”

It’s Kate.

And you groaned, ushering her away or trying to explain how her voice was striking a massive headache.

But she doesn’t care, her hands graze your cheeks, thumb brushing across your skin and the pad of fingers tingles your skin, tapping every so lightly. As if—she was afraid of losing you, and quite frankly, watching your eyes growing duller by the seconds was enough to cloud her with fear.

Your faces were warm from the proximity as your hand reach for hers, right hand clasping securely around hers as she pulls both away from your face.

“I know,” she whispered, her fingers toys around yours, “Yelena told me about everything…” she claimed while you could raise your eyebrows in response. “Everything, Y/n.”

“That cyka,” you cursed, and she laughs, so wet and full, easily fitting your whole heart in her hands.

“I always assumed it was just me…thinking that— those moments were all here,” she pointed at her head, leaving a chill on your cheek where her hand last rest. “But then…” her gaze fall on your side where white bandage were streak with red. “I couldn’t…I didn’t want anything happening to you…and miss the chance of telling you how I feel which is…I really like you.”

You gesture for her to come closer which easily responded, “Kiss me, Kate Bishop.”

And question was met with an answer of lips.

Goosebumps erupt over your body when she bridges the space, her lips melding with yours, and you felt the curves of her lips. Kate was smiling and so were you.

You were kissing her softly, and Kate held herself from deepening it—but you, she was completely infatuated, her hand grasping your face and body swiftly climbing on the bed, her legs straddling you while your hands hold her waist.

It was perfect. So sweet. Just everything that breaths of life—

Then you groaned, the sound reverberating through joined mouth. Kate’s hand forces your body to whimper when meet with your wounded side.

“I’m sorry!” she apologises, hurriedly tries moving away without causing more pain, but you stop her with a grin. “Are you okay?”

Nodding your head, your hands reaches for her face and pulling her into searing kiss. Pouring your heart’s promises and allowing yourself the chance of love—with her. Even when silence grazes the surface of your heart’s humming and hers, body cuddling to your side that wasn’t heavily wounded, you face beams with joy.

“Remember the tracksuit mission? My trick arrow worked, right?” Kate’s asked, curiosity meeting your cheek with a warm kiss and your throat of a soft laugh.

It’s Kate and—you love everything about her. And when Kate looks at you, she knows enough that love is real.

[sxltedcxramel]

Lover’s Quarrel

c!techno x gn!reader

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

: ̗̀➛ Summary:  You and Technoblade have been friends for decades, always by each other’s side you two faught alongside each other. That was once in a lifetime, and should never happen again. Unfortunately life doesn’t play out that way and you happen to need him one more time... or maybe they’ll be a change in plans?

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 1515

: ̗̀➛ Chapters: 1/1

: ̗̀➛ Tag(s): No beta reader we die like ghostbur, c!techno, gn!reader, immortal reader x immortal techno, angel!reader, god!techno, angst, friends to enemies to friends, complicated ik

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: slight cursing, mentions of torture and death

: ̗̀➛ Taglist: Here

: ̗̀➛ Link(s): Ao3

: ̗̀➛ Notes: *screams into oblivion* one this is all platonic I didn’t specify 😓 two I barely survived the writers drought (no friken inspiration) but I bring to you my first c!dsmp x reader fic (please be kind I tried-) basically this taks place in really old times and not modern considering how its writter like I just finished reading shakesphere although the idea came while listening to classical music so that it how you will. Also this isn’t edited so my bad if theres mistakes-

The room was dimly lit with candles and the r oaring fire that burned passionately at the fireplace. White tiles were plastered with gold diamonds, the shade almost as if it was antique jewelry, Old but could tell an amazing story. The colour completing the beige-coloured room

You waited patiently, cross-legged glaring at the clock that ticked every second or so. 10 minutes you thought to yourself while you grind your teeth. That man seemed to be early only when it was for his own convenience, how distasteful.

Just as you finished that thought you saw the dark oak wood door being pushed open. A man walks in, he wears a white loosely fitted blouse, with bishop sleeves which was decorated with frilly fabrics. Along with death-black dress pants that were worn up to the waist. His face where his mask usually is is replaced with glasses and the man's delicate bubblegum pink hair is loosely braided and thrown on the right side of his shoulder.

“Your late” you glare crossing your arms

He let out a sigh “Well pardon me for taking a while to get ready, It's almost like you didn’t come here unannounced” he spoke sarcastically.

He walked over to the glass tray and picked up a small glass cup with a gold ring around it and poured himself a drink. He eyes you “Would you care for a drink y/n?”

“I don’t drink”

He shrugs “Suit yourself”

“Technoblade, I didn't come here for idle chatter.”

He arched his eyebrow slightly “Oh?” Techno placed his cup down “Pray do tell, what exactly did you come here for?” You watched him walk to the other side of the room as he said that.

“I-“ you could even finish before being rudely interrupted by a rustling noise. You watched as your patience grew thinner by the minute he took out a black vinyl disc and placed it on a wooden box making sure the oin was adjusted well. A soft tune of the piano came out of the music player.

“Would you care for a dance?” He holds out his hand, you stare at it contemplating whether you should grab his hands, you really shouldn't, you didn’t want to play his games, you wanted what you came for, but then again it would harm a dance. Or course your brain chose the latter considering how you delicately placed your hand in his letting him place his hand on your waist the the other on your shoulder. He lead the way,(just like he always does)

“Apologies for interrupting music helps me think.” He spoke as he spun you around the floor “They calm the voices” . You knew all about the voices, how much they love to chant and clog his brain with different variations of thoughts, perks of being his ex-partner you suppose. But you watched as he hid a smirk, you guess he’s just telling only half the truth. You roll your eyes

“You can finish”

“Wouldn’t you mean start idiot” you snap

“Meh”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, his inability to ever grasp the mood of the situation was flawless. It seemed as if he never cared about the other person's feelings, unless you were the god of death you were out of luck for a serious conversation. You’ve dealt with that for decades

You could remember once in a lifetime the two of you were partners, fast and precise that's how the job went. The blood god and the angel of destruction are an amazing duo. You remember when the two of you used to watch as people begged on their knees for their life or perhaps a mercy kill. Watching as your foes tried to retreat to their bases only for their pitiful lives to end in such a disgraceful manner. At the end of the day the two of you stood in the battlefield side by side knowing the world could shake in fear knowing you two were alive

And you loved it like that desire to make people fear you brought giddiness to your body and enlightened your world. You wanted one thing and it was to get revenge.

Revenge on all who did you wrong from your youth up, and now you were strong enough to bring it tenfold.

Everything was fine, It wasn’t until one day the two of you had sat down for a cup of tea like you usually did on Thursday evenings. He told you he wanted to retire, he was done with the killings and the torture.

He was finally putting down the title ‘Blood god’

At first you thought it was a joke but then you saw his eyes and they were as serious as he could ever be, anger rose up in you unable to process the statement.

How could he leave you like this, he promised to be by your side when no one else would.

A liar that's would your made him out to be

A slap to the cheek was all you left him that day

Now here you were decades later, hand in hand dancing to the sounds of the instruments harmonizing becoming one just the way you two were.

He spun you around gracefully on the tiled floor, there's something about dancing in an empty room that makes you feel weird inside. What was this feeling? Him making you feel weak in the knees, perhaps it was the fact the last time you did this it was when you two were young and reckless. He always seemed to know how to brighten your life,even to the point the friendship you two had was envied amongst the other gods.

He twirled you across the room dipping you slightly “Cat caught your tongue”

You rolled your eyes “As if”

You saw outside the glass panes, the sky was painted a blood orange mixed with lavender purples and hints of blue. The sun slowly sets,bringing the nightfall.

You chuckle to yourself, how romantic of the sky to show such a sight for people who would die before dating each other.

You turn your gaze to the god “I need you one last time” you say cutting to the chase

Technoblade glared at you “I already told you I’m retired, don’t be so stubborn”

“I’m not, your being selfish putting your needs before anyone else's”

He snorts “Isn’t that what you're doing y/n? Or am I reading the situation wrong?” He says sarcastically “Plus I thought you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me, or was that slap something you did on impulse and you couldn’t face me after?”

You grind your teeth “It was not, and why are you making it seem like you're the victim? You're the one who wanted to leave me!” You snapped

He took his hands away from you and pinched the bridge of his nose “See, this is why we cannot have a conversation. You always jump to conclusions” he growls

“I do not!”

“You do! I never intended to leave your side, only retiring. Is it so bad I wanted to stop killing and do something better with my life, and here I thought you’d be happy with it.”

You stared at him shocked, “I..”

Was he right? You were known to act on impulse which did cause problems in the long run but he’d be there to be by your side every time. But yet, you couldn’t fathom the thought of him leaving his life behind to start a new one. Why? You weren’t sure.

Techno sighed “You act so tough when actually you're broken inside. The thing is you weren’t mad at me for retirement, you were mad that things were changing. You're scared of change because you don’t know where you’ll fall between it all.”

The piano falls into a soft handsomely rhythm

The violinist quietly drag their bows delicately

You cast your eyes aside, you couldn’t argue with the truth. You swallow hard fighting back the tears. You couldn’t fathom the amount of times you’ve been in the wrong or how much you’ve hurt him

Stupid

Stupidstupidstu-

A hand is placed on you head

“You think too much, stop that”

“I’m sorry”

“For overthinking or for being impulsive” he questions

“Both” you whisper keeping your eyes on the floor

“And?”

You huffed “You were right about everything”

He grinned showing his pearly whites “I’m sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you?”

You laughed slightly making your worries go away for the time being “You asshole, get your head out of the skies as if I’m repeating that again”

He chuckles shrugging “Worth a try”

“So, let's get something straight. I’ll help you one last time then I’m forcing you to retire. Seriously you have no say so.” He eyes you “You probably need therapy too jeez”

“Fuck You I’m perfectly fine”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” he responds ushering you out the room

“Bold of you to assume I sleep”

“Bruhh”

Taglist: @ttakinou @angstyx

[headcanonsandmore]

“Breaktime At The Ministry”

Summary: Hermione finds herself working into the early hours of the morning. Luckily, Ron is there to make sure she is rewarded for her efforts. (A fic to celebrate Hermione’s birthday)

(Warning, this fic contains scenes of a s*xual nature and is not ace safe)

                                                     Read on AO3.

