#the “mutually destructive relationship with anyone who ever gets even a little close to him which 10000% includes his own people” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uwurakax · 3 years

Text

another day ♡

pairing: oikawa x f!reader ♡

genre: angsty // exes // mutual pining ♡

summary: after the constant fighting and bubbling insecurities, you and oikawa both decide that breaking up is probably for the best. too bad that it wasn’t what either if you had wanted ♡

♡ read part one ‘save your tears’ here ♡

word count: 2k ♡

author’s note: super tired, i should be packing but im not lol, 4am gang ayyy. as always not proofread because i cannot stomach the idea of rereading what i wrote. this was what originally ‘save your tears’ was going to be, but part one got too long so haha. spoils of part one, so if you haven’t read it go ahead, or don’t lolol it could be read alone ig hurr hurr ♡

♡ (inspired by save your tears - the weeknd/ariana grande) ♡

At one point in time, you would’ve enjoyed an atmosphere like this; the blaring lights, pounding music, and even the heat radiating off warm bodies in a cramped space. It was much more enjoyable when you had the familiar, comforting presence of him.

Yes him: Oikawa Tōru. Also known as the the guy who broke your heart less than two months ago. You hadn’t seen him since the week after, finally being able to pick up everything and go. It was scary how silent it was between you two. The unit the both of you had made a home, your first home with him, just a little more barren. Just a little more bare.

Just a little more empty.

Once homely rooms were now plain. To anyone else, it could be called minimalistic or modern. Sleek if you were to exaggerate it. To the both of you however, it was just stone cold. A lifeless corpse. One poor imitation of what it once was.

And seeing it like this was almost enough to have your heart break for a second time. It was a physical representation of your relationship. The feelings of warmth, comfort, admiration, any and every word any literary body could ever akin to love was once found here. It was sad to see it gone, almost like it was never there. However if you looked past the surface you’d see all the small details of things that once occupied the room. The once full drawers now easily fitting clothes with plenty of room to spare. A countertop with products only to one half of the sink. The minuscule dust imprints left behind on the shelves that once housed your books.

The lingering smell of your perfume that was once so prominent.

You couldn’t tell, but Oikawa could. In the week you were gone, it slowly started to fade. The first night Oikawa was drowning in it. It clung to, what once was, your pillow and on the blanket. Choking and suffocating him with the sweet smell. He couldn’t bear to see the bed without you in it, and hated the God awful smell. Opening the window and facing away, he had a dreamless sleep that night.

And as the week passed, so did the scent of you.

He couldn’t explain why, but the moment he opened the door, his body felt at ease. His eyes blessed, even if you had those dark circles and slightly red eyes with unkempt hair. It was as if it was instinct to feel relief at being near you.

It was the longest few hours of Oikawa’s life that day, and somehow it was still just too short. Helping you gather your things, putting them into boxes and loading them into a tiny hired truck until eventually there was nothing left.

You were gone from the apartment, and now Oikawa’s life.

It was awkward the second time, saying goodbye. The finality of it all dawning on the both of you. You at least had this excuse to see each other once more. After this, there was nothing. No more reasons to come back, to call, message or even see each other again.

This was officially the last time you’d ever get to see Oikawa Tōru.

You’d both stood there for a few moments, only the wind against leaves and the occasional car offering any sort of background noise. Neither of you wanting or willing for this moment to end. Despite it all, it wasn’t hard to see that you both yearned for each other. Just how cruel it was that you couldn’t see it.

Oikawa kept your pillow close that night. The smell of you was so faint, he was sure that it wouldn’t be too long before it completely faded. As he held the plush item near his chest he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he could’ve had with you if he wasn’t so prideful? All the fantasies and white picket fences surged in his mind, and so he finally drifted off to sleep, thinking of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Here”

You turned to see your best friend handing you a glass of, well you weren’t sure exactly but anything to dull your senses at this point was okay in your book. Yes, almost two months since your breakup and you were still so torn. It was what he wanted right? Your lives are better this way. You’re sure his is. He wouldn’t have to hear you “nag” as he so put it, and you didn’t have to feel the exhaustion resulting because of it.

It was better this way. You knew it. Oikawa knew it. Your friends and family knew it. Heck even the old ladies down the damn street knew it.

So why did it feel so shitty.

You downed the drink quickly, not wanting to go through the spiral of emotions you were sure you were going to experience. You’d deal with the pain and hangover tomorrow like the adult you were. For now you just wanted to dance till your feet hurt, and then drink until they stopped hurting. A quick descent into self destruction that you’re sure you’d regret.

Or maybe you wouldn’t.

The moment you turned your head to get back to the dance floor you locked eyed with him.

For a moment you stopped breathing. The music faded out quickly and the patrons of the club disappeared. Suddenly it was just you and him.

He looked good this time around, nothing like the last time you saw him. His perfectly fluffed and styled hair that was just so effortlessly Oikawa had become messy bed head. His bright chocolate eyes that twinkled just a little with mischief when he smirked had become sunken. His whole demeanour had completely drooped into a depressive state. It hurt to see.

He wasn’t like that now. He looked like how he had been before. No longer were the remnants of a heartbroken man. Oikawa Tōru had gone back to his charming self once again.

A cute girl with silky, long black hair approached him and just as quick as they went, everything came flooding back; the music, people and you found yourself being able to breathe again.

She touched his arm and laughed. The look in her eyes filled with the glimmer coyness. Her body language oozed with flirty persona. It was all too familial.

You should’ve guessed that he’d date again. It wasn’t like he couldn’t. The moment you both severed the relationship he had every right to do what he wanted. You did too. Sure you were seeing someone, but it wasn’t like that.

All too, touchy-feely.

It hurt to see, you weren’t going to lie. Seeing the way he touched her, held her, danced with her. For a good portion of the night you saw it. Seeing him be with her, the way he used to with you. No longer being the main character in his story; you were in the audience, watching.

You didn’t want to stay until the ending.

Without a word, you briskly brushed passed sweaty bodies, being bumped a few times before you finally made it to the door and opened it.

You walked a couple paces to the middle of the footpath, deeply inhaling the fresh air. It wasn’t suffocating anymore. You fumbled with your purse, reaching inside to pull out your phone. With the glow of neon lights emanating behind you, you saw a stray tear on the blackness of your screen.

Fuck, when did that happen?

You wiped it with the palm of your hand, and went to unlock your phone. As you prepared to send a text you heard the call of your voice.

“Tōr-Oikawa?”

He mentally winced at this, the formal tone of using his surname struck something inside. He didn’t like it, not at all. It wasn’t right, it felt strange.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here? You followed me”

“Right... I guess I just wanted to see how you were, that’s all” he looked away, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You softened at this. It just took you back to why you fell for him in the first place. The little things like this, that made you feel cared for and loved. Perhaps for a few minutes you could be delusional and pretend that Oikawa still cared for you.

“I’m fine, what about you? How is everything going?” Yikes. You cringed at how awkward you were being. You supposed that that’s how it was, not exactly friends and not complete strangers either.

“Yeah fine too...” he trailed off, and just like that you were brought back to that time before you left. Before the official goodbye. Not ready to end things just yet, but neither knowing what more to say.

Just for a little while, let me remember every trace, curve and detail.

You didn’t know what came over you, but soon enough you found yourself drawing closer to Oikawa. He looked at you with half lidded eyes, not daring to move a step, almost afraid if he did it would ruin this moment with you. Yes, it was selfish but...

You lifted your hand to cup his cheek, just like a memory from before. Using the pad of your thumb, you gently brushed over the soft skin. Ever so delicately, you traced down his jaw. The intimacy of your movements crossed a boundary between you. You knew it and he did too. You’d let yourselves be greedy though.

Oikawa raised his own hands to touch your face, perfectly ingraining it into his mind and body. His fingers slowly going over your features. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget any part of you.

It wasn’t long until you both wanted to overstep more.

The longing between you too great to try and stop. Eventually you both moved closer, faces and soul alike reaching for the other. Just a bit closer.

“Y/N?”

“Oikawa?”

You both frantically pulled away, heart racing now.

“Kageyama..”

“Tobio”

Oikawa tried to hide the venom in his voice, he really did, but when he saw Kageyama make his way beside you he couldn’t help but see red.

It didn’t seem like life was playing a very fair game.

“Oikawa are you alright?” He looked down at the petite girl beside him, now clinging to his arm. He threw on one of his brilliant smiles and told her it was okay.

“Are you cold? Here” Oikawa couldn’t keep up that smile for too long, not when he saw him putting his jacket around you. How you snuggled into the warmth. How it showed Oikawa that you were no longer his, and that you now found solace in another.

He couldn’t blame you, he knew that deep inside. He did the same, why shouldn’t you? It didn’t stop the burning hatred and envy he felt. The overwhelming sadness that enveloped him. All a heavy dump of emotions thrown on him within a few seconds.

You felt it too though. That girl hanging off his arm. Getting to parade around that Oikawa was hers. It was totally unreasonable to feel this way. You both ended things. It was mutual right? You would’ve told him and he would’ve told you if this breakup was a mistake right?

Right?

“Wanna go?” Kageyama whispered in your ear. You nodded.

“It was nice seeing you again T-Oikawa” you smiled sadly.

“You too Y/N...bye” you both turned away, walking in opposite directions. With every step, your heartache grew just a little more. Almost like your body needed to be near his, the memories it held being more truthful than your head could ever be.

Your heart, body and soul wanted Oikawa.

Your mind told you to let him go for his sake.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Hey Oikawa?”

“Yes Kageyama?”

“Hmm?”

“He was your ex right? Oikawa?”

“That girl back there, is she her? The ex?

“Yeah he was”

“Yeah, she was”

“Do you still love him?”

“Do you still love her?”

There was a pause and you both stopped, mulling the question over.

Did you still love each other? It wasn’t hard to tell, everyone knew the answer. Ask any stranger but...

“No”

...

You both lied.

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #oikawa angst

132 notes · View notes

soulmate-game · 4 years

Note

Can you do a prompt of Marinette being the daughter of the Joker and Harley but Harley left him before Marinette was born and when Joker found out about his daughter He decided to kidnap Marinette so she can become like him (Ace chemicals) (Daminette)

Woot, my first ask in a while! Let’s see how I can do this oddly specific ask that reminds me of a fic that might actually exist but tbh I’ve read so many fanfics idk if my brain is remembering right

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette knew Sabine and Tom weren’t her biological parents. She had known ever since she was eight, when her mother by blood visited her for the first time, sat her down, and explained everything. Including, but not limited to, her disastrously toxic past relationship, her new girlfriend, and her recent success with long term rehab (unofficial rehab that mostly consisted of illegal anti-hero actions, but hey if it worked it worked).

Marinette understood. Well no, she really didn’t since she was only eight, but she understood that her mom— that Harley— was genuine. She had always had a knack for emotions and telling when people were sincere or not. And Harley really was regretful about not being in her life beforehand, and was serious about wanting to be part of her life now that her own was mostly sorted out.

So Marinette was not surprised when Harley really did stick it out. When Harley cooed over Marinette copying her hairstyle to show her support of her biological mom, when Harley never failed to call at least once a week even if she was in jail for punching some asshole or another. Harley never stayed arrested long anymore, she was usually found to be on the right side of the moral scale more and more often so the police didn’t bother keeping her locked up anymore. Through the years, Marinette always looked forward to her mom’s calls. Looked forward to being lulled to sleep by one crazy story or another from her mother’s past. Everything was nice. Perfect, even, for a while.

A thump sounded from her balcony, one late night when Marinette was thirteen. Blinking, the dark haired girl furrowed her brows. Who would be on her balcony? Cautiously walking towards the trap door leading to it, grasping her metal pencil holder as a weapon (she remembered all of her Mom’s stories about break-ins and random attacks back in Gotham), the teen strained her ears. Akuma attacks were only a few months old now, but she had already become in high alert for any sign of Hawkmoth or his victims. As per usual, Marinette’s paranoia began to kick in. Did Hawkmoth already figure her out? Was he here for her earrings? Would she be able to fight him?