This fic contains: cunnilingus, doggystyle, cowgirl style, office s*x, and some mild allusions to food k*nk.

~~~~~~~~

Bloody typical, it was!

Hermione Granger-Weasley was not in the habit of swearing, but sometimes she couldn’t help it.

It was night-time, at the ministry. Hermione glowered down at the stacks of papers on her desk that she had been sorting through. Even by her standards, this was too much. As a teenager, she would have probably enjoyed this. But, after spending two decades married to a certain wonderful redhead, Hermione had long since stopped enjoying working herself to the bone that much.

God, she wished she was at home. Aside from a few apricots obtained from the café before it closed, Hermione hadn’t eaten in over six hours. Normally, she would be at home, enjoying a quiet Saturday night in, perhaps cuddling in bed with Ron after an excellent lasagne he had cooked from scratch.

But, no, she had been called into the office on short notice. Apparently, there had been a sudden development in a high-profile case, and no-one else in the department with her level of authority was available.

Still, she was almost finished now.

Signing one last paper, Hermione placed it on the desk. Yawning, she rose to her feet, and began to place each paper into the safe set against the wall. Given the amount, this sadly took longer than she would have normally liked.

Finally, she placed the last one inside, and closed the safe door.

Hermione gave another yawn, and locked the safe with a flick of her wand.

‘Ms Granger-Weasley?’

Hermione’s head shot upwards to the door. She knew that voice anywhere.

‘Ron!’

In an instant, she’d crossed the room, and threw her arms around him in a hug. She gave a contented sigh as she leaned into his frame, breathing in his signature Ron scent. He smelled of home. Of baked goods, cuddles on the sofa, and of late night misadventures.

‘I missed you,’ she murmured, as they leaned against her desk. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Missed you too, love,’ he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her bushy hair. He had placed a large box on the desk. ‘Honestly, of all days for you to get called into work. Still, at least you’ve finished in time.’

‘In time?’ Hermione asked, looking up at him. ‘In time for what?’

Ron chuckled.

‘It’s now the Nineteenth of September. Your birthday.’

‘What?’ Hermione exclaimed, suddenly turning to look at the clock on the wall. Sure enough, midnight had just struck. ‘I’m…’

Her shoulders slumped.

‘I’m older.’

‘Hey, what’s with that tone?’ Ron said, his mouth quirking into his signature lop-sided grin.

‘I’m the oldest one out of our friends!’ she said, miserably. ‘I was born in the seventies, Ron!’

‘Only by a few months!’ Ron chuckled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘You’re barely six months older than me.’

‘Still-’

‘And I seem to recall you having no issues with me getting older.’

‘That’s because you get hotter as you get older!’

Ron’s blue eyes twinkled, and he leaned forward so that he was right up close to her ear.

‘Well,’ he whispered, the tone of his voice sending shivers down Hermione’s neck. ‘Whoever said the same thing wasn’t happening to you too?’

‘V-very funny,’ Hermione stammered, feeling her face flush. Even after almost two decades of marriage, she still found herself shocked that Ron was able to have this effect on her. ‘You’re a tall, handsome redhead. I’m-’

‘Bloody gorgeous,’ Ron whispered. ‘You being a year older isn’t gonna change how mind-bogglingly in love with you I am.’

Ron’s lips met hers, and she found herself clinging to him as their kisses lingered and became emboldened. It was blissful oblivion. Pure and simple. The outside world disappeared. There was only Hermione and the man who loved her.

Eventually, Hermione pulled away, breathlessly.

‘How about you take the weight off your feet, love?’ Ron breathed. ‘You’ve earned it after working so hard.’

With a happy squeal, Hermione found herself lifted off the ground, and placed softly into her desk chair.

‘Why would I need to-’

Hermione’s voice cut off as Ron dropped to his knees before her, his hands sneaking with expert care up her legs to the top of her skirt. His fingers curled around both the pencil skirt and the knickers beneath.

‘R-Ron,’ Hermione stammered, feeling heat begin to pool around her centre. ‘W-We’re in my office…’

‘I know,’ Ron murmured. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘W-well, no… but what if someone turns up?’

Without a word, Ron pulled his wand from his pocket, and pointed it over his shoulder at the door. He was so tall that he didn’t even to reach up high.

Hermione heard the lock in the door click, and the unmistakable buzzing sound that came with a ‘muffliato’ charm.

‘You were saying?’

‘W-well… I… I suppose there isn’t any harm in it-OOOOH…’

She slipped downwards in the chair as Ron’s hand pulled down on her skirt and knickers, the material sliding down her legs. Ron promptly threw them both over his shoulder.

‘You won’t be needing them for a while,’ he growled, as he pulled the chair closer to him. The coolness of the air on her bare skin, as well as the feel of the leather against her bare arse, was oddly thrilling.

‘R-Ron…’ Hermione breathed. ‘D-don’t leave me hanging here…’

The redhead smirked, the desire in his blue eyes encouraged by the soft tremble in his wife’s voice. Ron’s hands began to skim along Hermione’s thighs, sending shivers along her body. The heat in her centre grew stronger, and Hermione found herself perspiring.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, love.’

‘T-then p-please-oooohhhhh….’

Ron had leaned forward, and his tongue had begun to explore.

Hermione’s legs wrapped around Ron’s head, as her brain began to discombobulate. She was vaguely aware of how constricting her blouse seemed to be as her chest heaved. Her eyes had long since fluttered shut, but she could feel Ron’s mouth still fixed in a grin against her centre.

‘Oooh… f-fuck… Ron… oh, god…’

One of Ron’s hands began to explore further up her body, his fingers skimming over her blouse. With a quick flick of his fingers, the buttons were undone. His hand came to rest on her left breast, fondling her through the lace bra she was wearing. The heat was now roaring through Hermione’s body, concentrating every atom of her being on the pleasure that was emanating from her centre.

‘R-Ron… I’m… almost…’

Ron chuckled against her, and Hermione let out a breathy gasp.

‘Do it, love,’ Ron whispered. ‘Fuck, I love you…’

Her body gave one last tremble, and Hermione felt her orgasm erupt. Her limbs sprawled out as the full force of her ecstasy rolled over her, pulsing through her being over and over again.

Gasping, she fell back against the chair.

‘Merlin, ‘Mione,’ Ron breathed, emerging from under her skirt. ‘You’re so beautiful…’

He climbed to his feet, and leaned forward, kissing her softly on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, still half-dazed. God, Ron knew just what buttons to push with her, and Hermione was not complaining!

‘R-Ron…’

Ron’s eyes glinted in the candlelight as he stared down at her.

‘‘Mione…’

With a growl, Ron pulled Hermione to her feet, wrapped his arms around her waist as he pressed their lips together. Hermione shivered as she felt his girth throb against her stomach.

‘Someone’s excited,’ she whispered, against his lips.

‘Can you blame me?’ Ron growled, his hands now fondling her arse cheeks. ‘Merlin, ‘Mione, you drive me wild…’

Ron’s expert hands rose up her back, and a few seconds later her blouse dropped to the floor. Ron’s shirt and trousers quickly followed. Hermione felt her centre grow hotter as Ron’s pectoral muscles flexed before her. God, why was he so sexy?

‘Been a while since I was naked in the office’ she said, as Ron’s hands undid the clasp of her bra. The lacy item joined the rest of Hermione’s clothes on the floor. The reaction from Ron’s nether regions was immediate, and Hermione felt her breathing continue to grow heavier.

‘Must be at least a year,’ the redhead replied, his eyes glinting as he stared down at her. ‘Shame we can’t make this a routine.’

Ron picked his wand up where he had left in on the desk, and cast a non-verbal spell. The tell-tale signs of the contraception charm washed over them, leaving a brief purple light that disappeared after a few seconds.

‘I’m… I’m the head of the department,’ Hermione gasped, pulling down on Ron’s black boxer-briefs. ‘I can’t make a habit of shagging my husband in office hours.’

‘True,’ Ron replied, kissing her neck as he stepped out the offending material pooled around his ankles. ‘But we’re not in office hours, Hermione. And speaking of shagging…’

With a deep growl, Ron spun Hermione around, so that she was pressed up against her desk. One of his hands reached around her, closing around her left breast. Ron’s lips met hers once again, and Hermione found herself pressing her arse up against Ron’s girth.

‘Do it,’ she gasped, reaching up to wrap her fingers into Ron’s hair. ‘Make love to me, Ron.’

Ron surged forward, and Hermione was struck by the familiar sensation of being filled. The heat pulsing through her body grew more intense by the moment, as Ron continued to buck against her.

‘F-fuck,’ Ron growled, into her ear. ‘‘Mione…’

‘Ron…’

Their lips met again, and Hermione moaned against him. God, this was wonderful. Even after so many years of marriage, the attraction between them never seemed to diminish. If anything, it had deepened and developed over time, forming a bedrock of love and affection that had seem them through so much.

‘Ron…’

‘H-Hermione,’ Ron moaned, ‘The chair…’

Turning around, Ron pulled Hermione with him. Stumbling slightly. he sat down in the leather office chair, and Hermione bestraddled his lap, moving around so that she was facing him. Their lips met again, as their bodies began to buck against each other. One of Ron’s freckled hands became entangled in her bushy hair, while the other was busy fondling her arse. She could already feel it beginning to pinken.

‘I… I love you, Hermione,’ Ron gasped, his breathing ragged and intense. ‘No matter h-how old we get. You understand?’

Hermione nodded, her heart beating faster with the welling of emotion within her. Lust mixed with the sheer love she had for her husband.

‘Mione…’

‘Ron… g-god, I’m…’

‘M-me too… can… can I…?’

‘Y-yes! Do it… Ron… oooohhhh!’

Their bodies gave one last motion, and their orgasms hit. Hermione’s limbs flailed, and she fell against Ron’s chest, gasping for breath.

‘Merlin, I love you, Hermione,’ Ron breathed, his voice less ragged. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Ron,’ she replied, kissing him on the lips. ‘So much.’

After their breathing had slowly calmed, they sat up in Hermione’s office chair, and cuddled against each-other, enjoying the feeling of just being with the other.

‘Do you mind if we have a slow day after we get home?’ Hermione said. ‘I could use a nice lie-in. Unless you had anything planned?’

‘That sounds good to me. Although, before we leave for home…’

Ron clicked his fingers, and his wand leapt from the desk into his hand. He then summoned the large box that he had been carrying earlier. He opened it, and Hermione was immediately aware of a sugary scent.

‘You brought cake?’

‘You were working into the early hours, Hermione,’ Ron said, cutting a couple of slices with his wand and then handing one to her. ‘I knew you probably hadn’t eaten in ages. And, well, it is your birthday cake.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Ron smiled at her, and the two of them began to leisurely eat.

‘So…’ Ron asked, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. ‘Do you feel a bit better about being a year older?’

Hermione smiled, coyly.

‘Maaybe,’ she replied, her finger running up and down Ron’s thigh. ‘Although I could probably use a little more persuading.’

Slowly and deliberately, Ron scooped a large part of cream off his slice of cake, and began to daub it down Hermione’s chest. Hermione felt her centre began to heat up once again, as Ron’s mouth twisted into his signature lop-sided grin.

‘I think that can be arranged.’

~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone; hope you liked it!

[missallsundayyy]

"You're just saying that"

ANOTHER LAWBIN DUMP BECAUSE I SHIP THEM LIKE A MAD WOMAN ITS INSANE! here is just Law being a simp for our fave straw hat archeologist, Nico Robin <3

“You’re beautiful”

“You’re just saying that”

“No Im not”

Law crawled towards Robin who was fully naked and tangled in between the sheets and smiled at her. He had a goddess on his bed and today was the last day she was going to be on his ship before she had to return to the strawhats. His head bowed and his lips connected to her long slender soft legs, he peppered kisses in a straight line and went towards her thick thighs. “You’re going back to your ship tomorrow Robin-ya” he muttered in between kisses. Robin had her head thrown back against the soft pillows with a contented sigh “Yes i do”

When it comes to pleasure build-up, there was no one better than Trafalgar Law, he made her horny beyond words and he could go for hours and hours just making sure that she was satisfied and pleasured magically. Since he was a doctor, on god he knew where all the good spots were and fuck did he rub, kiss, touch and reach all these area well. All her weak spots were mentally printed in his brain and he touched her so well because he knew her body like the back of his hand.

Law didn’t just wanted to please the historian but he worshipped the fuck out of Robin’s body. She was the definition of beauty and his ideal woman. Her hourglass figure, her large bust, her porcelain skin, her long luscious raven hair, her waist that was meant for his hands, her scent when she was turned on...oh how fucking addictive she was. He could go down on her for hours craving for more and more even when the historian was sore but no he could never get enough of her. “You make me so hard Robin-ya, you look so fucking absolutely mouth watering.” he grunt out licking her soft thick thighs in long strokes. His hands were already parting her legs wide, giving the sight he’s been craving to see. She was already dripping wet for him.

“La..law-kun...please…” Robin moaned softly, her hands reached out for his head and gripping his hair ushering his face forward to her wet core. He smirked and licked her pussy with one long and teasingly slow stroke. Her head dived deeper onto the pillow at the contact even though it was minimal. “You’re already looking so fucked out my love, did i keep you waiting that long?” He teased her by bringing one digit and plunging it into her hole without warning and going at a rough pace.

“A..ahh!” she moaned and fisted his hair roughly. Law was unrelenting; he added the second...third...and fourth digits into her wet hole that was gladly accepting his intrusion. He fucked her with his fingers hard and fast never stopping to let her adjust or catch her breath. He pulled out JUST for a second much to her dismay, her blue orbs adjusted its vision to see what her lover was doing, and his actions made her whine in lust, this man was so sexy. The feral demeanor he had and the way he was enjoying pleasuring her turned her on to the point she could feel more juices dripping out from her cunt. “Fuck.., you’re dripping onto my bedsheet and soaking it baby” he groaned and admired how wet she was for him. Law gathered his saliva in his mouth and spit it directly onto her soaking cunt “Let me make it even wetter Robin-ya” he said. He shifted his position so fast that even she didn’t see this coming, he plunged his hard cock into her with no warning again. “Ohhh my god!” Robin screamed, he filled her up so good and there was no way in hell she was going to feel this type of way with anyone else. Law was not only long but his cock was so very very big and the first time they ever did this, she was taken aback like taken aback would have been an understatement.

“Gomen I cant control my...oh fuckkk you’re so tight R-robin-ya.” Law grunted aloud, he didn’t go slow nor did he held back this time, he was going to fuck her hard and long and make sure she felt him for weeks and months until they had the opportunity to meet again. He was going to wear her out and that's exactly what he was now doing.

“La...law..please..more! I-its so so so so gooood! Ahhh ah ah” whatever words she could muster out was no incoherent, she couldn't even form any proper sentence with how good he was fucking her. His length was impressive, it hit deep and reached everything that she couldn't satisfy herself and the width...mmm she worships this man’s cock. How good his dick was and how amazing the person was as well. “C’mon use your words my love, i’m going to miss you so much and i- ergh fuck!” his hands had a tight hold on her legs, spreading as wide as he could while he fuck her into oblivion. Her large breast was now being kneaded by her hands trying to maximize her pleasure even more.

“You’re so..ahhh fucking hell….sexy. Look at you right now, i could fuck you for hours and prolong this as long as I could my love” he looked down at their connection, what an erotic sight and sound. She was squelching around him and her pussy wasn’t even trying to milk him with everything he got, their juices were mixed and was dripping out of her wet hole and cum was splashed everywhere on his sheets. Oh how he would love nothing more than to capture this image and frame it in his cabin room.

His cock went in and out of hole at a vicious pace, never giving Robin a chance at catching her breath. Everything that came out from her mouth was vulgar and sinful and only her moans and his grunts echoed throughout the bedroom. “Fuck fuck fuck you feel so good around me, gripping my cock like that...so tight like- ahhh…” he brought himself down to her chest and buried his head into her giant globes and grunt out in pleasure of her soft skin and the way her pussy was sucking his cock in.

Robin had one hand gripping his sheets and one hand clawing his back trying to hold onto him to be in sync in his monstrous pace all while he was comfortably sandwiched in between the valley of her breasts. He brought his face back up and tongued her nipples that were basically calling out for his mouth, his large hands palmed the right side of her breast while he was basically making out with the other side.

“La..law….kun...ahhh its too much...im g-gonna… ah ah ahhhh..” she screamed and clawed his back drawing blood, the pleasure he was bestowing upon her has become overwhelming. Law ceased all his actions and brought one hand and took both her arms, pinning them above her head and his other hand found her throat and gripped at it hard; now this was how he could get Robin to cum so hard because this has always been her kink, almost cutting off her oxygen intake brought her euphoric pleasure. “You cum only when I say you can love, are you forgetting that?” Law whispered in her ears, giving her a long teasing lick at her lobes.

Robin whined at the loss of his movements, his cock was still yet buried so deep in her hole and she was rocking back and forth trying to get some friction but his body weight kept her in check and she knew better in strength that she could never outmatch his strength especially in bed. “La..w….please please please please...ne-need to cu..cum!” she begged him desperately, her eyes were half lidded and both corners of her eyes were filled with tears of pleasure and desperation.  He brought his face down to hers and their forehead rested against each other and he locked eyes with hers, souls intertwined and orbs connected and both of them read each other like an open book.

“You look so beautiful baby, you look so good like this…” he whispered to her, face evident with pure lust and adoration. He loved this woman and he fucking knew it, there was nobody he wanted to share such passion and connection with. He wanted to pleasure her to the point of no return, making her the happiest woman alive and he relishes in her existence. “You're gonna cum so good I promise you baby” he grunt out. With that he resumed his thrust but it was even more powerful, dominant and oh so impressive. He pounded her hard and fast fucking her stupid and passionately, he gave his 1000 percent when he do her and right now he was treating her hole unforgivingly and no mercy and she was definitely going to feel him inside her everyday. He printed and branded his cock in her pussy and there will be no other man that could be compared. She whined and moaned hotly, tongue sticking out with a string of drool at the corner of her mouth, the bed shook with the rhythm of their fuck pace. The atmosphere was hot, the air was bathed in redolence of sex and passion. Sounds of his dick going in and out of her wet hole immited sloppy wet sounds that was the focus of their hearing and the unison of their sinful moans. His grip on her throat tightened and he moaned out loud at the sight and took her mouth in his and gave her an open kiss, it was sloppy and hot, their tongues fought each other and both of them were moaning in each other’s mouth.

“Cmon, cum now baby, i can feel you squeezing me so hard, you’re so good for me”

“Law...law! Law! I ahh...ahh im go..gonn! gonna cum”

“Cum for me my love” he’s raspy voice commanded her and if she was grenade, his voice was the trigger. She was sent over the edge and everything in her felt awakened and she exploded with a scream. With his hands on her neck her voice was semi blocked but this kind of orgasm remains unmatched. Robin heard Law muttering strings of curses and swears at her orgasm, she tightened and her insides was trying to milk the fuck out of his cock.

She was sent over the edge and everything in her was awakened and she exploded with a scream. With his hands on her neck her voice was semi blocked but this kinky action always had her fucked out. She saw stars and her body was instantly taken into another universe. Her legs tightened around him and were now trembling, her body still rocking with his  rampaging thrusts both rocking to the rhythm of her high.

“F-ff--fucking hell.” He grunt against her collar bones.

“La--law…” Robin whimpered softly, “Do it in me...please...i want you to cum in me and fill me up please please ple-- AHHH!” He didn’t need to be told twice, her filthy words spurred him on more and she swore he felt him getting harder.

“Fuck i- gonn...a fill you in so good..” he groaned and she captured his mouth with her open ones and their moans and grunts were drowned in the messy and sloppy wet kiss.

“Mmhmm!” Strings and strings of his load was pumping into her hole as he came the moment Robin kissed him with so much need and to simplify it….she was so fucking sexy and was the hottest woman in this god damn planet; he thought.

“Sss--so full!” she whimpered in his mouth.

Her facial expression drove him crazy, she was in a state of bliss and she was on cloud 9, only he could do her like this.

Both of them rode each other, absorbed in their high and lived for each others’ touch.

TIMESKIP

Law tossed the towel that he had used to clean Robin up into the laundry basket in his bathroom and came out to the sight of his goddess laying down peacefully. She was now looking at Law who only had a towel hugging his lower regions and she smiled, admiring his body. He was so handsome, his body was lean with the right muscles everywhere.

“You’re so handsome”

“You’re just saying that”

“No I’m not” he laughed, they were having the same conversation before their love making. He loves her. Trafalgar Law loves Nico Robin so damned much.

THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE AND READING MY FIC. DO LIKE AND REBLOG, ask me if there is anything you guys want me to write! I'm currently working on more LAWBIN. I know I've been writing them like crazy but that's because the internet doesn't have enough Lawbin and idc I will write till i'm satiated.

[cheyentjj]

BEAUTIFUL INSECURITIES

Sebastian Stan x you

Warnings: insecurities, smut (though its pretty mild), unprotected sex.

Summary: when insecurities come knocking, you gotta get them out the door.

A/n:So this is my first time writing anything like it...I’m pretty sure it’s really not that good but I gotta start somewhere right? Feedback would be appreciated!also I wrote this on my phone so please forgive any mistakes.

**********************************************

“Oh Hey babe. Didnt know you’d be back so soon” you said to your boyfriend who just stepped in the bedroom.

You were folding the laundry and sorting everything out on the bed.

When you didn’t get an answer you looked over to him.

Frowning in front of the full length mirror stood Sebastian Stan. Your Sebastian. Love of your life.

“Babe?” You asked softly.

He looked up at you through the mirror. His usually bright blue eyes seemed more dull. His smile not reaching his eyes.

“Yeah. Don said a short workout would be enough for the day.” Is all he said.

You sat down on the bed observing the way he kept frowning at himself,suddenly realising what was going on.

You stood up to go stand next to him. Finding his eyes in the mirror you made sure he noticed you were there before watching yourself in the mirror.

Letting out a shaky breath you said one thing.

“My arms, for they can wrap around my loved ones and keep them warm.”

Finding his eyes again, you noticed he frowned and didn’t understand what you were doing.

“My legs, for they can walk and take me where I want to go”

A little smile appearing on his lips as realisation started to settle in his brain.

“My stomach” you laid your hand on your belly and looked him right in the eye “for one day it will hold life. Love, in the best way possible.”

You turned your body to your boyfriend and nodded to the mirror. Motioning for him to give it a try. He let out a short laugh but turned to the mirror anyway.

“My...”he trailed of seemingly finding it really hard to find something to say. “My hair, for everybody keeps complimenting it.” He grinned.

You giggled, shook your head and said a simple no.

You turned his body toward yours finding his eyes to be mesmerising. Taking in a shaky breath you put your hands on his hips. Locking the hem of his shirt between your ring and middle fingers on both sides.

Never taking your eyes off of his, you ever so slowly started to slide your hands up his sides. Feeling the goosebumps rise wherever your fingers passed.when you reached high enough he sighed and took his shirt off for you.

“Let me show you?”

He let out a long sigh but nodded anyway before turning back to the mirror.

Standing behind him you put both your hands on his shoulders. Deciding to start lightly.

“Your shoulders, for they can hold me up at concerts when I can’t see a thing cause I am so damn small” he smiled.

“Okay”

From his shoulders you let your fingers slowly drag down his arms.”your arms”

Again goosebumps rose where skin met skin.

“For they can wrap around me, make me feel safe. Make me feel home” you reached his hands, made your fingers lock with his for just a couple seconds before sliding back up.

“Your hands, for they are so gentle with everything you touch.”

He tried to look at you over his shoulder but you pushed his face back.

“Try to see what I see” you said before sliding your hands down his broad muscles back.

“Your back, for it literally allows you to stand right here and be with me.”

One hand on his hip, you slid the other down the side of his thigh, down to where his shorts end, just to softly drag your nails up the flesh of his leg.

“Your legs, cause they’re so strong, cause they can keep up with me. Cause they allow you to dance with me at the most random moments.” YOU smiled when you caught his face in the mirror. His eyes following your hands wherever they went. A smile on his face.

Your hands reach his buttocks. “This, because...well just because” you giggled as your nails went over the ever so perfect swell of his behind.

Placing a soft kiss right above the band of his shorts before barely dragging your tongue all the way up his spine. You heard him take in a sharp breath. Looking over his shoulder you noticed how his lips were slightly apart, his eyes a shade darker than they were just seconds ago. Causing a dangerous reaction in your own body.

Deciding to take more risks Now you kept your eyes on his placing your head next to him. “Your neck” dragging the nails of your left hand up the side of his neck,into his hair.he let out what seemed to be a very quiet moan. “For its soft and smells so damn good” you said.”and whenever I kiss it, you just make the best sounds”

“Your ears” you whispered before softly biting down on his earlobe. Causing him to let out a very loud moan, you smiled.

“For they listen to me ramble when I need you.”

His breath was uneven at this point and you were trying really hard to keep yours under control.

You found his eyes in the mirror and let out a soft groan at the sight.

“Your eyes, for they are oceans I can get lost in for hours.” You rushed out.

“Your lips...” you never got to finish that line.

He turned around grabbed your face before smashing his lips to yours.

Shock evident in your reaction as you didn’t kiss him back for all of 2 seconds. “Oh darlin’” he breathed out. His R rolling of his tongue more than that of an American should. Making your panties instant wet.

Forehead touching yours you bit your lip. “Fuck it” you said before grabbing the back of his head pulling his soft lips back to yours.

Lips moving in perfect sinc. Tongues fighting for dominance. Teeth meeting flesh. Sounds that would make angels blush in embarrassment.

It took him a total of 2 minutes to finally lose control and rip the shirt of your body. “Seb!” You yell shocked. The fucker just laughed before tugging your skirt up.

“Baby, I can’t w...” he whispered before you cut him off with your lips on his ones again.

“Now.Seb I need you Now” you said and that was all the encouragement he needed. His hands went down to your thighs, lifting you up to his waist where you wrapped your legs around him.

His hand went between your bodies releasing himself from his shorts. Where his cock was straining against the fabric ever since your hands started roaming his body.

Pushing your panties aside he pushed in in one swift movement.

You let out a loud moan and curse. You needed this. He needed this. It was evident in the sounds that left both your mouths. In the incapabillity to kiss one another right now. Too out of breath as he moved in and out of your warm cavern. Riding both of you into a beautiful oblivion. And when you reached it, all his insecurities forgotten for he found all the confidence he needed whenever he could bring you to this level of pleasure. The look on your face. Lips parted, eyes rolled back. The high pitched sounds coming from your throat. Seeing you like that made his own release come soon and he grunted into your neck...keeping you against the mirror, still inside you, both breathing heavy.

When you came down from your high you realised he was still inside you and he was actually far from finished.”seb?”

He looked into your eyes before carrying you to the bed, not caring for the folded laundry on top of it.

“time for round two baby.”

[enavance]

swansong.

( ao3 link. )

𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬,   𝐨𝐡,   𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬   . . .   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐬 𝐮𝐬,   𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞.

oblivion has never felt so empty.

oblivion has never felt so cold.

freezing,   sharp in its cut,   bone   -   chilling in its slice,   bitter in its piercing sting.   it lays its glacial hands upon everything in its path and drags it all down into the depths of an abysmal void,   endless in its bleak and dark emptiness,   and yet all the same,   it is filled with every imaginable horror to tear any soul asunder.

it coils around warm,   living flesh in thin,   ghostly wisps like haunting wraiths with fraying hands of brittle bone,   fragmenting,   fracturing,   splintering,   tracing skin in its pin   -   prick needling touch,   leaving traces of its phantom touch that ever remain steadfast in their haunting,   in the heavy,   suffocatingly thick miasma following in pursuit to envelope everything in its vicinity.

no hope remains.   there is nothing.

nothingness is a heavy weight,   a sinking sensation burrowing into the pit of her stomach.   she has burned out all of her light.   devoid of warmth,   devoid of even the smallest kindling fire that once lit her world and its dawning horizon in the shrouds of ever lingering darkness,   there is no strength left within her.   each shifting bone,   every twisting tendon and twitching muscle,   is agonizing.   agonizing in the physical pain of movement,   and agonizing in the emotional detriment in the realization that moving would mean ruination.   it means finality.   certainty.   an end to an end,   an end which she isn’t ready for.

but it is already over.   it has already ended.

but for cherry,   it hasn’t ended completely,   not until she takes that first daunting step,   the first step in leaving,   in leaving all of this behind once and for all.

all of this emptiness,   this boundless well of sinking,   drowning,   darkness,   she must leave it behind.   the world goes on,   she knows this intimately,   beyond everything and all else,   and still,   she cannot find it within herself to rise,   to so much as shift in place,   to reach a hand forth and crawl.

perhaps it is the wound in her back,   a deeply carved gash in the lower back of her torso and trickling blood sapping what little strength that remained,   but   . . .   it is so much more than that of her dwindling strength.   her will falters.   her will and drive to rise,   her will to continue on and press forward.   there is so much that she has lost already,   and she finds herself at a painful crossroads once more,   faced with an insurmountable loss and a world   -   shattering wellspring of grief that pulls her beneath its surface,   but she cannot even drown.   a prisoner to torment that cannot even hurt her,   and yet she cannot escape.   forever bound,   chained like a beast to a vision that has met its fate.   it’s too late.   there is no changing it.   it has become of the past,   something she must move on from,   but she clings and she clings and she clings,   and by the gods,   does she cling.

the darkness engulfs her.   it swallows her.   it consumes her.   it is all around,   pressing upon her shoulders,   sliding over her body like a softened blanket that sought to bring her comfort.

his arms.   she feels them.   the weight of them,   their warmth.   she feels his chest upon her back,   his arms circling around her torso to pull her in.   she feels his breath upon her head,   soft,   gentle,   like a low   -   passing wind sending stray burgundy strands flying astray.

she sees the crinkle to his eyes.   a crinkle in disdain,   annoyance,   ire,   amusement,   laughter,   love.   his twisting lips,   his rolling eyes,   those flaring nostrils whenever he delivers a dramatically punctuated huff.

the rising lilt of his voice when something tickled his sense of humor,   whenever his characteristic sarcasm met his tongue.   it irritates her,   and yet she’s endeared nevertheless.

their traded blows,   in her flying fists catching in his palms,   in sharpened quips and biting wit.   he set her temper ablaze as much as she to him,   but too often,   she caught herself smiling so crookedly in all of her subtleness and finds a matching glimmer in gilded eyes.

he is a withering rose of hardened thorns.   thorns not yet dull,   just as sharp,   and just as deadly,   but his petals fray.   they wilt and curl and dry and brown and fade into dust.   there is much of his world,   of his every love and passion and burning stars,   that he has lost.   in all of his flaws,   in all of his misgivings,   in all of his faults and deepening cracks in stone,   he does this for love.   love of his world,   love of his home,   love of those he once held dear and lost.

cherry understands this far too well.

she was never meant to save him.   there was never going to be away to help him.   even if she offered him her hand,   he would have broken her wrist to tear her world and every shard asunder to resurrect his own.   and though she understands his pain,   his grief,   there is no justification for the methods to his madness.

there was little choice,   but this.

put an end to someone she’s grown so painfully fond of,   even for all of the times she wished to wrap her hands around his throat and bring her claws down into his flesh,   or lose everyone else,   everything else,   that grows heavy in her heart.

she hears his voice in her head,   even now.   in all of his snark,   his every snide and tearing remark,   in all of those rare moments of softness and vulnerability.   he shared much of himself,   with all of his wealth of knowledge that opened her eyes to a life that once was,   of his,   of hers.   it set a deep rooted yearning within her.   its gnarling,   thorned brambles curled around her heart and squeezed in this dying moment,   now,   in their shared dying gasps,   and she catches a glimpse of an age long lost,   a life of a being whole before its fracturing.

a being who looked much like herself,   yet different all the same.   this woman looked so happy.   blissful,   at peace,   dancing digits elegantly gliding against the palm of a man whose face she’s come to know far too well.   dizzyingly drunk in one another’s intoxicating gazes,   honeyed warmth,   a bleeding glow.

and then,   it shatters.   it explodes into a million fragments as the star explodes,   a bursting supernova.   light tears through each crack until it blinds her vision and forces her eyes shut to drown it out.   when they open again,   she returns to the dark.   she returns to the silence.   to the cold,   to the emptiness,   to the frost that nips at her fingertips and inches along in her veins.

this arena held light,   once.   the city beyond disappeared,   but cherry knows that it yet remains.   why,   then,   can she not see it   ?

each blackened skyscraper has been snuffed of its light,   and they melt into the shadows and their chilling embrace.

she could see the sky,   once,   the shimmering of the water’s surface and the splitting sunlight beaming down into the ocean’s sapphire blues.   now,   there is nothing.   not a single onze of light,   nothing.

it is desolate,   and she is alone.

cherry is alone,   blood staining the torn fabrics of her clothes and broken bits of what little armor remained.   blood smeared upon the metallic curves of her glaives,   her fingers and her palms and splattered droplets upon her wrists.   she killed him.   she killed him,   a man she held beloved,   flawed as he was.   she knows it was her only choice,   that he was too far gone in his madness.   there is no bringing back someone from the brink that the likes of emet   -   selch had fallen into.

he left her in the aftermath of their battered wake and wells of destruction with knowledge of a world that once was,   of the truths she has been seeking,   but she has been left with more questions than any answer she ever received.   and now,   there is no one left to answer them.

she hears him,   now.   his final whispers,   hushed and fading and trembling,   his one final,   dying gasp.

cherry blinks,   and as if it all had been naught but a dream,   the light returns in a flood.   she sees the broken wires and frames of amaurot’s buildings scraping their skies,   the unnatural glow of the horizon in its light cast over them like a veil that in any other world would have been seen as a holy shroud,   hallowed in its divinity and the grace of its touch.   her chest heaves with each pained,   gasped breath,   ragged and hoarse,   blood thick in the pit of her mouth.   she remains,   lying flat against the violet stone,   palms pressed upon its smooth surface as she takes what strength remains to hold herself up and tilt her chin and stare from eyes that fight to stay open.

he is there.

she can see him,   now,   but she knows that this is it,   that this will be for the last.

she stares beyond a glimmering crevice,   a gaping wound coated in blood and the remnants of fading aether.   her head begins to spin and throb as her eyes roll upward to stare,   and it is all that she can manage before she collapses into the ground again.

cherry stares upon his face,   cheeks soft and lips and a nose so familiar,   and she knows she has only moments to drink him in for the final time before he becomes but a memory to fragment and break as time travels on.   there is an anguish to her eyes,   a pain unearthed unlike anything she has felt in years.   she never wanted to be cornered into this position again.   damn her and her weakening heart.

silence pervades as they look upon each other’s eyes in the stillness of their shattering world.   it crumbles around them,   and yet,   it matters not.   there is naught but this single,   fleeting and ephemeral moment,   and their intertwining souls.   cherry,   for once in her life,   cannot find even a single word to edge upon the tip of her tongue.   grief strikes her far too deep in the knowing of what is to come     —     a world in which he does not exist,   and she is forced to overcome it yet again.

when she hears a gasped breath,   a soft inhale with his parting lips,   she musters another burst of strength to straighten further still,   steadying herself as she watches him,   eyes melting and basking beneath the glow of his burning countenance.

“     remember,     ”     hades begins,     “     remember us,   celestina.     ”

she visibly flinches,   at the sound of his weakened voice,   at the sound of her name so few have uttered that still wrought its knife into her chest,   but it felt like a passing hymn from his tongue in the fading softness in his voice,   now.   it’s reminiscent of all of those rare moments they shared in quiet,   in solitude,   her head upon his chest,   his cheek pressed closely to her furred ears.

hades’s gaze is firm,   and she is beholden to them,   the pools of golden eyes and his haunting,   somber tone.   he does not break his stare for even but a moment.     “     remember   . . .   that we once lived.     ”

reaching a hand out,   cherry straightens enough to come to her feet,   posture broken,   wound still bleeding with a small pool of her blood at her feet.   her own voice is hoarse,   cracking and weak,   faint and scarcely a voice at all as she whispers,     “     hades   . . .   ”     she cannot manage anymore.   her head lowers into a nod instead,   and she soon collapses to her knees,   but she keeps her eyes fixed upon him.   she will not lose him.   she will not have him fade out of sight.

grinding her molars together,   her jaws clench as she forces herself to stand again.   it takes everything within her,   but cherry trudges forward,   closer and closer until she stands before him.   a bloodied hand grasps for his gloved one,   and she squeezes his fingers,   just enough to pull him down closer.   she spares only a few agonizing seconds to close her eyes when their lips meet,   weak and lingering,   but they open as she feels him beginning to fade.   he is as a wraith,   fading right before her eyes,   and the phantom trace of his fingers remain warm in her hand.   emet   -   selch nods,   lips curling into a diminutive smile,   and cherry feels acid tears burning the wells of her eyes.   they explode in a bursting torrent,   running hot like oil down her grit   -   stained cheeks.

“     i will not forget you,   emet   -   selch.   hades.   i   . . .   i will not let you fade.     ”

and just like that,   he is gone,   a whirlwind of aether scattering into the lifestream,   only to fade into an oblivion that she cannot reach.   he would not return.   he could not ever be.   once more,   cherry valla finds herself completely and utterly alone and drops back down to her knees,   trembling,   shaking,   and wonders how soon until she wanders to the edge of the earth for death to claim her,   too.

her vision blurs and her eyes draw to a curtain close,   his final act,   their swansong.

cherry doesn’t even realize as the twins come behind her,   singing praises of victory,   of her lone triumph against emet   -   selch.

how can she let go of all that she’s learned   ?   how does a wound this big find a way to heal   ?

there is no warmth.   there is no light.

she sinks into oblivion,   and the cold and darkness swallow her whole once again.

[velvetpantylines]

Pretty boys to pull into heated kisses by leashes 💙

[suesylvesterf]

oh and 32 &62 for the ask thing y not

32: What is your favourite color?

Green, and it has been for a v long time but I'm slowly but surely recognising blue as a fav colour too. im indecisive so they're BOTH my fave colours. they r best friends

62: What makes you happy?

birds, watching birds, thinking about birds, seeing pictures of birds online, monkeys, thinking about monkeys, seeing pictures of monkeys, apes, thinking about apes, seeing pictures of apes, animals generally, watching animals, thinking about animals, seeing pictures of animals online, animal facts, paths with lots of puddles, ice cream with two or more scoops, or one scoop but its like in a swirl so its a soft serve, eating, drinking cool soft drinks in the countryside by the local breweries bc the cola is always better than coke??, i know i said birds but seagulls at the beach, and i know i said birds but the spur wing plover's very long legs... i love watching them run around, colourful leaves, long grass with lots of flower weeds (especially onion-weed), stationery omg i love stationery so much, new journals... with nice paper feel, gel pens...., wax seals and seal stamps!! i only have 3 seal stamps and i want more!!, looking at my bedsheets when its a sunny day because theyre always crumpled so it looks very cozy and warm, pulling typewriters apart and putting them back together again, any and all bodies of water but especially shallow and clear creeks, looking at eggs and thinking about different egg types (cuckoo eggs r so cool looking), when my handwriting looks nice and not messy (rare), wish houses, holding worms (only when im digging and im moving them somewhere safe i promise im not just terrorising them), whistling back and forth with the rosella until i whistle the wrong tune and then it wont reply to me anymore 😭, where i live, thinking about travelling, oooh boba.... especially matcha or jasmine and with red bean and pearls, OOOH yum cha...., when i write stuff for some of the stories in my head and they dont turn out like complete garbage (rare!), thinking about the fact that cows have best friends, reading carl safina's 'beyond words' again and again (its about elephants its very good), i had a dream with david attenborough in it last night btw that was cool, going to the museum alone, seeing lesbians deeply in love with each other, sewing something and when its done all the stitches look super clean and straight and profesh..., baking cake, when no one is in the house and its very quiet, sound of snow crunching in tes oblivion, honestly sound of ppl eating chips gbskjgbdfg, i love when ppl eat and theyre really enjoying it and theyre like mm! or make the orughpmf sound when theyre biting bc theyre excited to just dig into it, thinking about characters in my different w.i.ps that ill likely never finish, when my mum is really happy, talking 2 da tumblr bestie bwiththel, when i see old stuff of people whether its photos or things they made for me b4 i remember that we're not in each others lives anymore, sitting on a big rock, melbourne chinatown, letting myself think about the future in the most unrealistic way, watching leaves fall

[murdocsmacattack]

a little teaser for a macdoc one shot im doing called your ASM should be rated R

or Mac does ASMR Murdoc discovers this it goes about as normal as you'd expect...

Murdoc had never been a man who slept particularly well.

His instinctual paranoia was something that served him well in the unpredictable landscape of his chosen field. Still, when the day turned to dusk and the tender arms of night stretched out its searching fingers, Murdoc found it would not embrace him readily.

Many a night Murdoc found himself prowling the house like a restless predator, hungry for oblivion like the wolf for bloodied flesh, moving through the wooded shell like stepping on broken glass, as if invisible shards would tear vulnerable flesh if he did not move just so. At the same time, his boy slept innocently on in a backroom.

It's no wonder, really, that his sweet Cassin is the one who led to his current break in routine, or more accurately, the creation of the one he now follows if the night should allow it. He lies down now, as his own son so often does, earbuds in place of headphones, eyes closed as he breaths deep and even, and the soft whispers of strangers dance in his head.

"I'm not listening to music daddy." his sweet boy had said after waking from his dose on the couch, blue headphones draped around his neck." I'm listing to the people who talk really quietly, and I really like it." Cassian had beamed at him then, "you should try it daddy, you'd like it too."

He had , actually, liked it too; that is, he's slipped into the warmth of a dreamless sleep a good few nights now, the strangely comforting hiss of strangers murmuring in his ear dragging him down into-

"Hey, welcome back."

and Murdoc's eyes snap open, startled into complete wakefulness because holy fuck, does he know that voice...

[miss-tc-nova]

A Garden for the Lost - Marluxia

Hey! Most of my zine work is coming to a close, meaning I can post this one here! Written for the @disorganizine. It was a blast to be part of such an awesome project.