She gently pushed up the trap door, catching a glimpse of black leather. Huh? Marinette narrowed her eyes, confused. Was it Chat? He should have been on patrol, on the other side of the city. What was he doing visiting her?

Suddenly the trap door yanked the rest of the way open, making Marinette yelp as the handle for it rugged away from her fingers. And there, backlit by the pure blue-white moonlight, was Not Chat Noir. It was Catwoman, in all her skintight black leather glory, grinning at her before pushing her cat-eye goggles up to the top of her head and crouching down by the trap door’s entrance, balancing only on the pads of her feet.

“Well hello there~” the woman purred. “So you’re the cute little kitten Harley is so secretive about. Nice to finally meet you,” the woman held out a hand, sending Marinette a sweet, if mysterious, smile. For a while, the pigtailed girl only stared before a squeal of excitement left her throat, leaving very little room for any doubt as to her bloodline. A large smile curled over Marinette’s lips, leaving her beaming widely at the catlike woman on her balcony.

“Auntie Selina! Mom’s told me so much about you! Come in, come in, come in! I’ll sneak some macaroons up for you. Or do you prefer croissants? What’s your favorite flavor? Are you really dating Batman? Oh my goodness, that necklace is so lovely! Did you steal it?”

Selina could only chuckle fondly at the word vomit, letting the smaller girl drag her down the trap door and into her very… pink room. Looking around, Selina was once again slapped with just how similar this kid was to her outgoing friend. Marinette clearly had no shame in indulging in the things she liked, such as the color pink and anything regarding fashion. But there were other things amongst the girliness of the room, like the posters of Jagged Stone and the training dummy half-sticking out of her closet door. There were a few ornamental knives hung up behind her computer, seemingly just for decoration although Selina could see that they were definitely battle ready and sharpened. A small mallet, clearly a miniature replica of her mother’s own signature weapon, leaned up against the side of the girl’s laundry basket. But then there was Marinette’s mannequin, which was surrounded by meticulously cut pieces of cloth and had other pieces pinned to it strategically. Marinette clearly had the same professionalism and love for her chosen career that had so completely defined Harley in the Time Before Joker. The same genius intellect hiding in those deceptively cheerful bluebell eyes. And for the first time, though not for the last to be sure, Selina found herself thoroughly relieved that it seemed Marinette had inherited very little from her father.

Except, as she would learn from stories Harley told her later, an apparent affinity for chaos.

“I’m not that picky, kitten. But I’m not that hungry, so don’t go too out of your way,” Selina decided to just react the same way she did with Harley’s rambles, and answer one question at a time. “Also, I am actually dating Bruce Wayne. But, if you promise not to tell anyone—“ she waited for Marinette’s eager nod before continuing casually, “— the two are maybe not as mutually exclusive as many think,” Selina finished with a conspiratorial wink. “No, I actually did not steal this necklace. Bruce has been adamant in trying to curb me of my thieving habit by buying me almost everything I so much as glance at sideways. It’s sweet. Naive, because I like stealing for the fun of it, but sweet.”

Marinette giggled, bouncing in place happily. She loved a bit of innocent gossip like this. “Is Momma Ivy ever gonna visit? I don’t think Mom told her much about me yet, and I still gotta give her the shovel talk!” the fierce look that overcame Marinette’s face made Selina laugh again. Oh yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Pam has been trying to sneak over, but the laws regarding Metahumans in Paris suddenly got much stricter a few months back and have caused some problems. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?” Selina did not miss when her seemingly innocent question caused her niece to close off almost instantly. Bluebell eyes took on a familiar guardedness, and scanned her with the same soul-searching intensity that Harley had when she was channeling her Psychiatrist side. Selina found herself in a slightly concerning spot though—

Because she couldn’t predict Marinette at all. She was left to simply stand there as Marinette searched for some unidentifiable thing in her eyes, completely unable to read the younger girl’s face and with no idea of what to expect. The side effect of having chaos so thoroughly entwined in both of her biological parents, she supposed.

“Nope, no idea.”

Selina knew that was a lie, but knew equally as well that she would not be getting a better answer anytime soon. So, she let it go and the two of them once again dipped into innocent chatter.

Later that night, when Selina left and the sun threatened to rise at any minute, Tikki flew up from her hiding spot under Marinette’s pillow to land on her holder’s shoulder. Marinette giggled and looked over at her little friend.

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Mari?”

“Why was I chosen to be your holder?” She asked suddenly, flopping back into her bed and staring at her ceiling. The little goddess hummed, smiling knowingly before flying down to cuddle in the crook of Marinette’s neck.

“Because you are born from luck itself. Even when bad things happen, you have the luck and determination to get out just fine, and stronger than before. And despite the destruction and anarchy in your blood, you have the willpower to reign it in and keep control of yourself. That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good. And that’s a large part of who you are, I could feel it in your soul the moment we first met.”

Marinette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. “What if I lose control?”

“... You’ll just have to get it back. It’ll be hard, but as long as you have people to support you, you will be able to do it. You aren’t evil, Marinette,” the small God seemed to sense the true question her holder was asking, and did her best to soothe the doubt the girl felt. “Just remember the reasons you fight against chaos. Remember everyone you love, and you’ll be okay. And you have me, I’ll always help you.”

“... thank you, Tikki.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was uncanny just how often Marinette’s hunches were right. Her intuition was something to behold, truly, because it only took three days in Gotham before Joker snatched her right out of her room at Harley and Ivy’s apartment. At least Marinette had sixteen by then, so she had had enough experience as a hero in Paris and with generally unpredictable situations and people who were absolutely nuts for her to not immediately panic. Too much, anyway.

Because there was definitely a little panic there.

See, Marinette knew herself inside out by then. After her own battle with her toxic feelings towards Adrien and doing her best to heal from those before she turned out like her mom, she knew she was by no means mentally indestructible. Mental illness ran the high risk of being inherited, and Marinette was well aware that her own personality was scarily similar to her mother’s at times. She got attached quickly, felt affection and love for others very strongly and, as she found with Adrien, could easily become obsessive if she didn’t watch herself. At least Harley was the perfect person to help with that, and Marinette was serious about helping herself too. She did everything she could to keep an eye on her mental health and keep her behavior in check so she didn’t do anything too unhealthy with her relationships again.

But she knew, she knew she had a soft spot for family. She got attached too easily. And being in the same room as her biological father, despite being tied up by her hands and feet and knowing just how many unforgivable things he had done in his life, Marinette felt vulnerable. She didn’t want to hurt him, despite everything. She still loved him, despite every reason not to, despite her first meeting with him being with him shoving chloroform over her face and hogtying her to a metal chain dangling over a vat of acid.

Geez, she’d need more than just her mom as a therapist after this for sure. Even if her mom had a PH.D, Marinette felt like she’d need several psychiatrists to sort through her emotional turmoil right then and make sense of any of it.

Marinette licked her lips, aware that the only kindness that Joker gave his daughter was sparing her from the discomfort of being gagged.

“Don’t,” Marinette said, surprising herself with the amount of steel she was able to put into her voice. Somehow, she managed to make the single word sound more like an order than a plead. “Joker, put me—“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The clown walked over, tutting and waving his finger in the air in almost playful admonishment. He gave her a dramatically fake pout. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to refer to your father by his first name?” Neither of them mentioned that Joker was definitely not his real name. They both knew the point was moot. “Say it with me now— ‘Daddy dearest, I am more than willing to be dunked in acid for you,’ go ahead, say it.”

Marinette’s jaw clenched. Familial love or not, she would not tolerate being ridiculed like that. She dealt with enough ridicule when she was fourteen and fifteen during school, before she put Liar Rossi in her place. She had spent the past three years as a hero in charge of the war against Hawkmoth, in charge of protecting all of Paris from an emotional terrorist.

And gee, wasn’t that what Joker was, too? Sure, he was a terrorist in the classic meaning of the word as well, but he was nothing if not a skilled manipulator. He knew the human mind just as well as Harley or any other psychiatrist did, he just used his knowledge for different means. He had emotionally abused Harley for years, he emotionally abused and manipulated people all across gotham on a daily basis. He was just another Hawkmoth, but with more physical violence in place of magic.

With these thoughts strengthening her resolve, Marinette narrowed her eyes at the man who donated half of her DNA. She let her anger boil into her irises, hitting him with one of the few traits she knew she inherited from him.

Her ability to intimidate others on the tip of a hat.

“No,” she growled back at him. She took a deep breath. It had taken her a while, but she refused to be ashamed of who she was regardless of her blood relation. She would have no problem using the very things she inherited from Joker against him. She might have gotten most of Harley’s personality, she might have inherited her mother’s habit of falling in love hard, fast, and obsessively, but she also had Joker’s defiance. His bone-deep inability to be stopped from doing exactly whatever the fuck he wanted.

And then, there were Marinette’s own traits. The ones that were completely her own, developed over her life organically. Like her refusal to bow down to bullies, her creativity, her ability to take even the most chaotic situation and see some sort of balance and sanity in it that she could use to her advantage.

That she WOULD use to her advantage. The shadows she saw move out of the corner of her eye gave her the chance to do exactly that, she just needed to buy a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

“Excuse me?” Joker growled right back, his own intimidation, honed over more years than Marinette had been alive and thus much more potent than her own, reading its ugly head as he stalked towards her. His face was pulled down into an ugly snarl, his shoulders tensed and back straight as he glared right at her. From his spot on the metal walkway, he was easily able to reach over the railing and grab her chin in one pale, viciously strong hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here, little Marionette. I’m your father. Half of your life came directly from ME. That makes you my puppet. You exist to follow my orders,” his right grip suddenly let go, leaving behind the beginnings of a bruise as his entire demeanor changed from angry to cheerful. He spread his arms as if gesturing to the whole chemical plant victoriously, and an unnaturally large smile curved over his lips and bared yellowing teeth at her. “But that’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time, you haven’t learned any better yet. That’s why we’re here. We need to cleanse you of all those icky bad habits you’ve learned up until now, all you need is a little,” he bounced in place with a wicked smirk to illustrate his next words— “jumpstart. A little acid goes a long way to enlightenment you know, you’ll see my side of things in no time. And with my blood in you, you’ll make a better sidekick than that idiot Harley ever did. I can sense it, you’ve got a real talent for Chaos in you, it’s exciting, Heheeeheheee! Now then, we should probably speed things along before our family reunion is cut short. Hang in there, my little Marionette,” the man actually had the gall to spin in place while humming a tune cheerfully before all but dancing over to the lever that held Marinette’s length of chain in the air over the vat of chemicals below her. “Everything will clear up in that little head of yours in just a second!”

There! Right as Joker pulled the switch to lower her into the bubbling vat underneath her, Marinette was able to finish untying her hands. She couldn’t contain a small yelp as gravity flung her body forward, leaving her upside down on the chain for a brief moment. That was when the chain started lowering rapidly, and Marinette was barely able to rip the rope off of her ankles in time to swing off of it and onto the metal walkway that came up right next to the giant metal container of liquid death and insanity. Joker had barely enough time to shout in rage before the windows near the ceiling shattered, admitting the city’s vigilantes themselves. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and evening Black Bat all landed on the same metal platform above Marinette’s head that Joker was still on, buying the teen time to start running. But she didn’t go towards the exit right away, instead heading right up the stairs into the thick of the fight. Robin briefly separated from where Joker was managing to hold his own, goons flooding from side doors to inhibit the heroes in their attempt to bring their boss down.