~~~~~

              Lord of Castle Oblivion: the man takes immense pride in his position, even if it’s been handed to him by the very person he seeks to ruin. Nevertheless, between overseeing the castle and plotting his take over, there’s little time to recoup. Despite his ambition and drive, Marluxia still needs those moments in which he can forget obligations and goals and focus on something he wants to do.

              So he made time. With Vexen as acting lord for a day, Marluxia has taken to another world.

              Upon his first visit, only dirt greeted him. However, when no inhabitants had been found to be a bother, the barren plot was claimed as his own. Since then, the dusty, drab lot has transformed into a lush, expansive garden. Everything inside has been grown by the Graceful Assassin himself; even the little toolshed and bustling greenhouse had been put up with his own hands. Flowers of all sorts comfortably thrive here from roses to snap dragons—there’s even a cactus patch in its own sandy enclosure. This is his sanctuary—the only place he has ever felt complete. It’s absurd to say he enjoys this hobby seeing as he has no heart, but for as long as he can remember, peace only finds him when he indulges in gardening.

              The hefty black coat is shed, sloughing off the woes of work with it. Boots scrape the dirt path as he makes his way towards the greenhouse; there are some seedlings that require his attention.

              And that’s when he notices it: shuffling among the vegetation is something unknown. As it makes its way through the rose bushes, Marluxia begins to stalk the rustle. Every now and then, the top of a silver head bobs above the leaves, a pair of folded ears bouncing and a ring of flowers perched between them.

              The shifting halts at the end of the shrub line causing the assassin to freeze. The intruder is feline in its characteristics but is clearly no ordinary house cat. A cape sits across small shoulders and a large, pink coin purse hangs from its neck. A crown with the most intricate weaving sits atop its head, made of flora from this very garden.

              Before the animal is a previously empty patch Marluxia had not yet designated, though that seems to have changed. Little paws lift a watering can over the freshly planted foliage. The flower looks like a flock of ridiculous birds on alert. Green and ruby “beaks” jut out at the top of the stalk with a vibrant crown of gold and violet. A twinge in his chest causes Marluxia to act.

              “Excuse me,” he sneers, having long lost his sense of sympathy—if he ever had one.

              The watering can clatters to the ground with a shocked gasp. Blue eyes peer up at the gardener before a puff of smoke engulfs the feline.

              “Hey!” But the strange cat is already gone.

              A closer look at the plant reveals an orange ribbon tied around the stem of the brightest bloom.