The katana-using vigilante kept one eye on Marinette the whole time, suspicious of why the girl would come back up if not to help her father. But that wasn’t what she did, instead she flipped and kicked and punched her way through the quickly growing sea of Joker thugs until she reached a small pink purse that had been abandoned near the lever that had nearly sent her into liquid insanity. Three thugs surrounded her right as she snatched the purse up and slung it over her shoulder, but Robin barely had the chance to head over before she was heaving the men, who were all easily three times her size, over her shoulder and was slamming elbows into soft spots and the side of her hand into pressure points. By the time Robin got to her side, all three men were unconscious and bound to wake up in utter agony.

Marinette glanced up, getting ready to haul Robin over her shoulder as well before she realized who he was. She let her shoulders relax just a tick, sighing in relief before returning her eyes to scanning their surroundings. She shot him a brief grin.

“Good thing my adoptive mother, Mom, Momma Ivy, and Auntie Selina all made sure I knew how to take down a small army on my own, huh?” She asked rhetorically before they were both unceremoniously dragged back into the giant brawl.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Nettie-pie!”

“Marigold!”

Harley and Pamela Quinzel-Isley shoved down anyone and everyone who dared block their direct path to their daughter. The girl of the hour stood next to the bat clan, a shock blanket held tightly around her shoulders as she did her best to finish her statement to both the vigilantes and Commissioner Gordon.

“You untied yourself… from a ship-grade knot in high quality rope… with a phone charm?” They heard Gordon ask incredulously, to which Marinette could only give a lopsided smile. That was when her mom and stepmom crashed into her, enveloping her in a nearly suffocating hug.

“Gah— mom— momma Ivy—“ Marinette flailed in their arms for a bit before finally getting her head free and continuing her statement as if she didn’t have two of the most dangerous women in the city still giving her a bone crushing hug. “That’s better. Yes, Commissioner. You see, I realized when I was in the car with Joker, while I was pretending to still be unconscious, that one of the charms on my phone had pretty sharp corners that I could use like a serrated edge if I had enough time. So I carefully detached it from my phone, and held it in my palm. It took almost an hour, but once Joker noticed I was awake I kept him talking so that he didn’t notice what I was doing even as he tied me up to that chain. Really, it’s just lucky that I was able to get it worn down in time,” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle. “But regardless, I think Batman and his partners,” she nodded to the listening vigilantes just to the side of her. “Were close enough that I would have been caught anyway, I just wanted to make sure they had less work to do. The sooner I freed myself, the sooner ‘Daddy Dearest,’” she grimaced as she mockingly used the same term Joker had tried to get her to say earlier that night. “Could go back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Oh my little Nettie-cake,” Harley cried, finally pulling back from the hug long enough to wipe her cheeks. It was clear that she had been crying for a while, and her colorful pigtails were mussed and tangled from where she must have been tugging on them in worry. “You were right. I’m so sorry, I never should have let you come to Gotham when I knew he was out of Arkham.”

Marinette was quick to shake her head frantically, pulling her arms out of Ivy’s hold so she could grasp Harley’s shoulders firmly. “No. No, Mom, I’m fine! And besides, we knew I couldn’t stay secret forever. I really like staying with you and Momma Ivy! Everything turned out fine though, and he’s headed back to Arkham. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Nettle,” Pam argued, distracting herself by running her hands through Marinette’s bangs. She had only known the girl for two years, but that was more than long enough for her to consider the teenager as her own. “He took you right out from under our noses. You were supposed to be safe in our home, and he still got to you. That’s not okay. We weren’t able to protect you like we should have been. Maybe you should go back to Paris early.”

“What?! No way!” Marinette argued, eyes wide. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ever visit you guys in Gotham, I’m not letting some psycho sperm donor keep me from enjoying time with my family! I came here knowing full well that it was dangerous. I’m not gonna just run away after one bad experience.”

Harley snorted, and then devolved into uncontrollable giggles. “Heh— psycho sperm donor. Good one, sugar!”

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes good naturedly at her mom’s usual immature antics. Seeing as Gordon had walked away muttering to himself a short while ago, Marinette pulled herself the rest of the way away from her moms and turned to the vigilantes. Without a second’s pause, she bowed to them just like her Maman Sabine taught her.

“Thank you for helping save me. I know it’s probably a shock that I’ve been kept secret from you guys all this time, but I hope you don’t lump me in with the likes of the green-haired half of my DNA. I’m staying with my Moms in their apartment, if you guys decide to patrol by our place like I suspect, I’ll leave some baked goods and coffee out for you on our patio. It’s the least I can do for you all after tonight. And don’t be too hard on Auntie Selina. Me and Mom swore her to secrecy, even from you guys.”

Batman jerked a little at the mention of Catwoman’s real name, jaw twitching for a second. Behind his cowl, his eyes narrowed. Marinette laughed, easily reading his body language and expression.

“She never told me who you are, but she didn’t exactly hide it either. It was easy to put the last pieces together on my own. But don’t worry, SHE swore me to secrecy too. I won’t tell anyone.

“How the hell are you related to the Laughing Asswipe from Hell?” Red Hood blurted out, his confusion clear even from behind his hideous helmet. Marinette burst into giggles, and both Pamela and Harley smiled knowingly.

“Mom gave me up for adoption when I was born, so I spent my whole life in Paris up until now,” she admitted. “Mom didn’t visit me for the first time until I was eight, and she and my adoptive parents are so awesome that it must’ve suffocated the worst traits from his DNA before they had a chance to develop,” she guessed out loud with a good natured smile.

Batman grunted. Marinette knew that one run-in wasn’t enough for them to trust her. After all, she was still the biological daughter of their arch enemy. But she didn’t mind, she understood the caution even if she didn’t fully agree with it. They weren’t outright hostile, despite the fact that Robin had never stopped glaring at her since they fought back-to-back against the mob of thugs earlier. She could live with their suspicion, as long as they continued to not be outright rude or mean to her.

At least she could empathize with Adrien now, whenever she figured out how to break it to him that Hawkmoth was definitely Gabriel and couldn’t be anyone else. Hopefully she could help soften the blow for him a little.

Harley and Ivy were starting to herd Marinette towards their car and take her back home, where they could continue to smother her in care and make sure she didn’t have even a scratch on her, when Robin’s voice stopped them all in their tracks.

“You are a surprisingly capable combatant.”

Marinette froze, blinking in surprise for a second before turning to stare at Robin in shock. The rest of the Bat Clam was doing the same, nobody expecting Robin of all people to be the first to directly complement Marinette. He tutted, crossing his arms, but never moved his gaze away from Marinette’s eyes.

“But your form could use some work. Most of your style is incredibly improvised, which I can appreciate since you do it well, but you would benefit from more structure in your fighting. I will set up a time and place for us to spar. We start in two days, if you think you can handle it.”

It took a while for what Robin said to sink in, and another few seconds for Marinette to decipher what his semi-aggressive, order-phrased proposal really meant. And she smiled.

“It’s a date.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Woo! This started off a little rough, but I really like how it ended up! Thank you, Anon!

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #eventual daminette #pre daminette #daminette #Bio!dad joker #bio!mom Harley Quinn #Joker Sucks #Request #Oneshot #Fanfiction #crossover

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thesunshinebunny · 3 years

Text

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part VI)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: After weeks of tension and mutual pining, Eren and reader finally succumb to their most carnal and animalistic desires.

Word Count: 7.9k

His cold hands were still resting on my skin. The body heat of each of us was reversing until we became the temperature of the other. In what had been burning for a moment, now my cheeks felt cold, icy, the skin on my chest and hips began to feel discomfort and the wind that was blowing did nothing but make me shiver. Instead, Eren's hands became warm, pleasant to the touch, but uncomfortable and unsure at the same time towards my sanity. The fingers of his left hand were moving over my hip in an attempt to massage a bruise that had just risen above the bone, a bruise that I had just noticed when his hand moved slightly up my shirt to lay flat on my skin and flesh. His right hand, still positioned on my cheek, ran the few tears that continued to fall, just as the trail of the already dry traces that this salty stream had left behind disappeared.

The situation wasn’t comforting at all. The burning sensation and fever that had reigned over my body moments before, had dissipated like a bucket of cold water on a small fire. Now I was cold, stiff, shivering and with memories of previous years haunting my mind, memories that once were to be saved to treasure when we were all old and at peace, but now it seemed that they only brought sadness and misfortune.

My eyes were fixed, unseeing, on Eren's bare chest. His skin showed no signs of hits or bruises like mine, damn it, the only thing that could be distinguished was his beefy abs, worked for years, stained with dirt and a few tiny blades of grass stuck to them. I watched as his chest swelled with each inhalation he took, his breathing calmed, no traces of the hectic fight or the makeout session. My hands, already tired from continuing to maintain pressure, now I limited myself to moving my fingers from the inside and out of my palm, occasionally brushing Eren's pelvis with my nails. I stretched them out, letting my fingertips rest on his hip, the small leaves adhering to his skin tickled my fingers and with slight movements I took them out one by one and left them on the grass around us... Some of them stuck to my fingers because of the humidity and the mud accumulated on the rib.

I cleaned them with my palms, but noticing that they didn’t come off easily, I simply ran my hands through my pants, staining them even more with dirt, some leaves fell to the floor due to friction in front of the fabric, others were beautifully placed on the thighs, in U-shapes or even folded into a perfect spiral. Some even broke in two and left little green spots on top of the brown ones. Eren withdrew his hand from my cheek when felt my fingers and nails stop passing through his pelvis and began to play with the small leaves. His hand removed mine from my thighs and ran every trace of wet leaves to the floor in one simple, clean motion. Now that hand was the one that rested on the flesh of my left thigh, moving up and down, occasionally grasping the soft parts and squeezing them from time to time.

I placed my hands over my thighs again, this time over the connection between my legs and my hips, preventing some unseemly movement of Eren's hand from reaching that area without my consent. I fixed my eyes on these and just at that moment I could notice how pale they were, the bruises were still visible and the blood had completely dried, the knuckles were red and little skin began to come out as bruises began to form on top all the long fingers. My left wrist had received the same treatment, a huge bruise covered a large part of the ligament and the bone of the arm, it was even slightly displaced, probably dislocated, but I didn’t feel any pain, not even when moving it, even if it was a few centimeters. As for my right hand, I had only received a few blows on the knuckles, the occasional broken fingernail, but without showing the lower flesh.

My palms, well, I don't know if I could call them palms anymore. I turned both hands to check them and the sight didn’t make me feel better, it only made me relapse into the realization of how mistreated my body was; both were full of dirt, green spots, the product of the viscous liquid that the broken leaves left, and dried blood, apart from the large superficial cut on the right palm. They looked like shit, I have to admit. I let out a long sigh at such a miserable image. My eyes burned, but I couldn't give myself the freedom to close them because I knew that if I did, more tears would shoot out.

"Hey" Eren's hand that was for minutes massaging my hip was placed under my chin and raised my head once more, without heaviness or restrictions on my part.

My view was blocked by his long fingers, which like his torso, didn’t show any sign of injury or bruises, except for a few small traces of dried blood, my blood. I couldn’t see with complete clarity if his fingertips were equally stained, I tried to turn the head to where he was caressing me a few moments ago to find some indication of blood or injury, but Eren prevented me by bringing my face back to his, lifting it more and bringing it closer to his eyes. They were the same as I had seen them a few minutes ago, greyish turquoise and glowly. God, that glow, that damn glow. Within all possible situations, in any place, they had to return to shine here and now. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn't fair at all.

I directed my hands to his face, placing each one on his cheeks and cradling him between them. I couldn't tell if the action caught him off guard, what I can say is that I could feel, for a thousandth of a second, his eyes widen at the touch. Color that had been lost for months had returned for a moment, as a small blush on his cheeks. For a moment, I swear for a moment, the Eren I knew was back. My eyes inspected his, trying to find that color that I had spotted, trying to find a sign of the Eren that I had loved so much, a sign that he was still there, hidden, curled up like an infant before the oh so many shadows surrounded him.