              No warning brings about the pain that suddenly surges through his skull. With a snarl, Marluxia stumbles back, but no amount of grasping or wincing eases the agony. Unprovoked, it swells and spreads until it overwhelms the man, bringing him to his knees. The blinding ache only fades when he blacks out.

~~~~~

              “—r—m. L—ia—”

              What happened?

              “L—m.”

              Eyes flutter open to a brilliant sky. Blue, yellow, and every shade of pink frames his vision, the soft petals occasionally grazing against him as they sway in the breeze.

              “Figures you’d be snoozin’ here.”

              Pushing from the flowers, Marluxia glances back, finding a crowd of blurred faces strolling closer.

              Who are they?

              Without consent, his lips pull back in a smile—a real smile without all the insincerity and secrecy he’s become so skilled at. “You caught me.”

              “That makes this my nappin’ spot now. Scram.” A hand meets his shoulder in a teasing shove, provoking light laughter from the confused man.

              “Oh come on, _____,” a feminine voice scolds. High pitch ringing and static consumes her voice for a moment but no one acknowledges the anomaly. “We caught you asleep in the library like an hour ago.”

              The first stranger, clad in black, flops into the flowers. “Aw, well now you went and blew my secret.”

              “Did I miss a meeting or something?” Marluxia asks.

              The third, a blur sitting above a crimson scarf, reassures him, “No. We were just worried about you; haven’t seen you all day. Only ______ seemed to know where to find you.” Again, the name is drowned out in a blaring mesh of noise.

              He looks to the man beside him, somehow finding this normal. “You knew, huh?”

              A finger points to a looming tower not far off. “Yep. Could see you from the window.”

              “Really?” interrupts the girl. “You couldn’t have just told us that instead of dragging us all the way out here?”

              “What fun would that have been?” He lies back, his hat tipping forward to shade his face. “Besides, why would you wanna miss this view?”

              “It is pretty,” admits the one in the scarf.

              These people, regardless of who they are, have managed to bring out a lightness that Marluxia can’t recall ever feeling. With no memories of who he used to be, he can only assume that this is what happiness must feel like to somebodies. It’s as warm as the sun, as light as the breeze, and as beautiful as the flowers; he can’t imagine how he’s gone so long without knowing something so wonderful could exist.

              A fourth voice, the last stranger, speaks, “Hey, did you ever find _____?”

              This time, the cacophony is far more extreme, picking at his brain like needles. They sink in, allowing this oozing pain to seep through. Whatever spell gave him this bliss is broken, freeing Marluxia and allowing him to grip at the stabbing in his head.

              Clouds roll in, bringing threats of a storm and snuffing the serenity for good. Carried along by a sudden gust is a chill that sweeps over the field. The first three strangers disintegrate in the wind, leaving behind the last. His face clears, revealing someone Marluxia is fairly familiar with.

              Roxas?!

              Blue eyes, usually full of innocent curiosity, are empty, as if dead. Curled around him, waving menacingly, are tendrils of darkness. He’s a threat.

              “—iam.”

              What is this?!

              Foreboding shadows engulf the boy as they reach for their new victim. From within, a pair of violent, yellow eyes pierce through to leer at the man. That gaze antagonizes the ache that paralyzes him.

              “L—r—.”

              What’s happening?!

              With the impending darkness looming above, he cannot fight the inevitable, only brace for the end.

              Shrieks of scraped metal fill the air. Peering past the pain, Marluxia peeks just in time to see the shadows and the boy fading away on the other side of a massive scythe—his scythe. The weapon towers over him, wielded by a Nobody he’s never seen before. Wings splay out behind the female figure with swaying vines. Beneath the pink mask is her empty, tormented face with golden eyes that seem to pity Marluxia.

              “_____.”

              His attention drops to the ground; there’s a girl there, clad in white as if to mock his usual black coat. Her face is entirely veiled with only two strands of red hair giving her any defining features.

              Immediately, Marluxia’s mouth produces a word he can’t hear. Everything in his body is pushing him to approach but as he reaches for her, something repels his advance. Sound pours from his mouth but he can’t decipher a single syllable. He’d give anything to reach her but he doesn’t know what’s driving this desire—he doesn’t understand why she’s so important.

              A flurry of petals blasts at the man and his feet begin to drift—he’s losing ground.  

              “No! Wait! _____!” Screams tear from his throat even if he can’t hear them. “_____!”

              The gale grows stronger, sending him flying back. The robed figure grows farther and farther out of reach as the darkness consumes him.

~~~~~

              Coming to, Marluxia clears his bleary eyes. The sky above is tinted in pink, the sunset warning him of lost time. Rubbing at his face as he sits up, he struggles to remember his dream. It ends in failure as every frame is forgotten, despite the feeling of importance it holds.

              Rising to his feet, the assassin immediately rediscovers the tall blooms he’d been suspicious of earlier.

              The Bird of Paradise. Its name slips from his mouth: “Strelitzia.”

              The colors of the flowers suddenly bleed together. A hand lifts to clear his vision but comes away with smears of water. Just the thought of shedding tears perplexes the man, let alone actually crying. Regardless of what Xemnas likes to pretend, Nobodies cannot have emotions. So Marluxia chalks it up to his body having some sort of reaction to the flowers—they need to be disposed of.

              Reaching out with the intention of tearing off the blossom, Marluxia snags the vermillion ribbon. Another spasm of pain wracks his brain while a strange twinge ripples in his chest. The backlash causes the man to stumble, the fabric coming free in his grip.

              Once recovered, he glares but this plant still has some sort of spell on him. The cloth is crushed in his fist in spite of the futility. Releasing the pent-up tension in a huff, he turns away; it’s too late to be worrying about some pest of a plant.

              “I’ll deal with it later,” he grumbles.

              But Marluxia never does. Days turn to weeks and then months and the plant thrives. It grows taller and releases more blooms of the exotic flower. He makes a point not to, but there are clear signs of it being tended to: his tools move, fresh dirt and fertilizer are taken, and the ground around it is disturbed with stolen equipment and paw prints. Clearly, the creature visits often.

              The strange thing is Marluxia’s waning hatred for the flower and its caretaker. In his usual upkeep of his garden, extra supplies are purchased to account for the invasive plant. He even picked up a smaller watering can he’d spotted while passing through the market. The cat still refuses to reveal itself, but there are signs of its presence—including the occasional flower crown waiting for him. By the third, he finds these little gifts not at all annoying, often pressing them in books kept on a shelf in the greenhouse.

              As for the ribbon, Marluxia keeps it—something about the strip of material compels him to. Hardly a day goes by without it on his person. It reminds him of his precious garden and the little gardening creature in it, but at the same time, it reminds him of his task. He can’t exactly say why, but that piece of fabric pushes him towards his goal.

              Even if it completely consumes him, there will be no stopping Marluxia until he reclaims what he’s lost.

[ladyblastexecution]

☽Cold City☾ |Todoroki Shouto|

A/N: Man... i don’t know how i feel about this one.

The clock flashed three a.m, and you were sitting in the balcony of your apartment once more with a cigarette burning in between your fingers.

The hot smoke entering your lungs was the only thing combatting the chilling air that started to appear in the city. Summer was walking away, and the cold was bothering you once more.

Your phone was once again turned off, forgotten on top of the lonely chair next to you. What was the point of having it turned on? There was no one to apologize for not responding, anyway.

The bright lights of the streetlamps took a toll on your tired eyes, and you wondered how everyone lived their life, if someone was feeling the same heaviness in their chest caused by the loneliness that haunted you. You were used to it already, your heart and stomach constantly coiled tight, as if someone was squeezing them in a fist.

The whole day you spent it on bed, doing nothing more than to watch sappy tv that promoted an idealized version of loneliness that you could not relate to, because, yes, your days were spent alone, but it wasn’t because of a mean girl pushing you to the sidelines, or a traumatic experience that changed your ways.

The reality was fairly more simple and unamusing

Ever since graduating the U.A and joining an agency where no one you knew worked, and you found yourself drifting apart from your friends more and more. Your texts were ignored because they were busy saving the city, just like yourself, and there was no free time to hang out like you used to when you shared a dorm.

A year later, you were a loner. No more close friends or family. The only thing that kept you company was the cloud of smoke exiting your mouth drag after drag of your cigarette. The nicotine entering your veins gave you the solace you so desperately needed, warming up your insides in a similar way a hug from a loved one would do.

Sighing, you threw the butt of your cigarette into the ashtray and leaned on the railing, allowing for the wind to brush your face and erupt goose bumps in your flesh. Tank top and shorts were not the ideal outfit to wear on those ocasions.

Glancing back at your bed, you pondered on forcing yourself to sleep. There was no use in staying there, exposed to the cold, imagining someone was coming to pick you up and you were just waiting for them to arrive. There was no one to do so.

Why your brain kept torturing you with those scenarios that would never happen? It was a mystery to you. The sweet oblivion of a dream might be just what you needed.

you could almost feel the softness of the sheets and the warmth caress your skin, but a panicked scream on the street made you jump, startled.

Looking to your right you saw a woman struggling to keep her hold on her purse while a thief was pulling with all his might on it a block away from your building

Without thinking, you jumped from the balcony, climbing down from the third floor with the dexterity of a pro hero and ran to where the assault was taking place. You felt needles on the skin of your bare foot as the freezing pavement made contact with it, but the adrenalin rush coursing through your veins helped you focused, as well as the cries of help of the girl that was now being dragged to the floor, trying to break her hold on her possessions.

The back of the thief was to you. And without thinking too much about the possibility of a gun or knife you threw your body, flooring him with a force that reverberated on your bones. A cry of pain came from him as you pinned his wrist behind his back and tried to avoid his claws. Apparently his quirk resembled a tiger, with fangs and claws and night vision.

Your grip was steel hard as you trapped his body against a wall, hating his trashing around.

“Stay still tough guy.” You warned, flashing your quirk to intimidate him. You looked back to the girl and noticed her torn appearance. Scratches were all over her face and a nasty cut was on her cheek. She trembled like a leaf and tears and makeup were dripping down her face. “Don't worry honey... You're okay now.” You assured, tightening your grip out of anger, earning a hiss from the scum on your hands.

She nodded her head and hugged herself for some sort of comfort. You took in how thick her coat was and the fluffy scarf she wore, making you realize that the wind was merciless on your skin, the cold making your lips tremble and your fingers numb from the pressure and the temperature.

“I- I'm going to call the police if you can restrain him...?” She offered.

“Yeah, that's a good idea.” You sent her a curt nod and a small smile.

She dialeld and as the first ring sounded, a slide of ice came down from your left, lowering the temperature. You didn't even need to look far to know who it was, and your pulse fluttered. Todoroki Shoto was to the rescue, only a little too late.

You both were classmates, and even if you were not best frieds, you were on good terms, an acquaintance of some sort. You admired him for his strenght and resiliend, and even if he oly spoke a few words to you, you apreciated the stokic teen you shared classes with. You hadn't seen him for over a year, since after graduating, you both were busy with your new jobs and different locations. You even had a small crush on him for a while, but after noticing how impossible it was for him to see you in another way than a classmate, that small infatuation died down.

But now that you saw him again, ice particles shining around him as the wind blew the hair out of his face, you felt your heart pang with something that resembled that old feeling. You felt like you were fifteen again, fangirling all over his gorgeous face and shiny hair.

He skidded to where you were and landed right in front of you, taking in the scene in front of him.

You were pinning a guy to the wall dressed in a thin tank top and short shorts, barefoot and with messy hair. He couldn't fight the confused glance he had on his face, head slightly tilted to the side as he tried to figure out how in the two minutes it took him to get there you reduced a guy in that.

“(Y/N)?” He asked, “Why are you so lightly dress when it's this cold outside?” His question was dumb, but the cute way he uttered it made you want to squeal. An involuntary shudder traveld your body as you sent a sarcastic smile his way.

“Well, Shoto” You said his Hero name and hoped it didn't sound too awkward since you never called him anything besides the usual Todoroki-kun “The agency changed my attire to hopefully get more popularity.” You joked, but judging by lack of smile or laughter, it was safe to say he didn't get it.

“I Never thought you'd agreed to be an R- rated hero like midnight, but you still look good...”  He said taking you by surprise.

A blush rose to your face, making you forget momentarily how cold it actually was. He didn't seem to notice the small compliment, and you felt dumb for letting something so tiny fluster you..

In your moment of distraction, the robber twisted away from you and slash at your arm. Sharp blazing pain throbbed, and your torn skin screamed. A sting of curses flew from your lips and in a heartbeat Todoroki grabbed your bare shoulder and pulled you protectively to his side, sending a blast of ice to your attacker, encasing him in an coldshell.

Your back was pressed to his left side and the heat from his body seeped into your cold one, soothing you locked muscles and taking your mind away from the injury. You looked up at him and the air was almost knocked out of you. He looked fraigthening with fire burning in his eyes and a murderous scowl on his face, eyebrows pulled together and white teeths showing.

“Are you okay miss?” The girl you helped asked, getting a step closer, and just ike that the spell that  was upon todoroki broke.

As if noticing the position he was in, his warm hand gently grabbing your bare skin and you pressed tightly against him, he cleared his throat  and he let go, taking a step back, and watching carefully as she got over and examined your wound.

“Please, allow me to help you.” She said, searching for consent on your face, and when you were about to dismiss her concern, stating that you had worse before and that it was just a scratch, she hovered her hand above the gash. A blue light emitted from her fingers and you watched marvelled as the wound mended back together, as if there was nothing in the first place. The pain receded, and it left you startled. “I'm not as strong as recovery girl, but I Can manage minor cuts and bruises...” She said sheepishly.

“That's an awesome quirk to have, thank you so much!” You praised a small smile dancing on your lips.

You glanced back at Todoroki, only to notice him already looking at you, a soft smile on his lips, and the contrast from the previous expression he wore surprised you.

The faint sirens could be heard in the vecinity, and relief washed over you. In a few minutes you could be in the warmth of your home, snuggled on your bed, back to being a loner, and preparing for an early day of work with little to no sleep. You know, the usual.

As you waited for the police to arrive, you scooted closer to Todoroki, standing by his side and observing the girl calling her friends to pick her up. A wave of longing hit you on the chest, but you tried to forget it by starting up a conversation with Todoroki.

“So... It's good to see you, Shoto. It's been... What, Nine months?” You asked, with a light tone, that didn't match the feeling on your chest.

“Eleven actually...” He said, surprising you once again. You turned to him and he was piercing holes in the villains figure, whose lips had turned blue from the cold and his body thrashing to break free from his enclosure. “It was at the reunion Deku Organized  after we graduated, remember?  You had that black dress...” He trailed off turning to you, and when he noticed what slipped from his mouth, he adverted his gaze, scratching the place below his ear and coughing lightly.

“Yeah, I remember... How everybody doing?” You asked, sparing him the embarrasment, but you couldn't deny the weight on your shoulder lifted a bit.

“They're fine. We try to gather as much as we can. Deku and Ground Zero are getting along better, and Red Riot and me often work out together... What have you been doing? You kindoff disappear suddenly...”

“Oh! Um...” You hesitated, now it was your turn to be embarrased, how could you confess that your days were spent patrolling, and eating junk food on your couch, and smoking a worrying amount of the time? That wasn't something you were proud of. “I've been working a lot, and recently I moved to that building...” Your answer felt vague and you worried he might think you were avoiding him, wich you were, but it still made you fidget with your hands.

Looking down at your finger, you noticed how blush the tips looked, and when the wind picked up again, a shudder recorded you from head to toe once more. Now that you were reminded of how cold the weather was getting, you noticed the sharp stabs of cold on your feet. You had been jumping slightly from one to the other without noticing, trying to make the bite slightly better.

“It wasn't the smartest decision to change your suit to something lighter when the autumn is around the corner (Y/N)” He said, concern lacing his voice.

You laughed at how dense he was, and he frowned, getting closer.

“I was joking, Todoroki.” His eyebrows went up and a small 'oh' slipped past his lips  “I was awake and I heard her asking for help and ran here. “

“With no shoes on...”

“Yeah, with no shoes on” You laughed at how irrational you had been, and now you were trapped in the cold with no shoes on until the police go your statement.