"You have beautiful eyes" It was a cruel reality but true in the same way.

His eyes were always one of his most impressive features I had ever noticed from a person. Huge, with a lot of accumulated life, a strong and bright color, unable to take my eyes off them. Those same eyes that brought security were the ones that made me doubt my actions and generated deep sadness in me; Those eyes that once made me tremble with exaltation now made me cry.

It was the same eyes that I had lost myself in on a hot sunny day at the cabin along with Levi and our little squad. That spring day, pollen in the air, the cabin full of dust and cobwebs, the boys doing their homework, while Eren and I were cleaning up. Each one cleaning in our small space, without speaking to us unless necessary, such as asking for help to move a piece of furniture if one couldn’t, or ask for the cleaning tool the other had to clean a small cobweb under a window frame. The dirty and torn glasses, in need of a delicate hand that could remove all traces of the excessive abuse during the years that this small home was disabled. I decided to clean all glasses on the lower level, leaving Eren to clean the door on both the outside and inside.

As I was cleaning the window closest to the front door, I noticed how the frames were starting to crack, a few splinters coming to the surface and being capable of injuring anyone who was not careful enough. I ran the rag through a fairly open crack, trying to remove as many splinters as possible, even dislodging the broken piece out of the frame entirely. Little by little the wood was detaching, some pieces stuck to the skin of my fingers, others fell right on my feet, and when I was finally able to completely detach the broken piece, I left it on the table in full view of all of them, so that when someone re-entered the cabin, I could warn them of the care with the respective window.

I decided to investigate more parts of the frame to see if I found more loose pieces when out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure move outside the window. During my little out of all reality I had completely forgotten that Eren was cleaning right on the other side of the wall. I could see him perfectly from where I was standing. His arms, while long compared to mine, didn’t reach up to the wood of the door, having to stand on tiptoe and stretch a little to reach the dust that had accumulated in that area. His hair gathered in a cloth, preventing dirt from falling on it, made a funny image at the same time... almost cute. His young face, now half covered with the cloth, was getting younger and the way in which he stretched, reminded me of the image of a little boy in the middle of the bazaar of my town trying to reach a basket of cookies without the mother found out.

But it was neither his figure nor the way his hair was flattened and took that shape little by little, but the way in which the sunset sun reflected exactly on his eyes, turning them a lush green, much lighter and more colorful. Although his eyes were directed towards the door, I could see them without complications; I could see his eyelashes rise up and the smallest of the ends bent and tangled between them, I could see the small shiny points turn a warm color while the clean wood of the door was reflected in the iris.

At some point, I opened the window outward, allowing me to stretch my body and settle on the lower wood, resting my abdomen and elbows, holding my head in my hands as I watched the incredible scene in front of me. The sun's rays hit Eren's body, giving him an orange ring of light over his entire figure, the cloth about to come loose and fall from his head because of how badly tied it was and his hands were dirty while also being delicate when holding the rag between his fingers, perhaps an act Levi had taught him while he was alone in his squad.

The rag slipped from his hand and the moment he reached down to grab it, his face turned straight to mine, allowing me to see his eyes much more conspicuously. The play of light and shadow, the way that nature itself reflected in them was the greatest work of art that I had ever seen, perhaps it was due to the fact that I hadn’t seen many people with green eyes, much less with that tonality. of green that Eren had inherited. What beautiful eyes. I thought I had said it to myself, but apparently I had unconsciously let it out in a slight sigh, as Eren raised his head in less than a second, straight at me. His eyes were wide and his face reflected surprise.

Those eyes in which I had been spellbound for long minutes were staring at me, penetrating strongly on mine, as if looking for a sign that his owner had clearly heard what the wind had brought to his ears.

"What? Did you get lost in my incredible eyes? " his humorous words and his wicked smile were what brought me back to reality. They were like an open hand spanking across the face.

My face was decomposed for a moment, eyes open and my mouth ajar, even my hands stopped supporting my head causing me to almost fall to the ground. I tried to compose myself as best I could, fixing my shirt, eliminating the wrinkles that had formed from being with my torso on the uncomfortable wood, and pulling some hair that had fallen over my eyes to one side.

"Yeah, you wish" I threw my body back and stretched out my arm to close the window, but not before giving him a half smile and admiring his eyes for the last time before going back to work.

Now I was in front of those eyes once more, with that memory stabbing a knife in the middle of my heart and mind, but with my body being drawn to them like that hot spring day.

I brought my face close to his, one hand running through his hair while the other roamed his chapped, swollen lips. The moment felt soft, calm, even though the weight on our shoulders was harder and more invasive. His hand on my chin was now caressing my neck lightly, as if he were passing a feather over my jugular, the hand that had been caressing my leg, now had placed on my lower back, stretching the fingers and feeling the greater amount of skin under his as much as possible. We both leaned forward and when our lips met again, time seemed to melt.

This time, there was no fight between our lips, there was no resistance, we just dedicated ourselves to melting into each other along with time. Everything felt delicate, Eren's touch on my back, my fingers on his scalp, his hand on my neck pulling me closer to him. Chest to chest, an almost impossible union for less garments that both of us had on, but still it was enough to feel the beating of the other's heart. No heartbeat was neither too fast nor too slow, they were just in perfect harmony, it was… perfect.

I could feel his lashes brush against mine with every turn of the head I took to sink the kiss, his locks tickling my cheeks, and his tongue, intrusive as it was, was welcome. My senses intensified, causing me to wrap myself in a sea of sensations and little by little the current took me to the deepest waters, feeling how the weight of my body was getting smaller and smaller, as if my body itself made smaller.

I felt vulnerable and it was the same Eren who brought these senses to the surface, the same one who could put them in a bottle, throw them into the sea and lose them in the waves, at the same time that he could bring them back with the simple movement of his hand.

We parted ways to reconnect once more, this time harder and needy. His hands were placed on either side of my waist, pulling me closer to him with more force, connecting our torsos even more and bumping our hips. I groaned when I felt his crotch against mine, I was perfectly positioned on him and every feverish kiss, every movement, made me grind on him. His tongue ran through my mouth as if it were the last time he would do it, it felt abrupt, as if a prayer was taking place, wishing that we would never disconnect from each other. He ran through every part of me, colliding with mine even my teeth, he was desperate and it showed. His teeth took my lower lip between them, biting and tugging slightly, giving me the perfect opportunity to elicit a guttural moan as I felt his cock already erect against my entrance.

He took my mouth back into his, sliding his hands down to the soft flesh of my ass, each hand over the round cheeks, and squeezed, marking his fingers hard over them. He took the opportunity to guide me on his cock back and forth, movements slow but accurate and hard, each grind felt like fire on my center, traveling up my back towards the brain. I was beginning to feel light in the head, my coherence was clouded and the only thing I could think was more, more, more.

At this point I just grunting at every grind he made me do, lifting me slightly to come down again and position myself even closer to his crotch. I bit his upper lip in an attempt to stifle a moan as I felt a wet spot begin to form in the middle of my pants and his dick leaning right in that same spot.

"Don't keep the moans to yourself" he lifted his lips from mine and moved down from my cheek to my neck.

I kept grinding on him involuntarily, no longer with his help, but still feeling his colossal hands squeeze my ass and hold me steady in my movements. He didn't want me to stop and honestly, I didn’t to stop either. The pressure I felt on his dick was too much, even his lips would detach from my skin from time to time, releasing small but notorious grunts, given the pleasure that this simple but filthy action generated to us.

"Fuck, Eren" I moaned as I hit his pelvis once more, this time harder than before. I felt him chuckling as I noticed how my moans began to come out of my vocal chords, with no intention of stopping. The friction felt delicious, we were both getting off with each other without even being in the main event.

My fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his face impossibly closer to my neck. I felt his lips leave a thin wet line on the hollow of my clavicle and sting lightly with his teeth. His hands couldn't stay still, the more friction we generated, the more I grinded on him, the more they moved through my body; they passed over my thighs, my back, the sides of my stomach to my chest.

I expanded my chest on the touch of him, preparing myself for what was to come, letting out a groan as I felt his fingers reach the limits of my nipples. They were a little cold and generated a perfect contrast with the heat that began to emanate from within, starting to make my nipples erect under his fingertips. Took one between his two fingers and the heat that was gradually forming in the tip of my stomach was getting bigger. The need for him not only generated great pleasure on my fibers, but also impatience, Eren was characterized by being a damn teaser when it came to sex.

His fingers eased my poor, swollen nipple and pulled my shirt off my shoulders, leaving only my leather suit like Eren, both now in direct contact with our body heat. The shirt fell to the ground at the same time that his lips were detached from my neck, he dedicated himself to arranging the shirt on the grass while still having me straddling him. The same happened with his jacket and shirt, which had been much closer to us than I had imagined. The three garments made a poor case of cover on the grass, but that was enough for Eren to roll me onto his back and settle on top of me.

Lips against lips, hands running over each other's body, savoring on our fingertips the heat of the skin, each muscle and bone marked, the hair of both getting tangled up in the environment, spread over the fabric in my case or Eren's falling towards my face if not spread over my fingers.

Eren settled to the side, leaving a small space between us, and let his hand run over my stomach, slowly, delicately, roaming around my entire torso until it reached my hips. His hand stopped to explore, feeling the bones outlining the body and the beginnings of the legs. His touch was so soft that he even tickled me. His fingers reached a sensitive area, drawing little giggles against my lips, but Eren's intentions weren’t to make me laugh and they were more than clear. Noticing my giggles climbing, he took the opportunity to reach under my pants, even under my underwear. Now the giggles were transformed into moans and sighs when I felt his finger brush my most needy area.

He was starting to burn, little beads of sweat were forming on the back of my neck and forehead, and he wasn't being fair at all. His finger was just brushing, again, and again, and again through my center, giving me the necessary pleasure to moan in his mouth, but never enough. It wasn't enough and Eren knew it, he was torturing me in the most delicious and infuriating way he knew. I guided my hand to his, undoing the buttons on the stained pants, now having more space and comfort, and placed it over his, applying just enough pressure for him to realize how needy I was.

And it worked. Eren heeded my silent prayer and inserted a finger, coming into contact with my wet walls. I moaned as I felt his finger slide slowly inside, his simple finger never fails to make me see stars and this case was no different. It's pumping slowly, too slowly, too much. This was no time for delicacies. The tip brushed the right places, driving the heat in my stomach to expand more, more and more.

"Eren" I growled hoping that my pathetic voice carried enough prayer to give me what I needed.

Eren inserted another finger, twisting it and applying more pressure to my sore spot. I felt like my body was becoming lighter as the pleasure was taking possession. Each twist, each impulse, each pressure was like an electric shock on my spine that ran through the veins and spread throughout the body, until there was no space left untouched. My back arched as I felt both fingers brush against my sweet spot, making Eren giggle over my ear.

"How do my fingers feel inside?" he whispered dangerously into my ear, biting the lobe and generating a new electrical reaction over me.

It was impossible for me to speak, the only thing that came out of my mouth were moans after moans. My free hand went to Eren's neck, I pulled him as close as I could to my face. My gaze was cloudy and narrowed, it was difficult to maintain control. His eyes were not on mine, rather they were on my crotch, seeing how his fingers disappeared without difficulty inside me and came out again and again, wetting them in the process. I tried to draw him to my lips to avoid giving an answer to his question, which had entered one ear and left the other. His fingers wreaked havoc inside me and every time I tried to open my mouth to answer, a new moan came out, making me impossible every second. I was sure that if this continued, I would end up forgetting the question.

"Say it or I'll stop and I'll leave you naked for others to find you" his voice had deepened, and being so close to my ear it only generated more vibrations under my spine.