Todoroki looked at you and with a straight face he grabbed your arm and pushed you flushed to his side again, not meeting your eyes as if it was the most normal thing to do. You noticed how he increased his body temperature a little more to warm you up faster.

“Your lips are blue, and you are shivering” He stated, looking to the police car turning the corner and tightening the arm that was circling your shoulders.

Your face was snuggled into the fabric of his suit and a hint of his cologne made it into your nose, taking you back to highschool when he would sit next to you and the breeze from the open window would carry his perfume. Your boy was warmer, whether it was from his quirk or your embarrassment it didn't matter.

None of you spoke and only when the slam of a car door and the voices of the police were heard you took a step back from him.

Two policemen were talking with the girl that made the call, and she was explaining what happened. When she got to the part when you showed up, the attention of the three went to you, and the policemen opened their eyes at how naked you were. One of them, the younger one that couldn't be too much older from the both of you, got closer, only two feet away from where you were standing.

“Damn miss...” His eyes wandered over you and you gave them a sheepish smirk while Todoroki kept quiet, staring at him. The guy shrugged off his jacked and hurriedly tried to place it around your shoulders. “Please take my...”

Todoroki's hand slapped the fabric away and silence fell. Everyone around was stunned at his action.

“That's very kind officer, but it's fine. I'm taking her home right now and I'm going to warm her up personally... I would hate for you to be cold and get sick.” With no time to respond you felt the floor underneath your feet disappear and Todoroki's arms lifted you up, carrying you bridal style as your mouth flopped around like a fish trying to articulate something.

“What was that?!” You asked in a hush tone when you were far enough to not be heard. “I could've just walk home, you didn't need to go nuts there for him offering me a jacket.

“You didn't know the guy, why would you accept his jacket?”

“Uh... Because it was freezing and I'm not really dress for it?” You countered.

“I can warm you up faster and more effectively,” He said again. Apparently he didn't realize how bad those words sounded together. “You can't trust someone just like that.”

“It's a police officer, Todoroki, I think we can trust them just fine”

He didn't respond after hat, but if you weren't as perceptive, you would0ve missed the way his fingers pressed harder on your thigh or the way his eye twitched with annoyance at you arguing with him about it.

Your apartment door came into view faster than what you expected, and you wished you lived far away to enjoy Todoroki's warmth a little bit longer.

He carefully put you down and stared at you, waiting for you to open the door, only to realize that with those pocketless shorts, there was no way you had your keys on you. You noticed this too and smiled reassuringly at him.

“I left my balcony open, I can climb the side of the building and get there in no time.” You smiled at him, but the doubt swam in his eyes.

“That sounds dangerous... You should lock your windows.” He said.

“I live in a third floor...?” the confusion laced on your voice, and his frown deepened.

“Villains can climb.” He said, face straight and serious tone, only for you to laugh.

“Good night, Todoroki...” You smiled at him “See you around”  You slapped his shoulder lightly and walked to the side of the building, expertly climbing the stairs, avoiding making too much noise to disturb the neighbours, and landed on your balcony without breaking a sweat.

You looked down one last time, only to notice Todoroki still standing there, looking at you with his arms crossed. You waved at him and he smiled, lifting his arm up in a small salute. He definitely had changed since the last time you saw him. He was a man now, completely rough, but his voice was still gentle, and his hand was soft.

As you turned on the shower to wash the grime that got stuck to your feet, you couldn't help but to think about the girl talking with her friends about what happened to her, and asking them to pick her up at the station. If you ever were on that situation, you had no one to call. And the realization of it sunk your heart like a rock on the sea.

There was not much you could o about it now, you didn't get along with anybody on the agency, and the ties with your classmates were far too severed. It was you against the world, and yourself had to be enough.

The next sunday you had off was spent exactly in the same way the previous one had. Phone off balcony and lit up cigarette between your fingers. The whole week you spend it staking your former friends Instagram and regretting you forgetfulness that pushed you away from them. Pictures of them eating pizza together and watching cheesy comedy movies from the early 2000s  made you wished you had something like that with someone, ideally with them, but the anxiousness you felt every time you opened up your chat with Deku, that you had left on read almost six months ago. What if he hated you for it? It was partly your fault, but you just had the tendency to shut yourself away from the world, you weren't consciously ignoring them.

Photos of Todoroki on sweat pants as he plays a videogame with Uraraka that  Deku posted to one of his stories made your stomach flutter, an awestruck expression on your face. Thankfully, your coworkers were having lunch togheter, and they left you alone to thirst without shame.

Getting up from one of the chair from your balcony to go and get a glass of soda from the kitchen, you heard the faint sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. A small drizzle was pouring, and the clouds turned everything darker. Thunder resonated in the distance and you sighed. Once the storm broke out on full blast, you wouldn't be able to sit on the balcony for much longer.

Glass in hand, you returned to your usual spot that overlooked the busy street below, and you saw everyone scattering around trying to take cover from the first storm that happened since the summer ended. You lighted up another cigarette and took a drag.

As your eyes travel from one person to the other, your attention was drawn to a couple walking in the street with no care in the world, as if the cold and the rain couldn't pop their bubble of happinnes. The people gave them odd looks for not having an umbrella, or raincoats, their clothes getting soaked, but they paid no mind, eyes trained on each other. 

 A fantasy in your mind started brewing.

What would it be if someone looked at you in that way? Like you were their ray of sunshine and when they were with you, a gloomy day couldn't turn your light off.

You imagined you were there, in your balcony, wearing a cute dress and your favorite shoes, with pretty makeup and your hair just the way you liked it. Counting down the seconds for him to arrive. The guy you loved and had a date with.

He would come, not caring about the threat of rain, and the knock on your door would send a wave of excitement through you, limbs buzzing with happiness, and you would open the door, and there he would be... Bi color hair wet and sticking to his forehead, hetorocromatic eyes gazing into your face as yours took in his damp, blue shirt that clung to his chest and the droplets glistening in his neck...

A heavy knock on your door ripped you from your daydream, and you cringed at how you pictured Todoroki. You were seriously starting to sound like a creep, more than a girl with a crush.

Sighing, you suffocated your cigarette and walked to the door, smoothing your hair down with your hands in case it was too frizzy from the humidity in the air.

The door swung open, and for a moment you though you were still dreaming, because right there, in the hallway, Todoroki was standing.

He was just as you imagined, but the only difference was that his shirt was white, and with the rain it was almost transparent. Words escaped you, and you just stood there, stunned into silence.

“Hi.” He stared, hands clenching by his side. “I would ask you to patrol with me today, because I enjoy your company, but since it's raining, they gave me the rest of the day off...” He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“Oh... I woul've liked that. I always end up wasting my day off, so it would've been a nice change of routine... It's a shame really... Maybe next time?” You proposed, and Todoroki relaxed, hands going limp at his sides.

“Yeah, I would like that.”

Both of you stayed there, just looking at each other with gentle smiles and shiny eyes.

It took you a moment of that comfortable silence to notice he was still outside, wet and probably cold.

“Oh, god... Come in, Todoroki. Please don't mind the mess.”  You took a step aside, and he got inside, brushing your shoulder together. “The city is getting cold and I don't want you to get sick.”  

You walked him to the couch and took a sit beside him.

“it's fine... My quirk keeps me warm.” As if to prove his point, he rose his body temperature and a wave of steam rose from him, the water that clung to his body evaporating.

“Oh man, I'm so jealous... When the city gets cold, my fingers turn to icicles.” You presented both of your hands to his eye level. The tips of them were redder than the rest.

Todoroki looked at them and almost on instinct he gently grabbed them, his left one, trapping them in between his chest and palm

Warm tingles went up your arm, and you looked dumbfounded. He was so casual about it, his thumb casually caressing your knuckles, his eyes never once leaving your hands.

“Is that better?” He asked in a whisper.

“Y-yeah... Thank you.”

“Don't ask anyone else to help you warm you hands...”  He asked, almost timidly, and the meaning behind his words had your heart doing flips on your ribcage.

He needed no answer.

When he glanced back up and noticed you smile, any concern he had dissipated like smoke in the air. He scooted closer to you, pressing his left side to your right, and the heat transferred to the rest of your body.

The city was indeed getting colder, but having a Todoroki willing to be your personal furnace might be just what you needed to fight off the bothersome cold.

[druidx]

Avoiding the Emperor (Pt2)

Context: I had a random little idea that spurred on from the first part of Avoiding the Emperor (read it here). I’d like to think that by the time the Oblivion Crisis has rolled around Martin has come to terms with his past with Sanguine, and can turn that part of himself on and off at will.  It was a real challenge trying to keep the Hero of Kvatch as gender neutral and with minimal identifying features as possible. (Also, this is a little self-indulgent. My paramour has been in a different country since the pandemic started, and it’s starting to bother me.) Warnings: 15/R, nightmare, seduction (always let me know if you think a warning is missing)

I dreamt of a garden. The most pristine garden I had ever seen, filled with so many plants and trees, it was enough to make an alchemist's paradise. The sky was a perfect duck-egg blue, the sun's warmth tempered by idle zephyrs. Love seats and arbours dotted the soft grasses in splendid Ayleid style, joined by a path of glimmering white stone that wound through the garden to terminate in a ruddy, glowing door. Strange metal bracers appeared on my arms, covered in daedric symbols. I looked around, confused. For all it's artful splendour, only one thing marred the garden - the scent of blood that hung in the air. It emanated from behind the door, a hot, sighing thing, pulsing like a lover's pant. I gripped the handle, and pulled. Ember-red glow met me. The wind washed out, filled with iron, blood and the bitter-sweetness of adrenaline...

I opened my eyes, nose to nose with Baurus, a command word dying on my lips, and a daedric blade to his throat. He was smiling.

"See, Sire?" he asked. "Didn't I tell you the book would be safe?"

"Baurus, what-?" I asked. I blinked awake fully now, leaning backwards to take in the crowded room behind the redguard. I twisted my head to see Martin to one side, pale, concern evident in his eyes.

"Please don't be upset," he said, reaching out a placating hand. "Baurus merely wanted to prove-"

"Prove what? How to get his throat slit?" I turned my attention back to the man in question. "Is the space between your ears taken up by chalk?" I demanded of him. "You fool! I could have killed you!"

"But you didn't," the guard raised an eyebrow, that cocky smirk on his face. "You knew it was me, didn't you?"

I searched his face, thinking back to the wind from my dream. He was right, and somehow that made my blood boil the more. Rather than admit it, I let out a wordless cry of disgust, slamming the conjured blade point-first into the tabletop. The Xarxes joined it, and I stalked out, leaving the iconic pair behind.

I wanted to vent my ire on a training dummy, but recalled too late, as I stepped out into the biting air, that such an item was not to be found on the Temple's plaza. The practice mat was not occupied, so I stalked over and drew my sword instead. The tempered green glass shone in the early morning light, as I lifted the blade into a practice position.

"He meant no offence by it, you know." I looked over to see Martin stood watching me, hands clutched loosely in front of him. "Quite the opposite, in fact. He holds your ability in high esteem."

"What does his esteem matter if I had taken his life?" I asked, looking away. I sliced viciously at the air in front of me, the green blade flickering. "That was about the stupidest stunt I've ever seen." My sword danced lethally in my grip. "He's a Blade, he should know better." 

"Indeed, he should have," Martin agreed as I came to rest. "But, come now. I see you have yet frustrations to work out, and I could use some practice." The Emperor walked over and grasped two katanas – the Blades' signature weapon. "Best we use these, though, eh?" he added with a smile, eyes flicking to the glass sword.

"Agreed," I said, stowing my enchanted blade. Martin threw me one of the blunted katanas and took up position in front of me. I spun the fine Akaviri blade in my hand, getting a feel for the weight of it. In truth, I disliked the weapon. It was too long for me really, though the balance was always perfect.

"Ready?" I asked. He nodded and I made a 'come at me' signal.

Martin raced across the small practice square, his blade held high. I raised mine as though to meet it, but pivoted at the last moment. I turned to strike at his back but was surprised to find him waiting for me. Our blades clashed, steel singing in the still morning air. I broke away and backed up.

"Very good, Sire. Better than I expected."

"I did have a life before I was a priest," he said, a teasing edge to his voice.

"I didn't know," I replied.

"Oh yes," he said, as we warily circled each other. "I was a devout of Sanguine."

"Huh. I never pegged you as a lush or deviant," I said, and rushed forward. He pulled the same trick as I had, and I had to curb my natural impulse to fire lighting with my free hand. This exercise was to release tension, not to kill. Instead, I badly blocked his swing. His blade landed flat on my shoulder.

His eyes coquettish, Martin said, "There are many pleasures one might indulge for that daedric Lord. The lust of battle, for one." Metal grated as he flicked his blade up, caressing my neck. "The clash and rasp of weapons falling together, sweat clinging to the combatant's bodies, the defiant roar of victory." He licked his lips, flushed with exertion, and I followed the action with my eyes. "When one lives for Sanguine, one finds many ways of seduction." I told myself that the goosebumps that raised were from the sound of metal, that the fuzz in my stomach was a natural reaction to having a blade at my throat. I knocked his blade away and stepped back, coming en guarde, as they say in High Rock.

"And are you trying to seduce me, Sire?" I asked, ignoring the tremor in my voice.

"That depends," he said, teasing the tip of my blade with his own. "Is it working?"

I chose not to answer, and instead pressed an attack. Our blades danced until we met in the middle of the mat.

"Should I take that as a 'yes'?" he asked, as our blades locked, our faces so close I could feel his breath. His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "Or should I try harder?" He shifted his hips, pressing himself briefly into my crotch. My mind howled in want, and fuzzed-out like a blizzard that this was my Emperor who was flirting with me. Moisture left my mouth as I expelled a shocked sigh.

"Sweet Dibella. Jauffre would have me murdered. You know that right?" I managed after a moment.

Martin laughed. "What the old man doesn't know can't hurt him," he smirked. He pulled back this time, leaving me stunned in the middle of the field. This was a side to my Martin I had never seen before. I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. No, that's incorrect... My primal brain liked it. My primal brain liked it a lot.

Martin was pacing the edge of the practice square, watching me like a mountain lion, heavy-lidded and stalking. I quickly shook off his distraction, raising my sword, and matching his pacing. 