My head was spinning, trying to formulate an answer before stammering it. It was difficult considering that his fingers had picked up the pace, moving in and out of my hole with a steady rhythm and able to propel my body along with them, and his breath over my ear and neck.

"It - ah - it feels good" it really felt good, I hadn't felt this good in months.

My answer made him smile, apart from twisting his fingers once more before applying pressure to my weak point. I couldn't tell if what came out of my mouth was a moan or a scream, or perhaps a guttural groan, but what I was sure was the fact I was close, too close, to cum. I felt like that heat at the tip of my stomach expanded more, almost without having more space in my body to expand. I was close, my legs twisting on the clothing, spreading it and disarming the covering, and just as I was about to feel the long-awaited launch, it stopped. The damned bastard had stopped.

My eyes went wide at the desperation in my body to break free. Internally I was screaming, I was angry but the trembling of my legs and my arms didn't let me do much. He wanted to curse him, ask him a thousand and a few things, demand an explanation of why in his right mind, if he still had one, it occurred him to stop. Before I could utter a word, Eren straightened up and placed his hands on my hips, exactly above the limits of my pants, squeezing them firmly but gently. I looked at him expecting him to do something, but when he didn't move after a few seconds, I looked up at his. He was looking directly at me, and he was the one waiting for a signal to continue.

I swallowed hard, placed my hands over his and guided them down, raising my butt just enough that we could remove the annoying garment. In our rush and clouded heads, we didn't realize that the shoes were still on, the pants got stuck, and we only realized our mistake when we couldn't get it down after multiple fussing. We turn our gazes to the pants, then to us. We started laughing, it was like reliving our first time, clumsy, inexperienced, but at the same time funny and careful.

Eren shed my shoes, trying to caress my legs every time the worn leather slipped off me. From so much being using them for two days in a row, using them not only for walking and treating patients, but also for running where they shouldn't be used, the leather had stuck to my legs, marking them and leaving blisters and bruises from the knees to the toes. Eren ran his hands over each one, being extra careful when he came across a blister or where the flesh was hot red. He stroked each mark that had formed on the skin, running down to his ankles, lifted my right leg over his shoulder, and began to kiss those same marks around my foot. The kisses were soft, as if it were the skin of a newborn baby, his strong but secure hand held the inside of my leg and massaged the area, which I had not realized how tense and beaten it was until I stared at the scene Eren was putting on.

Between that tour inspecting the discomfort in my leg, my eyes were at the mercy of Eren's, feverish and dark. My gaze, my half-parted lips and my ragged breathing was what Eren needed to place my other leg on his other shoulder and massage both equally, giving the same treatment that he gave to the right leg to the left. Now with half my body suspended in the air, I couldn't help but think about the notorious wet spot that surely had left seconds behind thanks to the excitement. I could feel it stick right in the middle of my crotch.

Without taking his eyes off mine, his fingers slowly descended to the strap of my underwear and slowly slid it over my legs until they reached my ankles. I pulled my legs away from his shoulders and pulled them together so he could peel off the fine fabric and discard it somewhere on the grass. My heart was beating uncontrollably in my chest, like I was about to shoot out. After Eren got rid of that miserable garment, I reconnected his lips to mine, stretching and spreading my legs so I could position myself between them. The kiss was short but effective, pulling me out of any thoughts that might have appeared without permission.

I felt Eren's hand on my leg, cupping below the knee and going palm down toward my ankle. His lips were now kissing my sternum, pressing gently on my rib cage. He looked at me, trying to find ... any reaction? Doubt? But there were none. I let my head fall back, letting my hand run through his hair as he roamed my chest and stretched my legs even more with his hands. Every now and then he bit my light skin with his teeth, generating gasps and grunts from me; Reactions that went straight to his cock, still covered and leaning against my core.

I raised my hips to connect with his dick, receiving a gasp from him as a groan escaped me as I felt him hard and throbbing against me. I hadn’t realized that Eren was just as excited as me, his kisses made thinking much more complicated, each pressure from his mouth made the knot in my lower stomach become more present. He went down, leaving a path of kisses for each part of my skin, until he reached my crotch and reached back to see how his work was reflecting in me.

He brought his face in front of where I needed it most and without being able to say anything to him, not even asking what I wanted, he leaned forward; I could feel how his eyes were fixed on me, his gaze penetrating and even if I wasn’t looking at him, I knew that he was observing every reaction, involuntary or not, on my face and on my body. He was so close that I could feel his breath on me, I waited patiently to feel his mouth on that area, but my mouth opened wide when I noticed that his tongue had gone directly to my thigh, giving it a long and wide lick against my fold.

He knew what he was doing, he knew it very well, and he knew he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. Between licks, he gave himself the opportunity to bite the inside of my thigh, making me moan and, according to what he had told me once, were sweet and addictive.

"Eren-" my voice was half out when I felt his tongue pass my core.

He gave a long lick, not once but twice. My hand settled on the back of his head, trying to draw him closer to me. My fingers applied too much force just as my legs involuntarily closed over his head, crushing it against my thighs. He felt warm and soft, softer than his fingers, but at the same time it wasn't enough. It was not a virtue of me to be patient and knowing him, I knew that he would torture me and tease me until I was left as a wet and needy bundle, begging for a release. I was writhing and shaking, my thighs crushing his head more and more with each passage of his tongue as the arousal spread over my stomach.

He raised his hand to my chest, pinning me to the floor as he left cat licks on my crotch, the other instead going to his underwear, running it down far enough to remove his dick. In my damn delusion, he was preparing me to feel his fingers enter my wet hole again, but Eren had other plans. He grabbed the back of my thighs and wrapped them around his waist, positioning himself in between and letting his cock rest between my stomach. He moved his hips forward, giving him all the pleasure against my skin. I looked at him, my lips apart, releasing long sighs, waiting for him to move a little more or turn his attention back to me, avoiding giving his sweet toss a second time.

He guided the tip of his cock towards my entrance, trying to insert it without a little preparation before. Okay, I was wet, but the situation was getting unfair at any moment. Not only unfair, but also too fast and violent. He lunged in, making me scream at such intrusion, instead he groaning as he slid his cock through my walls.

"Fuck" he growled as he placed himself completely inside me.

After weeks, months, without any interaction, or anything like it, the feeling was overwhelming. My muscles flexed at his grip, fluttering around his throbbing, venous cock, his raspy, low voice continuing to send tingles around my spine. I didn't have time to fully adjust to him, moving quickly on top of me, thrusting in and out at a fast pace, hitting the areas most in need within me. It was pleasant, but it hurt, and discomfort outweighed pleasure.

"Wait, just-wait a minute" I tried to sound straight but his shoves clouded my mind, at the same time that they tensed my body, immobilizing me.

I brought a hand to his chest, trying to stop him, but I only made his thrusts go deeper, more intense from him.

"I said wait a fucking minute!"

I reached forward, now both of us face to face, without any bond between our bodies. My hands formed into fists and went straight to his shoulders, pushing him backwards, staying within the limits of our clothes. Without waiting a second, I straddled him, taking his cock right under my entrance. I felt it throbbing, spasming, the heat that emanated from my crotch was enough for him to growl through his teeth. I guided my hand to where our hips met, lifting a little to reach his cock without complications. I could feel every one of his prominent veins on the palm of my hand, it was radiating heat and starting to leak pre-cum from the tip. I ran my thumb through his veins, going from the base to the tip torturously slow. Pumping his cock firmly, examining his reactions; I felt like my ego was inflated when I saw him with his lips parted, moaning on my hand, it was like having him at my complete mercy. To be honest, seeing him in that state, needy, slowly breaking apart beneath me, was the boost I needed to completely destroy him, as he had broken me. I felt powerful and all I needed was to get his dirty cock in my hand and give him a hand job to have him like a wet stray dog.

But ... as I said before, patience was not my virtue, so just as quickly I had started pumping him, I quickly carried him towards my core, sliding his cock back inside, moaning down my throat as I did so. The way his body trembled at the feel of my walls contracting was delicious.

"Fuck you're so tight," he moaned with his jaw open.

Now it was me who created the rhythm, each thrust I took increased the speed slightly. I stood on his shoulders, moving my palms between his collarbone and his neck, I didn't know what to do with them and I couldn't keep them still. The excitement was building very well and my body was responding on its own. Eren placed one hand on my hip, helping me maintain my thrusts, while the other positioned himself in the crook of my neck, bringing my forehead against his.

"You like this, uh? Do you like to be fuckingthe damn traitor of the country?"

I did nothing but moan at such a vulgar comment, but worst of all, they had reached my crotch; my walls had twisted when I heard him so close to me. My voice had caught in my throat, suffocating me, nothing else came out of my mouth but combinations between moans and grunts. Eren seemed to like it as he began to move more vigorously, he sheathed himself completely inside me, opening his mouth to moan under his breath as he bottoms out.

"You feel so good baby, so so good, my good little baby"

I was tighter than other times, maybe the situation, maybe the position, but fuck the reason, it felt so, so good. I buried my face in the hollow of his shoulder to keep my moans from coming out more prominent, the way his cock settled inside me and brushed every wall virtuously made my body shudder and my eyes go blank. A thrust that touched my sore spot and pulled me closer to Eren at the way he thrust, made me bite his shoulder, hard and deep.

Eren let out a groan as he felt his skin break open and begin to bleed, I could feel the taste of iron on my mouth. It hadn't been my intention to hurt him, but I couldn't control my strength or the way my hips circled as the thrusts picked up speed.

He reached out his hand to grab my hair and bend my neck back, exposing my face to him.

"Shit, that's it baby, mount that cock, I know you like it" the way our hips moved up and down and back and forth in a fiery way until they reached the flush of butt made me shudder. The way he was buried in me seemed like he was trying to reach even deeper, trying to reach my stomach; and it was right there where I felt it most. "I know you love it, you always loved it"

Every movement of him in and out was majestic, it was the best I had felt in months, even better than our previous times. His movements grew steadier, faster, and harder. I felt my body tense up completely, I arched my back against him and kept moving my hips faster, having more friction to work with as I felt the orgasm reach me.

“Are you gonna cum? I can feel your walls tightening"

I nodded my head repeatedly, unable to formulate a word. Eren captured my mouth with his, moving us both at a speed I would never have imagined, our skin colliding over and over and over. The only thing around us was the rapid slapping of skin against skin, the dirty sound of my hole taking him so well, squeezing him more and more.

A strong thrust was what I needed to collapse. I screamed, not caring if anyone was near to listen. Eren's name slipped from my lips repeatedly, as if I was saying a prayer and he alone was my salvation. My back arched again, my hands went to his hair, tousling it and letting brown strands fall over his forehead. My body felt light, much lighter, as if the stress had been released along with the orgasm. I creamed on Eren's cock and his thighs, our legs were wet and my spasms moved any liquid in different directions over our bodies.

In my bliss I hadn’t realized that Eren had never stopped moving, the difference was he’s now going in and out more slowly, much more slowly than we had started.

While we were going slow, I was completely sensitive, and the more thrusts Eren made, the overstimulation took my body by leaps and bounds. No longer moans came from my mouth, but small and soft whines every time he buried himself inside me.

"I love you" his voice came out as a sigh, even lower than that, but loud enough for me to hear.

He froze me a second time, it was already becoming a bad habit on his part. His words were like a dagger to the heart, one that stabbed me over and over and over again. I felt my chest begin to ache, but our movements never stopped. Eren kept pounding against me, like he wanted to accompany his movements with his "sweet" words. My nails dug into his shoulders, trying to dissipate the emotional pain from my chest to the physical pain above him.

"Shut up" I tried to speak still with my head turning thousands of times, avoiding letting out a moan.