"I suppose that's true," I said, my steps as measured as my words, bringing me closer to him. He brought his blade up to block me, the weapons singing for a moment, then locked. "After all," I said softly, "Jauffre wasn't the one who kissed me while I was sleeping last night."

He arched an eyebrow, moistening his lips. My eyes darted down, distracted, and he took advantage. The pressure of his sword withdrew, off-balancing me, and he grasped my wrist, pulling me around, his blade resting at my throat.

"Jauffre," he whispered into my ear, making the small hairs tingle with his breath, "had no need to kiss you last night. What say you to that?"

I breathed hard, trying to ignore his warmth at my back, the way he made my blood sing. I swallowed. "That your seduction skills are still on point, Sire."

A little cough came from the side of the practice area.

"Ah Martin, there you are. And with our Hero, no less. Good. I need to speak with both of you." I looked over to see Grand Master Jauffre watching us with raised eyebrows, and an amused smile.

Martin released me then, and strode over to replace his sword in the rack. 

"I trust everyone is feeling a little calmer after this morning's outburst?" Jauffre enquired, watching us with mounting interest.

"Yes," Martin said, replacing his weapon. "I think a little exercise to get the blood pumping was exactly what our dear Hero needed." He flicked a sultry little smirk over his shoulder at me, as I moved to replace the training blade. "Your sword-play could use work, however. Let me know if you're interested in another lesson." I felt a rush of blood to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold, or exertion.

"I'll, ah, bear it in mind, Sire."

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

d0nt r-eblog 

"Where are you from?" 

She doesn't answer. She must focus; seven-thousand steps is many for a child to climb alone. She's thirteen, sweating beneath her furs, and her lungs burn in the icy air. 

The boy walks just behind her, his long black hair flecked with snow, his eyes wide and blue. Her silence does not discourage him. "My name's ****," he informs her. "I'm a Jarl's son. Are you a Jarl's son?" 

She stays quiet, staring down at her feet. Step up. Step up. Step up. Her legs are aching, and the wind blows harsh on this side at the mountain. 

Still he is not discouraged. "Are you from Skyrim?" he asks.

"Morrowind," she replies. 

"So am I! I come from Ebonheart. You?" 

"Mournhold. Deshaan." 

He says something, but they've rounded behind a granite boulder and the howling wind rips his voice away. It's very cold, up high on the mountain here, but the chill doesn't trrouble her-- she finds this odd, until she looks down at her hands and sees them pale and soft, and she recalls that yes, of course, her Nord blood steels her against the snow.

"Is this your first time in Skyrim?" asks ****. 

"Aye." 

"Tinvaak hi nu dovahzul?" 

She stays quiet at that. One foot in front of the other. Her whole body aches, and she must breathe very quickly to keep up with the rapid beating of her heart. Beneath her fur cloak she sweats.

"No?" The boy laughs. "You really are from Morrowind, eh? Don't worry, my pa taught me lots. I can look after you, just till you learn the ropes.”

"Shut up," she rasps at him. She doesn't have much breath left for speaking-- she wonders where he gets his energy-- but she doesn't like the idea of being looked after.

"How old are you?" he asks. 

"Thirteen summers."

"Me too! Are you going to become a Tongue?" 

She raises her head to stare at him. She wants to bite back, why else would I climb this stupid mountain?, but she doesn't have enough breath left to ask it and her body is so tired that she couldn't manage it anyway. She ducks her head back down and focuses on her feet: up one step, up another step. Step after stony step beneath her guar-leather boots. The backs of her legs burn, as if she's been horse-riding for too long. 

The path only grows steeper, steeper yet, until each step before her seems a mountain unto itself. This is about momentum; if she stops moving she fears she'll freeze to death in place. This is also about domination. She stares fiercely down at the slick trodden clay beneath her feet, contemplating how something as mighty as a mountain can be stepped on, if only she climbs it, if only she climbs it; she feels a sick, perverse pride, and then a profound shame at her pride. In the momentary pauses between one step and another her legs shake violently. Now all she hears is the howling of wind.

"Wait!" she hears a pitiful cry. 

Anger flares in her, but it's enough to break her precious momentum; she comes to a stop on the step. Slowly, she turns her head to glance over her shoulder.

The boy is a few steps behind her, hunched over, breathing hard. 

"Wait a moment," he pleads, shouting over the chill wind. "Wait." 

She looks back up the mountain; the stairs stretch into a pale white oblivion, a flurry of snow. Her legs threaten to give out beneath her. None of the desperate breaths she sucks in are enough for her. 

She could leave him. This is her endeavour alone.

But in her pocket she finds a bundle of nix-hound jerky, lovingly prepared for her by someone back home, a million miles away and in a different world to this frigid wasteland. So she turns and she walks the few steps back down to stand beside him. This is a dream, after all, and not even her dream; she can afford to be merciful. 

"Thank you," whimpers **** when she presses the food into his hands. "Thank you. Is this nix-hound jerky? Just like at home... I owe you a debt. We should be friends. Won't you tell me your name?" 

And she gives him a timid smile. "My name is--

[pain-in-the-asguardian]

Pillar

On Ao3 here.

Clouds gathered overhead as the two of them trudged down the street.  There was something heavy and strange in the air.  Not the sense of a storm, exactly.  He couldn't put his finger on it, and he was too damn tired to even try.  The two of them had been through more than enough in the past 24 hours. “Some weird shit's goin' down, yanno?”

Rude grunted a reply, eyes hidden behind his shades even in the darkness, though Reno knew the things had night vision.  “Even if it is, not our problem right now.  You heard the boss.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Two entire days of R&R, just for destroying part of the city.  Fan-fuckin'-tastic.”

“You sure you can make it?  We can catch a ride.”

“I can make it a damn block, yo.”  Rude had insisted that Reno stay at his place, at least for tonight.  It was walking distance to HQ, and his partner had made it clear he wasn't about to let him out of his sight until he was certain Reno wasn't going to fall apart.  In truth, Reno felt the same.  Rude didn't show his pain, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.  He wasn't about to leave his partner alone tonight. Not after what he'd been forced to do.  Because of Reno...

The effects of the healing materia were wearing off, and he was feeling it.  The magic had worked well enough to allow them to complete their mission of escorting the new President to his castle, and taking out an AVALANCHE copter or two, but it could only last so long.  Reno could sense the burns resurfacing, myriad little cuts and bruises making themselves known once more.  They wouldn't be as bad, thank Ramuh, but the materia wasn't a true cure-all.  Only rest and time could do that.

They continued in silence, both lost in their own thoughts of the tragedy they'd unleashed.  The heavy clouds overhead opened just as they reached the apartment complex, rain beginning with a vengeance as they ducked into the lobby.  Perks of a Turk salary meant actually getting to live topside and in a fair amount of comfort.  Rude unlocked the door of his unit, and the two of them stumbled in, only slightly damp.  Reno blinked in the sudden brightness as his partner flipped on the lights.  He'd been here on a few occasions throughout the years, but just for an evening of private drinking and the occasional action flick marathon.

“I need a fuckin' drink. Or twelve.”

The apartment was a decent size, with an open kitchen and living room.  A hallway lead off one side into the bedroom and bathroom.  Rude strode to the hall cabinet, pulling out a towel and tossing it over.  “Here. Shower first, while you're still on your feet.  Then we can drink.  Otherwise you'll drown yourself.”  He removed his sunglasses, wiping them down.  Reno glared at him, and he returned the look evenly.  “I'll find something for you to wear.  Oh, and shampoo in the cabinet.  Figured I should keep some around.”

“Yeah... Thanks.”  He rolled his eyes, but didn't have the energy to really protest.  Clutching the towel, he trudged toward the bathroom, retrieving the shampoo as he did.  Once inside, he peeled off the burnt and blackened suit.  The material was meant to offer some protection from all elements, up to a point.  Guess the explosions were a bit too much.  He huffed a humorless laugh as the once-fine material dropped to the floor in an unceremonious pile.  No salvaging that.  His wounds were visible again, purple bruises blooming across his cheeks and chest.  Well, he'd worry about it after he'd washed off.

Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water fall over him.  It stung, and he winced.  Hot, too damn hot.  Steam rose around him like smoke, and he could imagine himself once again surrounded by fire. It was hard to breathe...  Shit.  Gritting his teeth, he turned down the temperature.  The cold water was just as biting, but it jolted him out of his reverie, and at least it didn't carry memories of flames.  He braced a hand against the wall, droplets falling from the crimson strands that fell limply over his eyes.

It was done.  It was past, and there was nothing he... they... could do about it.  Goddamn it.  An entire sector... All of those people... And for what? What the hell had Shinra been thinking?  And he hadn't even seen it happen. The true extent... because he'd fucking fainted. Reno shuddered.  He didn't know if he was crying, or if it was just the steady, cold rain.  It's over, it's done. Thinking about it ain't gonna help.  Don't. You're a Turk.  You don't get the luxury of a conscience.  He sucked in a breath, a tremor running through his slender, bruised frame.  C'mon asshole, clean yourself up.

The body wash smelled like Rude.  Something citrusy, refined.  It felt strange, and just a little bit pleasing, to surround himself with that scent.  Reno focused on it, allowing himself a few moments to bask in the idea of it before remembering that he wasn't the only one in need of a shower. He gave his hair a cursory wash, much quicker than the time he'd normally spend.  Tea tree.  Rude knew him well. Rinsing off, he stepped out, drying his hair as best he could with the towel before wrapping it around his waist.  Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he sighed.  He looked like shit.  Tired, slightly cleaner shit.  The burn on his cheek had returned, as had the one across his chest.  He didn't want to know what his back looked like.

“Alright, partner.  Your turn, yo,” he called as he stepped out.  After a moment, Rude appeared in the doorway, a rather large first aid kit in his hands.  

“First this.”  He held it up.

“Tch. I'm fine.”  He knew it wasn't convincing, given that his full, artful collection of wounds was now on full display.  Rude gave a grunt of disapproval, nodding toward the bed.  Reno sank down with a soft curse, glaring at the wall.  The injuries might not be as bad as they had been, but they still needed care.  He'd been allowed to leave the sick bay only because Rude had insisted he'd look after him.  He hissed as the other began applying salve to the resurfacing burns.  

“Stuff stinks, yo.  I just washed all that shit off!”  He got a noncommittal sound in return.  Rude was trying to be gentle, but the man didn't have the softest fingers.  What wasn't burned was bruised, and what wasn't bruised still felt tender.  Still, he'd rather have his partner's hands on him then the damn Shinra medics.  He trusted Rude, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the sensation of those fingers against his flesh.  Not that he would... or could... admit it.  He felt Rude press something to his back.  Gauze. Yeah, he figured that sore spot was probably bad... But he wasn't as bandaged up as he'd expected.  That was something, at least.   A sputter of protest escaped him when Rude suddenly gripped his chin, albeit loosely, turning his head so he could apply some salve to his right cheek.  Pale blue eyes met warm brown, and Reno's breath hitched in his throat.

“Quit squirming.”

“Mmmph,” he responded, his stomach making some odd sort of maneuver at being caught in that gaze, body stilling as new gauze was set over the injury.

“That's the worst of them.  Not great, but not too horrible.  Definitely better than before.”  Rude set the kit aside and rose to his feet. He nodded his head toward a black shirt by Reno's side.  “You can wear that.  Should be loose enough to be comfortable.  Booze in the kitchen.”

“Damn. Star treatment here, yo.  Bandages and booze.  You're the best, partner.”

There was a flash of something that might have been a grin before Rude turned toward the bathrrom and closed the door.  Reno picked up the indicated shirt, slipping it over his head.  It was a pajama top, and so it was meant to be loose even on Rude.  That meant Reno was nearly swimming in it.  The shoulders were too wide, hanging off his own awkwardly and lengthening the already overlong sleeves.  It hung low enough to easily cover him once he slipped out of the bath towel.

“Damn Behemoth,” he mumbled with a grin, rolling the sleeves up as best he could.  The fabric was silky enough that it didn't hurt against his skin, and … it too held Rude's scent.  How fuckin' domestic. He glanced toward the door, the sound of falling water emanating from beyond.  Outside of that, the room was silent.  Wthout Rude's solid, immediate presence to occupy them, his thoughts slowly started to drift again, back toward the ruins of Sector 7.  The soft smile faded from his lips.

He'd screwed up, overestimated those damn rebels.  He'd gotten his ass handed to him – him, the Turks' 2nd in Command, and because he hadn't been strong enough... And he'd almost lost his partner.  His stomach churned.  He'd almost lost Rude, and then he'd forced him to... To do the unthinkable.  His fingers curled into the supple material of the shirt's hem.  Rude... How could he act so casual about it?  Even for him, it was...  Too much, too damn much.  He hadn't escaped unscathed either, and Reno knew it. They'd both taken their share of hits today.  Dammit, the least he could do was look after his partner the same way he'd been looked after.  He'd love nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, but he'd survive another few minutes of sobriety. He could do that fucking much.

His mind kept trying to turn itself toward Sector , and he forced himself to look around the room, to find something – anything else to focus on. It was a simply furnished room, all clean lines and uncluttered space.  A dark gray comforter with plum sheets. Sleek black drawers and nightstand, everything in its proper place.  The only things that didn't match, clashing noticeably with the rest of the room, were an odd collection of items from Wall Market that they'd picked up over the years.  Materia pop figures and colorful baubles from the various vending machines, and even a garishly colored fake flower lei from Costa del Sol.  Just a little quirky.  Like the man himself, once you got to know him.  Reno found himself grinning again despite his mood.

The bathroom door opened, startling him out of his memories.  He raised his head, and Rude quirked a brow in question, clad in nothing but a towel.

“What? Thought you were gonna get out of treatment?  Nuh-uh.  Not gonna get shitfaced before I see you bandaged up too, yanno?” Rude's injuries were nowhere near as bad as his own, but just as he'd suspected, the other hadn't gotten away unharmed.  His toned frame bore its fair share of scrapes and bruises, though he hadn't burned as much.

“Hmph. Fair enough.”  Rude dropped to the mattress next to Reno, causing it to dip precariously.  

“Goddamn tank, yo.”  That got an affirmative, and slightly smug-sounding noise.  The most severe injury was a cut along his left arm, though it was nearly hidden by the lines of the tattoo that wound its way around the limb.  Reno carefully smoothed the salve over it, followed by some gauze.  “Dunno how you ya do it... ya got hide like a dragon, yanno?”