His cock kept pounding in just the right places, the rhythm our bodies kept was too sweet, my still erect nipples brushing against his chest, generating more friction than he wanted. His lips still on my neck, each thrust was an open kiss on the jugular.

"I love you" again. There were those filthy words again, words that I needed to have been told months ago, even weeks just as we were returning from Marley. I didn't need them when we were in the middle of a heated sex session in the middle of the woods.

"Stop lying" I bit my lower lip as I felt my walls begin to contract.

We weren't moving at the speed I wanted and that was making me hysterical. I tried to move at my own pace, to move my hips over his pelvis and have the friction that I badly needed to cum, but Eren stopped me. He had a strong grip on my hip and no matter how many inches I moved, he would bring me back to the original position, torturing me with his slow step. His lips moved up to my cheek, giving me a small kiss before moving again and pushing me against him, both of them being chest to chest.

Another kiss, and another, and another. Each one to the rhythm of our tapping.

"I'm not lying" Eren moaned into my ear, reaching for my hair and pulling it back. His mouth now close to mine, a few millimeters closer, reaching out to kiss me.

"SHUT UP! ... please ... shut up" I pulled him away from me, throwing him to the floor, now I was on top of him.

His face twisted as he hit the ground and he closed his eyes due to the pain on his back. My hands were on either side of his head, giving me more room to settle in and examine his face perfectly. A small layer of sweat had formed on his forehead and the root of his scalp, little hickeys he had left behind, which were already fading, and his hair was already completely matted; What was once a bun, now it barely held a few strands, leaving the vast majority of the hair down and spilling over the clothes.

His eyes widened again when I placed my hands on his cheeks. His gaze was the same as always, perhaps he was showing a little sadness, or perhaps fatigue.

Please, just ... don’t

"…okay"

I began to move my hips again in a slow, gentle circular motion, trying to rebuild the mood. We maintained eye contact, neither of us wanted to stop looking at the other, even though our eyes narrowed for the little pleasure. My mouth parted as I started to increase my speed, but still going slowly, without having any hint of speed or exasperation in my movements. It was sensual, tender… desperate. His cock went in and out without difficulty, feeling it on every wall, noticing how it began to twist and get bigger as my walls tightened.

My hands didn't hold me for long, ending up collapsing on his chest. Eren never took his hands off my hips, now they helped me keep up, occasionally massaging the softness of my butt cheeks. I moaned as I felt the tip of his cock reach my deepest spot repeatedly.

One of his hands went straight to the back of my neck and squeezed, drawing me to him and capturing my mouth. His thrusts were increasing in speed and hardness, the rhythm already lost and our kisses sloppies and disheveled.

“Fuck-I’ m…”I spoke between kisses, unable to articulate words between his thrusts and his lips didn’t detach from mine. I wasn't going to last long, I knew it. Eren groaned at hearing my shaky voice and his breathing became faster.

"I know, cum again baby, cum on this cock" our hips moved in unison at a rhythm impossible to explain, if there was a rhythm to begin with. We were going fast, but at the same time slow, we tried to impact our weak spots with each other. We avoided separating, even grew closer, as if we were about to merge. Eren was holding me against his chest as close as possible.

The knot in my stomach, that familiar feeling, accumulated and began to expand in a gigantic way, my eyes narrowed but able to see the height of Eren in his eyes, as well as mine reflected in them. "Please, cum with me"

It was all I needed. My walls contracted and fluids began to flow out of my core, soaking us both and leaving a mess not only on our bodies, but also on our clothes. I moan his name in that moment of ecstasy, wasted, tired and satisfied. Eren, still at his prayer, followed me shortly after, shooting in and his heat filling me completely. His body tensed for a few moments beneath me, his hands circling my back and head as he continued to spread his cum inside me.

I felt him shooting each load, filling me up really well. I kept contracting, still gasping for air and shaking, but neither of us had any intention of separating, much less Eren of coming out. After weeks of languishing a bit of peace, as much as the situation wasn’t the right one, we had both found it. I rested my cheek on his chest, listening to his racing heart and allowing his fingers to wrap around my hair.

We were calm, only our breaths were heard around and our hearts trying to return to their normal rhythm. I relaxed when I felt his hands caress me in the same way that he had caressed me in our previous times, it was that kind of caress that allowed you to stay all the time in the world in the arms of your loved one. They were those caresses that I had longed to receive, the same ones that I was afraid of being used against me and confusing me more than I already was.

Eren gave me a light kiss on the temple, massaging my lower back and still keeping me close to him. I let him cradle me to his chest for a while longer, realizing that the moment we changed, we would be back on our own sides, ready to continue fighting for what we believed was fair.

This time, only this time, I would let myself be carried away, even to the point of being unconscious in his arms and succumbing to a much needed sleep.

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drowningbydegrees-fanworks · 2 years

Text

In This Life or Any Other (Chapter 1)

FIC RATING: E WORD COUNT: 4,425 RELATIONSHIPS: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian WARNINGS: None TAGS: Eventual Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Physical hurt/comfort too actually, Falling In Love, Family (found and otherwise), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Trauma, Politics, Intrigue, BAMF Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, WWX's persistent inability to stay out of trouble, So not all that different from canon, Angst and Humor, After all this is WWX, Menacing your crush as a love language, Because again this is WWX, Magic but closer to the D&D variety than the MDZS variety, Politics also closer to the D&D variety than the MDZS variety, In which Wei Ying is Definitely Not a Mage, definitely not even a little bit, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

When his reconnaissance mission makes it clear that the Qishan army is marching on Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian knows they don't stand a chance on their own. He reports in requesting military support, but instead of the backup he hoped for, all Wei Wuxian gets is an order to return home.

He doesn't actually know anyone from Gusu, really, but they're still people. With destruction inevitable and every kingdom turning a blind eye, Wei Wuxian makes a choice. The only choice, as far as he's concerned. If no help is coming, Wei Wuxian will just have to save them himself.

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The first time they meet is in a cell. Well, that isn’t precisely accurate. It’s a well appointed bedroom in a palace, because the mages of Cloud Recesses are guests here in Qishan after all, but it’s no less a cage for all its fancy trappings. A view of the ever-smoldering mountains does not change that there is a locked door between Lan Wangji and the rest of the world. Ornate furniture does nothing for the broken leg he’s nursing. Wen Ruohan’s men don’t even try to paint the cuffs on his wrists as friendly, insisting instead that cutting off access to their powers is a necessary precaution. As if they’re not too exhausted to make use of them anyway.

“Shouldn’t you be more well-mannered with all those rules? Surely there’s one about guests not disrespecting their hosts sneaking around.” Through the door, Lan Wangji can hear the soldiers taunting someone. Another ‘honored guest’ he imagines.

“Aiyo. You misunderstand. I just wouldn’t want to trouble a host who has been so gracious, of course!” The words are polite, friendly even, but the deferential tone with which they’re spoken is so exaggerated that the mocking nature of them is unmistakable.

The creak of hinges draws Lan Wangji’s attention. He looks up in time to see the door jerked open long enough for someone to be sent sprawling across the floor in front of him. That someone is indeed wearing the pale blue and white Gusu mages dress in, but when he rolls onto his back and his snarled hair pools on the marble floor away from his face, it’s… not one Lan Wangji recognizes.

There’s a heartbeat, two, where no words pass between them. Regretfully, Lan Wangji doesn’t know this newcomer well enough to cherish it as the last moment of silence he’ll have in the man’s company.

The young man grins up at him around a mouthful of blood. Lan Wangji had never thought of a smile as an act of defiance, but this unexpected companion wears warmth like armor. A grimace etches its way across his features for a moment as he maneuvers his bound wrists to push himself upright, but it’s there and gone, crowded out by something obstinately... pleasant.

“Hi.” The man says far too brightly for the state he’s in. Lean and long limbed, he sprawls out like a cat, leaning against the wall entirely too close to Lan Wangji. The longer one looks at him, the less sense he makes. Despite the clothing, everything else shouts that he is an imposter. His messy hair could be excused under the circumstances, but with his atrocious posture Lan Wangji suspects he’s never so much as set foot in Cloud Recesses. His wrists are cuffed just like Lan Wangji’s, but they look to be about the same age and have never crossed paths in training, so he’s unlikely to be a mage.

Most confusing of all, he acts as if he is utterly untroubled by their predicament. There’s blood smeared on the collar of his fraudulent robes, and a bruise is beginning to blossom across his jaw, but for some unfathomable reason, he seems more intent on making friends than anything else. It’s like he wants to be here, though Lan Wangji can’t imagine what purpose that could serve.

A trap, perhaps? A trick to lure information out of him? Lan Wangji’s broken leg still throbs and though it’s been at least a couple of days since he was dragged from the ashes of Cloud Recesses, he can’t get the smell of smoke out of his nose. Tricking someone they could torture isn’t very likely from Lan Wangji’s experience so far.

“This is a rescue,” Lan Wangji’s cellmate (because whatever Wen Ruohan is playing at, this is a cell in all the ways that matter) offers as if he’s read the mage’s mind. It’s a preposterous thing to say, of course, and when the young man notes the pointed look Lan Wangji is giving his cuffed wrists, he crinkles his nose, sheepishly ducking his head. “Well… This is going to be a rescue.”

From behind a locked door? Langji wonders, but does not ask, and this fake Gusu mage babbles on as if perfectly content to carry on the conversation for both of them.

“Wei Wuxian,” he offers later by way of greeting. It's long after the window of polite introductions has closed, if there is such a thing in a place like this. Wei Wuxian gives him an expectant look, but he doesn’t ask a question, so Lan Wangji does not reply. Undoubtedly, Wei Wuxian already knows who he is anyway. He cares very little for politics, but whatever being royalty means to Lan Wangji, he’s not naive enough to think this is about anything else.

“You really shouldn’t talk so much.” The way Wei Wuxian smiles, you’d never know they were prisoners, and the familiar way he teases, you’d never know they were strangers. “I can hardly get a word in edgewise.”

Nothing about Wei Wuxian makes any kind of sense and in the end it’s confusion that prompts Lan Wangji to respond more than anything. “You’re not from Gusu.”

“What gave it away?” Wei Wuxian makes no effort to stifle his laughter, though Lan Wangji can't quite tell what joke he's missed. Wei Wuxian inclines his head towards the door, his voice hushed. “Of course not, but they don’t know that.”

Honesty. Interesting.

“You’re not a mage,” Lan Wangji presses. Better to have more information if this is indeed an attempt at a rescue.

Wei Wuxian’s smile falters so minutely that Lan Wangji almost misses it. “What makes you say that?”

Lan Wangji considers the question and all the strange little details casting suspicion on Wei Wuxian. He mentions none of them. “I would know you.”

“Ah. Right. Suppose you would.” Wei Wuxian nods in agreement. He looks away, down at his hands, and back at Lan Wangji again. “Not… as such.”

His lips turn upward again as if they simply don’t know how to do anything but smile. “But they don’t know that either.”

XXX

Wei Wuxian has a plan, is the thing. Well, no but he has half a plan. Okay also no, but he does have a loose set of objectives that could be a plan. Maybe. If you squint.

Somehow, Wei Wuxian had thought this would be more straightforward. As far as he can tell, it’s practically a Qishan cultural imperative to treat every tool like a bludgeon, so it had seemed like a safe assumption that it would be the same with the mages being held prisoner. The nuance of pretending said prisoners are guests rather than hostages has unfortunately rendered every idea Wei Wuxian brought in with him largely useless. It would be just his luck that the one time they show a little forbearance is when he actively wishes they wouldn’t.

Not that he’d prefer a dungeon to being locked up in a fancy bedroom, but it’s an inconvenient game they’re playing, this mockery of hospitality. The information he had hastily wheedled out of Wen Ning about the dungeon’s layout is largely useless if he’s going to be held here like a princess in a tower. Though that might be more apt a description for his current company, who, despite the soot stained robes, despite the pain and exhaustion written all over him, is quite possibly the most beautiful person Wei Wuxian has ever met. That serious, porcelain doll countenance takes nothing away from his elegant curve of his jaw or the sharpness of his eyes, a striking shade of gold. That he’s so perpetually inscrutable should probably be off putting, but Wei Wuxian almost immediately makes a private game of cataloging the minute shifts in his roommate’s expressions.

Wei Wuxian shakes off the thought as he wanders to the window. It’s a long, long, long way down. Too far to make an escape.

The door swings open with a bang where it hits the wall, startling Wei Wuxian from his thoughts. A taunt, letting them know they cannot hope for anything like privacy here. It’s a demonstration, maybe, of why the Qishan soldiers haven’t bothered with any more traditional methods of torment. As one of Wen Ruohan’s sons strides into the room tailed by a servant, it’s plain as day that he’s enjoying the opportunity to humiliate them.

Well, the joke’s on that guy - Wen Chao, he eventually remembers - because Wei Wuxian has put up with far worse than uninvited visitors and handcuffs. This barely even makes the list.

“Lan Zhan,” Wen Chao greets the room’s other occupant. The way he says it, the name crawls horribly down Wei Wuxian’s spine, utterly ruining the satisfaction of having something to call his upsettingly pretty roommate.

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even look at Wen Chao. He must be furious though, because the noticeable tension at the corners of his mouth is new. It’s still rather subtle, but the most visible response Wei Wuxian has seen since he got here.

“Where are your manners?” Wen Chao demands, and Wei Wuxian barely stifles the urge to roll his eyes. He knows how rigid the Gusu can be with all their rules. Especially within Cloud Recesses itself. Everyone knows. It’s common knowledge enough that it wasn’t even part of the crash course he gave himself before coming here. So, the joke wasn’t clever the first couple of times he heard it out of Wen Ruohan’s men. It isn’t any funnier this time, stale as it is and delivered with a sneer. “I brought you dinner, didn’t I? Not even a thank you?”

If there is one thing Wei Wuxian has made himself an expert in with all his bouncing around between kingdoms, it’s the food options. The adventure of it is one of his favorite perks of this job he’s been thrown into. Because of this, Wei Wuxian notices a number of things in quick succession. The bowl that’s set down, at first glance, seems fit for someone well to do (which Wei Wuxian guesses this Lan Zhan person must be. Even smeared with ash and blood, the lace and silk Lan Zhan is wrapped up in are probably worth more than Wei Wuxian has spent on his entire wardrobe.). It’s also full of meat and so red that even Wei Wuxian’s eyes water just a little. It could not be farther from standard Gusu cuisine without being utterly inedible, and nothing in this Lan Zhan person’s expression or body language suggests he has wildly different tastes from the rest of his people. For Wei Wuxian, it looks fantastic, but given to someone actually from Gusu, he can only assume it’s meant to be an act of cruelty.

It’s marginally less cruel than Wen Chao knocking his foot against Lan Zhan’s broken leg. Lan Zhan hasn’t said a word about the injury, and Wei Wuxian hasn’t asked, but he’s seen how visibly Lan Zhan favors his right side, even in the short trek from one end of the room to the other. If Wei Wuxian thought his makeshift magic would fix it he’d try, but of all the small enchantments he keeps secreted away in his sleeve, none of them heal a person.

But whatever Wei Wuxian can or cannot do to help Lan Zhan with the injury, Wen Chao has gone decidedly too far. And that is something he can do something about. Masking his irritation under a dramatic pout, Wei Wuxian steps away from the window, loudly making his presence known.

“What? No greeting for me?” Wei Wuxian demands, insinuating himself into Wen Chao’s orbit until all attention is firmly on him. He makes a show of scowling at Wen Chao in mock offense. “What was all that about manners?”

“Watch your tongue if you want to keep it!” That Wen Chao abandons Lan Zhan to stalk towards him is anticipated. The crack of a whip is maybe less so. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

“Ah… I’m not certain. Let me think.” Wei Wuxian stifles a smile, twisting it into a theatrically thoughtful frown. He taps his fingertip against his nose and makes a show of scrunching his expression as if he is trying very hard to remember and hopes to find the answer in the empty space he’s looking at. “Sorry. No. Should I?”

Ending up in a heap on the floor, clutching his face in the aftermath of the punch he took is entirely worth it for Wen Chao’s gobsmacked expression. It’s going to hurt later. Hell, it hurts now, but Wei Wuxian can’t bring himself to be sorry. He only barely waits for the door to close before calling out. “Was it something I said?”

“Wei Wuxian.” Lan Zhan is looking at him from across the room and… is that a frown? The slight break in Lan Zhan’s composure is unexpectedly delightful. “What are you doing?”

Well, now that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s one that Wei Wuxian has zero intention of answering. If Lan Zhan recognizes that Wei Wuxian was protecting him, there’s no need to talk about it. If he doesn’t, Wei Wuxian won’t burden the mage with that on top of everything else. He smiles from where he’s lying on the floor, awkwardly lifting his cuffed hands to wipe the blood dripping from his nose. It comes away bright red on his sleeve, and maybe there’s some rule against that too, but Wei Wuxian can’t really recall. He knows some of them, but he hasn’t ever been bored enough to memorize all of them. “I was only asking a question.”

“Reckless,” Lan Zhan hisses. It’s probably meant to convey irritation, but the effect is ruined by Lan Zhan watching Wei Wuxian, concern crinkling the space between his brows just a little. His usually perfect posture lists just the littlest bit like he means to come over right up until Wei Wuxian finally sits up.

Whatever moment they were having dies a swift and definitive death. Apparently satisfied that Wei Wuxian isn’t actively dying, Lan Zhan pointedly ignores him after that in favor of the meal sitting on the table. It’s… maybe a bit rude - very rude, in fact - but Wei Wuxian is too amused by the pettiness of it to mind.

Wei Wuxian watches Lan Zhan stare down the bowl like he’s going to war. It’s so funny, Wei Wuxian almost lets things drag out a little more, but they’ve had a bad enough day already, so he takes mercy. Before Lan Zhan gets the chance to decide between one sort of misery and another, Wei Wuxian scrambles over to the table, sitting on the cushions across from his friend. He yanks the bowl away in one smooth motion, replacing it with his own.

Lan Zhan doesn’t speak, but he glowers at Wei Wuxian, and that’s… probably a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ glare, because it’s not a ‘Wei Wuxian, I am going to strangle you if you don’t knock it off’ glare. Wei Wuxian knows that one pretty well already and there are only so many reasons to glare at a person. Actually, Lan Zhan glares about a lot of things, so maybe the logic doesn’t quite track, but Wei Wuxian is still pretty convinced he’s parsed this one correctly.

“What? This is perfect. If I have to keep choking down rabbit food, I might die.” It’s honest enough, about his actions if not his intent. Let Lan Zhan think it’s purely self interest. He makes a show of shoving a piece of meat in his mouth, but it’s not until he swallows it and shows no sign of discomfort that Lan Zhan concedes.

They eat in silence, but only because Wei Wuxian is thinking. It was frightfully easy to goad their captors and make Wen chao believe violence was his own idea. To be fair, a strong breeze is probably enough to make Wen Chao lash out, but Wen Chao is the only one he needs to slip up, so that’s good enough. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable experiment, but it was a successful one.

And now he truly does have the beginnings of a plan.

XXX

There are a number of reasons Wei Wuxian might have done… whatever that display back there was. Lan Wangji doesn’t like any of them.

It could be that he’s just an idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut. In all fairness, Wei Wuxian does talk pretty much constantly, no matter how much Lan Wangji does - or doesn’t - reply. And the things that come out of his mouth are frequently ridiculous. But Lan Wangji has also seen how keenly he watches the world around them, has listened to him spin out entirely plausible theories from thin air. And while Wei Wuxian’s expression had done a number of very expressive things during Wen Chao’s visit, not one of the things in question suggested he was the slightest bit surprised.

So, not an accident.

Lan Wangji wishes he knew how it is that Wei Wuxian turns misery into a weapon he wields with remarkable subtlety for someone who is otherwise completely allergic to being inconspicuous. After all, the guards have not caught on, and Lan Wangji only knows because he’s so often sitting on the outside of it all, watching Wei Wuxian’s verbal sparring matches.

They have a routine of sorts. In between whining at the guards about every minor inconvenience and rattling off absurd stories are details Wei Wuxian collects like a magpie. Names. How many floors up they are. A surprising number of details about room decor and who’s having an affair with who and all sorts of things Lan Wangji wouldn’t even consider important except for the way Wei Wuxian grins after they’re gone.

So, Wei Wuxian might be after information. The thought twists uncomfortably in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach. It’s undeniably useful, but Wei Wuxian’s willingness to use his own well-being as currency to get it is horrifying. There’s no hesitation, no musing over other ways or willingness to let Lan Wanji help and...

Oh.

The most likely reason is the worst of all. If Wei Wuxian came on a rescue mission, he probably means to protect Lan Wangji while they’re here too. Unacceptable. Lan Wangji swallows thickly and resolves not to let it happen again.

Wei Wuxian sucks in a sharp breath as he sits back. He says something too bright, too cheery, trying to cover it up. Lan Wangji isn’t listening.

“Stupid,” Lan Wangji mutters, if only to cover his own helplessness.

“Ah, don’t be like that.” Wei Wuxian smiles, a faint and weary thing. “I’ve got them right where I want them.”

It’s a lie. Lan Wangji knows that mch right down to his bones, but he doesn’t know Wei Wuxian well enough to say as much. Asking directly will only make Wei Wuxian dig his heels in, so he thinks for a moment before pressing in a different direction instead. “What did you learn?”

“Aiyo. Who says I learned anything? Who says I was trying to?” Wei Wuxian’s voice pitches upward ever so slightly. “I told you I was bored. Couldn’t help myself, really.”

It’s an answer of sorts, though Lan Zhan suspects it’s not meant to be. He presses almost before he realizes. “You do not need to protect me.”

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, hmm? I already told you why. Maybe protecting you was just a convenient side effect.” Wei Wuxian is so quiet after that that Lan Wangji thinks he might just shut down the conversation entirely. But when Lan Wangji ventures a glance, Wei Wuxian is watching him intently. “It’s only fair, though. It’s on me you’re still here.”

He’d suspected, but confirmation is still a gut punch. Wei Wuxian’s reasoning only makes it worse. “In what way is it your fault?” Lan Wangji asks carefully.

Wei Wuxian has a tendency to goad Lan Wangji into asking the questions he wants to answer. Assuming that’s what’s happening, Lan Wangji means the question to be an olive branch of sorts. Only, Wei Wuxian doesn’t brighten up the way he usually does when Lan Wangji gives up and says something. His expression shutters ever so briefly instead. He smiles again almost immediately, but though it looks no different on the surface, Lan Wangji is left with the distinct impression that it’s no longer an expression of warmth so much as a mask to hide behind.

“Ahaha, well I promised to get you out of here, didn’t I?” Wei Wuxian asks, gesturing to the room around them. “I realize that you might not have noticed… but we’re still here.”

It’s not that any of what Wei Wuxian says is a lie. Each sentence is individually true. Lan Wangji doesn’t believe it’s the truth. Even if it were, sending one normal person into a place like this? Putting all of this on a single person’s shoulders? There are a lot of words for it, but none of them are charitable. “Why did you come alone?”

“Rude. You’re so mean. What? Do you think I’m not enough?” Wei Wuxian pouts, somehow endearing despite the bruises beginning to bloom across his jaw and the blood he hasn’t wiped from under his nose.

“You are one person.”