“You got speed.  I got defense.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Rub it in, yo.”  He finished up by taping some gauze over the few burns Rude managed to get, mostly along his back.  After carefully pressing the tape along the curve of his muscle, he sat back.  “There.  Now we get to be uncomfortable and itchy all damn night. And now... We need liquor.  Lots of it.”

“Agreed.”

He padded out to the main room.  Rude followed a few moments later, having abandoned the towel for the matching bottoms to the shirt Reno wore.  There was an impressive collection of alcohol already set on the table. That must have been what Rude was up to while he'd been in the shower “Truly, you're prepared for any situation.”  He smirked as Rude poured them shots.  

“Be a shit Turk if I wasn't.”

For a time, silence hung between them.  What was there to say?  Both of them were thinking the same thoughts, but neither could put them into words.  So they took shots.  A bit of everything from a fancy Costa del Sol rum to some cheap flavored vodka.  Even on the best days, he was a lightweight, and it only took a few burning gulps for the heat to start spreading through his veins.  His thoughts grew fuzzy, but no less dark.  Across from him, Rude was as stoic as always, though his cheeks had a darker flush to them. Eventually they took to just passing bottles between them. How did he do it?  How could he be so goddamn calm.  Like it was just any other day, like these injuries were from any other fucking job? He turned to glare out the kitchen window.

The lights of Sector 8 shone beyond, the rain throwing distorted reflections on every surface.  Nothing looked amiss from this side. No smoke, no fires.  A car would slosh by every so often, and the occasional unlucky traveler braving the elements.  It was hard to imagine that the neighboring plate was simply... gone.  No, not gone.  In smoldering pieces on the ground below, scattered across the ruins of the slums.  Because of Shinra.  Because of them. He snarled wordlessly.

“Reno.” He jumped at the sound, head whipping around so fast he made himself dizzy.

“What?” The other held up a bottle, head inclining in silent question.

“How can ya be ssso goddamn calm?”  He clenched his fists, short nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.  “I... We... Th' whole fucking plate.  Jusst like that.  Like it was just a nest of wererats, and not a whole fuckin' sssection of th' city!”

Rude's eyes narrowed, and he made a show of staring into the bottle, though a sharp hiss of breath escaped him.  “Like Tseng said,” he slurred after a beat.  “We hadn't done it, someone else would've.” He swirled alcohol around a moment before taking an impressive swig. “We did it our way.  Did what we could.”  He winced at the burn.

“I know that, yo!”  Reno rose, slamming his hand on the table and rattling the bottles.  “Ya think I don' fuckin' know that?”  His breathing came in ragged gasps, bruised ribs aching.  “Doesn't make it better!  This ain't what the Turks do!  We ain't th' best people in th' world but somethin' like that...”  His face was hot, and he could feel the teltale pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes. Dammit.  When did he get to be this weak?  “What about Zirconiade?  Everyone... They're GONE because of what they did! Midgar.. the world.. It's ssstill here, Shinra's still here makin' shit decisions because they stopped that thing!  Because of the Turks!”  He ran a hand through his still-damp hair.  “They saved everyone.  And what did we do?  We...”  He shook his head.  “No... Fuck that.”

“We didn't even do shit.  You... Because I failed, you had to...” He tried to fight the tears, but it was useless.  He was the second in command.  He'd started the damn thing, he should have finished it.  Instead, he'd allowed himself to get beaten into unconsciousness, and left his partner to do the deed alone.  And that after nearly getting himself blown to hell.  Reno took a step back, swaying uncertainly.  The world was spinning, and he lost his balance.  And suddenly Rude was there, supporting him, strong hands gripping his shoulders.  When did he even..

“Reno. Enough.”

He managed to stand on his own two feet, though still with the other bracing him, as he waited for the room to stop spinning, for his ears to stop ringing.

“Yeah...” His voice sounded strange to him.  Shaky. “Yeah.” Gripping Rude's arm, Reno turned to face him. Or rather, his shoulder.  Goddamn skyscraper of a human.  He sighed, resting his forehead against one tattooed pec.  “'M'sorry...  It was my fault, yanno....”

“Reno.” His name rumbled in Rude's chest like distant thunder.  “It's not. You were down there longer.  And held your own.  Pretty damn impressive from where I was sitting.”

He shook his head.  He hadn't done a good enough job on his own to keep them from taking down the helicopter.  Shit, some superior he'd been.

“Thought... Thought I'd lost ya there for a hot second, yanno?  On top of every other shit thing... I thought...”

“Gonna take more than that.  Gotta be flashier, too.”

“Flashier than a fuckin' flaming helicopter crash?”  He felt Rude shrug in response, and actually gave a small, huffed laugh at that. This close, he could feel Rude's heartbeat.  A strong, steady pulse. His own was fluttering like a caged bird in comparison.  Reno closed his eyes, trying to focus on that rhythm. The only thing keeping him standing, keeping him grounded, was Rude.  That's always how it went.  Ever since they'd first teamed up, so many years ago.  The man was like a pillar, and the irony of that thought didn't escape him.  He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry at it. Rude rumbled something at him, and he blinked, raising his head.  

“Huh?”

“Said I'm still here.”  He squeezed Reno's uninjured shoulder.  “And I'm gonna keep bein' here.  And.  You need to get some rest. Now.  It's late.  C”mon, you can have the bed, I'm feeling generous.”

“Wow, lucky me.  Your generosity is astoundin', yanno?”  He kept his tone light, even though he wanted to protest.  It was futile, and his partner was right.  This day had been a week.  But if Rude left him, and if he closed his eyes... what would he see?  What would he be left with?The thought scared him.  He felt Rude start to move... and suddenly he didn't want that.  Not yet...    

“Wait...” Shit, when did his voice sound that small?  “Just... stay like this a little longer, will ya?” I don't want you to leave. I don't wanna be alone.  Damn it, he was being stupid.  He was drunk, his body hot and sore.  He'd been all those things before, but not like this.  Not combined with the storm of anger, fear, and sorrow in his mind.  And Rude... God he was so close.  Shit, they'd never been like this before.  Close.  Just them.  

Stop thinking stupid shit.  You've fucked up enough.  

Reno raised his head, pale beryl meeting deep chocolate as Rude stared down at him, unreadable.

I almost lost him...  

And then, before he could think, he raised up on his toes, crushing his lips against Rude's.  For a few fluttering heartbeats, it was amazing.  And then his whisky-soaked brain caught up with his body and he jerked back, panic buzzing through his entire frame.  Rude blinked down at him, dark eyes wide and lips parted just so.

“I'm... sorry, yo.  I didn't...”  Of all the fucking times.  You're fucking drunk and the world is falling down around you, and you're gonna destroy the one goddamn pillar you got left. Some goddamn professional you are.

Shit, shit shit shit shit-

And then Rude's lips were on his again and all of his frenzied worries collapsed in on themselves.  He closed his eyes, taught muscles relaxing, melting slowly into the other's arms.  When Rude finally pulled away, he left Reno blinking, thoughts swirling fuzzily and bumping into one another.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times without any sound, let alone words.  “Whhh?” he finally managed.

“Wanted to do that for a while now, actually.”

“Y-you did?  But I thought...”  He struggled to nudge his thoughts back in line.  It was like herding cats.  “Thought ya... Shit, I thought ya didn't swing this way...”

“Swing both ways.”

“Then why... Why the fuck didn't ya say something, asshole?”

“Didn't think I was your type.  Why didn't you?  Idiot.”

“I was tryin'a respect you!” “By eavesdropping on my dates?”

“That was one time, yo!”

“So you say.”  But he was grinning.

Reno blinked at him, mouth agape, trying to take it all in.  He gave up, letting his head droop forward to rest against Rude's chest once more.  “Fuckin' bastard,” he muttered into the warmth of his skin.

Rude's frame jerked with what might have been a laugh, if he was prone to such a thing.  “You wanna argue about it more, save it for morning.”  He made to usher Reno toward the bedroom again.  “Now, sleep.  You're practically delirious.  Don't want that.”

This time, Reno allowed himself to be led, dropping to the mattress with a groan.  As soon as he stopped being vertical, his body was more than happy to remind him just how exhausted he was.  Oh, he was going to be in pain in the morning. And have one hell of a hangover.  And... the darkness, the horror, was still there, on the edge of his mind. It would always be there, a part of him now, and he knew it.  But for a little while, at least, he had something to keep it at bay.  Even if whatever happened was just for tonight.

“Hey. You still plannin' on sleepin' on the couch, yo?”

“Hmmm.” Rude made a show of pretending to consider.  “Only if you don't move your scrawny drunk ass over.”

He let Rude slide past him with a sigh of exasperation that was only a little forced.  Once the taller man had settled, Reno lay down again. He felt Rude's back against his, a firm unwavering presence.  He took a deep breath, letting his eyes drift closed.  For now, in this moment, he could breathe again.  Their world had changed. Irreparably.  Soon, they'd have to pick themselves up and step back through the door of Shinra HQ.  They'd have to face the consequences of their actions, and so would all of Shinra.  

They couldn't change the past, they couldn't stop the destruction of Sector 7.  That blood was always going to be on their hands.  He could only hope that the new President would never ask anything so terrible of the Turks again.  Rufus had done his share of scheming, but he seemed to have a cooler head on his shoulders than the old man.  And they still had each other.  He'd screwed up tonight, yet his partner was still here.  Rude was his pillar, the one who kept him from collapsing completely.  He only hoped he could be the same for Rude.

[iphoenixrising]

idk I can’t stop thinking abt if Tim lost some of his memories (new baddie attack?) so he forgets that he was Robin and most of his vigilante skills, and his boyfriends get super protective and he’s just like 😊 wow idk how I managed to be with them but man I sure did something right and Tim is shy and blushing maybe and his bfs maybe go a lil overboard trying to court him all over again and when he gets his memories back he’s a lil embarrassed but still happy he’s with them

Oh my! It would be so, so sweet wouldn’t it, babe?

Because he feels awful about not remembering these sweet little kisses Jay lays on the back of his neck or how good Dick’s hugs feel.

And they tell him he was...injured or something, a head trauma, that it was really only temporary, and they were here for him the whole way.

Finding out he had not one unbelievably hot boyfriend was enough to make him want to high-five himself into oblivion, but to have two? 

So. Much. Winning.

It’s nice they show him around the penthouse, holding his hands to tug him along behind them, bracketing him on the couch when they show him some of his favorite Netflix shows, side-eye him when he eats the awesome panini with half-mast eyes.

“You must be an amazing cook, Jay,” he collects plates and tries to look confident when he loads the dishwasher.

He blushes when he straightens and they’re looking over the couch at him, and their eyes are so so soft.

(Then...he realizes they were actually looking at his ass when he was bent over, and his face is probably burning.)

They’re sweet when they admit there’s only one bedroom, and absolutely offered to snuggle on the couch. Jay makes it so easy when he turns Tim’s chin with a finger and admits–

“Rather cuddle up ta you, Sweets. Wrap ‘round ya in that big bed.”

“Just to hold you,” Dick emphasizes, absently rubbing his ankles, somehow managing to get his legs up to pet his calves under his jeans. “We’re just...a little needy after you got hurt, and it’s just kind of hard.”

And there. Another of Jay’s little kisses to the back of his neck again when he’s dressed in pajamas that smell like them and coffee, bracketed between them in the aforementioned big bed, warm and feeling oddly safe. He hides his face in Dick’s side so they won’t know he’s stifling a noise at the feeling.

(It was mortifying to hurriedly take the pjs from Dick’s hands and close the bedroom door on them.

“I! I didn’t forget how to do this,” while his face is literally on fire.)

They dance around him for the next few days, taking him to Dick’s apartment and back to the Manor. Alfred the butler is someone that seems like he’d be the best grandfather in the world. 

His youngest brother is mullish, but his humor comes out in the best ways that has Tim laughing out loud, earning a surprised look from the kid. 

“What? You’re my little brother. I’m allowed to think you’re cute, right?”

It has Damian sputtering a little before the smallest half-grin before he waves Tim off with a, “tt. I prefer you this way, Drake. As long as you keep Todd and Grayson from whining, I will make you coffee.”

“Coffee? No thank, more a tea person I think.”

But the moment he realizes that Gotham’s favorite vigilantes are actually his family is the shock of his life.

When he catches them coming through the window at almost dawn, wearing the uniforms, beat to absolute shit, some inner instinct kicks in and he catches Jay before he falls through the window.

(And how he didn’t know Dick was Nightwing now that he’s seen him limping around their penthouse in the suit, gently tending Jay’s –the Red Fricking Hood’s– injuries with supplies Tim hands him.)

Dick’s eyes are so blue with the whiteouts down and the domino around his eyes, and the story comes out when Jay is conscious again, how he...he used to be –

(Robin)

– a vigilante. How he still is and that’s how he got hurt in the first place.

He puts them to bed and takes time to inhale the hard truths hitting him in the face, and opens the closet, searches around until he find the hard-to-see latch and opens the compartment to the suits hanging inside.

While Dick and Jay are passed out, snoring softly, bandaged and bruised, scarred skin on display because they couldn’t manage more than boxers before sleep hit them hard. 

And Tim takes his time in the bathroom after finding the right body suit and sliding it on, looks at pictures of Red Robin from the San Francisco newspaper and looks for the tunic that goes over it.

Something buried under the fog is the instinct to put it on without fumbling, locking things down he doesn’t understand, and setting a thing in the harness that seems to be utterly important. 

One compartment of the utility belt has a mask, and it’s like second nature to fit it on, look at himself in the mirror.

And think about how it feels wrong somehow.

More digging in the back of the closet is a box, one covered in dust and old memories he doesn’t have. 

But he still slides on the green tights and red suit, realizes the R on his chest comes off in his hand when it’s tapped in the right place.

It feels almost better, and maybe he gets a weakening vision of being up in the air, Gotham night all around him. His legs are kicking to get momentum and he’s wearing the same kind of green tights and black boots. His shoulder pulling with something in the palm of his hand connected to a line above, and it feels like flying for the brief snatch of memory he gets.

And if this is his life, if he’s a...he’s a vigilante fighting bad guys, if the man looking back at him with the mask and the laced-up tunic, the utility belt full of contingencies is who he was–

then he’s going to fight like hell to come back.