It hadn’t been meant as an insult, but Lan Wangji still finds himself faintly relieved when Wei Wuxian’s expression shifts into… something new. Or maybe not. The sharp edges of Wei Wuxian’s gaze pin him where he’s sitting and relief is decidedly not the emotion that rises to meet it.

“Do you think they could send so many? One person gets caught and well maybe I was just impulsively playing hero. But a group? Now that’s an act of war.” The conclusion is more openly calculating than anything Lan Wangji has seen so far, but the effect is ruined as Wei Wuxian crinkles his nose in poorly concealed mirth. “Besides. We have all the help we need.”

He gestures haphazardly at Lan Wangji. It’s the first indication Wei Wuxian has given that he has a plan. It should be reassuring. It should be. It’s just…

They drag Qingheng-Jun out among the ashes and although Lan Wangji cannot recall the last time he spoke with his father, something clenches miserably under his breastbone. That his brother has escaped is the closest thing there is to comfort. White robed mages have fallen in every direction, each one a tragedy, but at least something of his family will survive. It’s the only thing about his home becoming a battleground that isn’t agony.

“It’s unfortunate it had to go this way,” Wen Xu says with a smirk that suggests he was always going to find an excuse to bring them here. “But all is not lost.”

Because we are forgiving he insists, offering a smaller sort of calamity and calling it mercy. After all, Wen Xu points out, the Lan clan would prefer no one else die today, but Qishan would be remiss not to ensure the armistice continues. Is it such an unreasonable condition to ensure that retaliation is not forthcoming?

That too is a mockery. As if Gusu would have posed a threat even before this. As if they could hope to stand alone. Right now there can be no winning. There is only minimizing the harm that has been visited upon them.

“Your mages will come with us for safe-keeping and… instruction. No one else needs to die.”

It’s not going to work out that way, of course. What’s left of Cloud Recesses will be left largely defenseless. It is only a matter of time before they find some other excuse. Lan Wangji knows that, and yet…”

And yet their once lush surroundings are consumed by fire or hidden away by smoke. The air is thick with it. The Qishan army unleashed is dark and terrible, unrestrained by the laws mages are meant to live by. Desiccated bodies lie in a terrible, silent testament to the enemy’s cruelty, a senseless loss.

There are thousands of rules within the walls of Cloud Recesses, but one in particular floats to the surface. Protect those who cannot protect themselves. There’s nowhere to hide, but the villagers around him cower away as best they can. He can’t save them for always, but… but he can save them for tonight. Taking a breath, Lan Wangji steps forward in surrender.

He can’t see what’s on the other side of the portal he and the other mages are marched towards, but knowing wouldn’t make a difference. At Lan Wangji’s back, Wen Xu thanks the villagers for their cooperation, promising no more bloodshed in a way that crawls down Lan Wangji’s spine. It’s the collective gasp that make him turn his head as he reaches the portal.

Slung between two soldiers, Qingheng-Jun slumps abruptly forward. Lan Wangji is yanked violently through the portal before seeing what comes of the attack, but not before he hears Wen Xu’s gleeful, “Starting now.”

Lan Wangji draws in a breath, speaking so quietly that he’s not even certain if it’s a surrender to Wei Wuxian’s pestering or something else. “It wasn’t enough.”

I wasn’t enough, he doesn't say, but surely Wei Wuxian must hear it. He braces himself for whatever flippant, teasing thing Wei Wuxian will reply with, because that’s the only consistent thing about his companion, but nothing comes. There’s only sympathy scrawled out across his features and that’s even worse. By the time Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, Lan Wangji finds himself inexplicably terrified of what will be said. But whatever platitude Lan Wangji was bracing himself for never comes.

“I understand,” Wei Wuxian says, nearly as hushed as Lan Wangji. It makes as much sense as anything else Wei Wuxian says, which is to say very little. But Wei Wuxian has wheeled the conversation in another direction, one that doesn’t require much (or any) input. It’s unlikely, but as Lan Wangji watches Wei Wuxian slide seamlessly between quiet understanding and a playfulness that’s completely inappropriate to their circumstances, an uninvited, unwelcome thought creeps in.

Maybe he does understand.

There’s comfort he's reluctant to accept in being seen for things he can’t hide beneath layers of fabric or a blank expression. There’s an unsolicited solace in being known. Lan Wangji despises it, but something in him traitorously grasps at Wei Wuxian’s quiet reassurance anyway. “It will be. You will be.”

#wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #my fic #the untamed #mdzs

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snailsnfriends · 3 years

Text

It has been a few months, six to be exact, but I wanted to revisit Tommy when he was locked in the prison.

A lot has happened since then, and I think the reminder of this would be nice since these moments affected Tommy so deeply, and watching streams over again can be time-consuming.

This analysis and summary will be split into three parts. The first three parts will be an analysis and summary of Tommy’s time in the prison, from pre-entrance to revival. From here on out, I will be discussing the characters on the SMP unless stated otherwise. Dialogue is color-coded: Tommy, Dream. So, let’s begin!

Stream: Tommy Gets Locked In Prison with Dream

The stream opens up with Tommy telling us, the audience, that this will be our last time visiting Dream. He wants to visit Dream one last time in order to gain closure. Tommy acknowledges that he has been, in his own words, “tortured” and “tormented” by Dream. Though Dream is locked up, Tommy is still anxious.

“Why am I still feeling like this? Why am I still feeling, you know, fuckin, miserable, I suppose. I’ve got my hotel, I’ve got my buis- I still feel kinda- a little bit low. A little bit empty. I think, I think it’s because I haven’t shut the book. He’s still in my life, you know.”

All of this confirms the fact that Tommy has yet to heal from Dream’s abuse. He is aware that he is safe and has everything he’s wanted, yet still feels unhappy. This also confirms that Tommy wants to heal and move on. He is making the conscious decision to do so.

“I wanna start living my life, because I haven’t lived my life since the start of this SMP! … it’s just been war after war, death after death, friend dead after friend! Death, you know? It’s been, dare I say, it’s been fuckin morbid! But um, he’s been the reason.”

This is further confirmation of Tommy’s thought process. He is aware that his life has always been busy in some way, and that conflict has always boiled down to him and Dream. It is important to note that he does not blame anyone else for his troubles except Dream. He does not blame Wilbur for L’manberg’s destruction, Philza for Wilbur’s death, or Technoblade for Tubbo’s death. For Tommy, it has always been him and Dream no matter what.

As Tommy goes over the required questions with Sam, he says that Dream does deserve to be in prison, but does not deserve to die. When Sam asks what Tommy’s prior relationship with the prisoner was like, Tommy immediately yells, calling Dream a wrongen. However, his demeanor changes quickly. He says that they manipulated one another, and that Dream manipulated him. This is interesting because Tommy is aware that Dream hurt him, but he does not exactly know how he fits into it. Tommy has not manipulated Dream. Tommy does not and did not have the power to do that. Tommy has a hard time understanding his relationship with Dream, which is something we will continue to see as the stream progresses.

While Tommy puts his items in the locker, he apologizes for his nervousness and asks if it’s obvious. This is also something Tommy does frequently; he apologizes for his emotions regardless of the situation. Tommy has good reason to be nervous, and Sam even asks if Tommy really wants to visit Dream. Sam is not annoyed by Tommy, so he has no real reason to apologize. Tommy has a hard time letting his guard down around people he likes and feels the need to apologize for his emotions.

As Sam and Tommy make their way through the prison, Tommy thanks Sam for doing his job and looking out for him. After being genuine with Sam, Tommy is frustrated when he doesn’t respond, despite being aware of the fact that Sam puts on a face while doing his job. Tommy does not like being ignored, but quickly moves on to once again explain that he does not want to visit the prison again after this. He specifically notes that blackstone is triggering to him, which is another thing to add to his already long trigger list. He also asks Sam to promise that Dream will be locked up forever. Once Sam confirms this, Tommy calms down. He says he would have no reason to visit Dream again unless one of his friends died. As Tommy blabbers on and on, Sam does a good job of being directional toward Tommy, telling him exactly what he needs to do. This is a good thing because it gives Tommy a specific task to complete, and does not give him time to panic. As Tommy waits for the lava to lower, he says this,

“I wanna make sure I always like who I am, and, you know, around this guy, I don’t think I do. I don’t think I like who I am around Dream. Let’s close the book.”

This is very important because it helps establish Tommy’s relationship with Dream for the audience. Tommy very clearly does not like Dream and does not like the kind of person he is while around him (hurt, afraid, confused, quick to anger). Dream, on the other hand, does not feel this way. He wants to be around Tommy. He wants to hurt Tommy. Dream sees this as fun, while Tommy does not. This is something we will also continue to see as the stream goes on.

This is minor, but I think it’s important to note, as it’s part of how cc!Tommy plays his character: As Tommy and Dream greet one another, Dream says that he lost his clock. Tommy jokes that if you remove the “L” a new word is created, and Tommy smiles. In response, Dream says, “That’s the Tommy I know.” Tommy’s face immediately drops after Dream says this; this feeds into Tommy’s dislike for himself around Dream.

Dream attempts to make conversation, saying that he wishes Tommy would visit more, but Tommy ignores this to explain that this is his last time visiting Dream. Dream tries to make Tommy second guess himself by saying that forever is a “long time.” Tommy pauses before speaking again. Something important to be aware of is that Tommy is very susceptible to Dream’s manipulation, especially now. In this situation. There is no escape. It is just him, Dream, and the lava. There is no one to break up any disagreement they have. There is no one here to stop Dream. And because Tommy is so anxious, he is an easy target. Tommy does try to combat this by being direct with Dream. He refuses to answer Dream outright as of now, and instead just tries to get his point across.

At this point in the stream, it crashes, but right before, Tommy explains to Dream that if there is anything he wants to say, he has to say it now, because Tommy won’t be coming back. Dream responds to this with a confused “why?” Dream cannot think of even a single reason why Tommy would never want to see him again, which plays into the fact that Dream believes that his relationship with Tommy is fun. It also shows that Dream thinks this relationship is mutual; Dream believes that Tommy feels the same way about him, which is not true.

After fixing some stream problems, Dream talks about possibly getting out one day. Tommy immediately denies this and stops Dream from talking about it any further. Here, Tommy is trying to keep some sort of power in the situation. He is trying to keep an even temper, but this doesn’t last very long once Tommy brings up exile.

“What you’re doing now, this is like exile. Do you remember that? Do you remember ex- I don’t know how much you remember with all these tears n shit, this is, this is like exile, man. I don’t- I don’t wanna know you-” “I mean, exile, it wasn’t, it wasn’t too bad, right? I mean, you still, you had, you know, like, we hung out and stuff.” “I fu- You fu- You fuck- You bastard, Dream! You threw my shit into a hole! I can’t go near plains biomes now without getting a little trembly in the fingers! You- Yeah no, it was fucked, you’re fucked!”

Here, Tommy is aware that he is not in power. He knows that he lacks control in this situation, especially because he is emotional. Comparing this to exile shows that this is what Tommy bases his opinions of Dream on, and this is where most of Tommy’s fears come from. This also shows that Dream has no sense of the severity of exile, despite the fact that he carried out the abuse. Dream describes it as them just hanging out, which, again, shows that Dream thinks his relationship with Tommy is fun. He does not think that what he did was abuse, despite Tommy’s clear indication that it was. He doesn’t think that it was too bad despite the fact that he cannot come up with any reason why it wasn’t bad. He does not complete his sentences because he cannot think of anything good. In order to gain the upper hand again, Tommy asks about the books he wanted Dream to write last time, but we quickly move on from that to this:

“Listen, when I’m around you, my brain feels like I’m conditioned to be your friend, but also when I have a knife, I wanna just plunge it into your heart, and it’s like I don’t- you don’t make me a good person.”

This, again, shows Tommy’s conflicting feelings toward Dream. Tommy is very aware that he doesn’t like Dream and is not the person he wants to be while around Dream. However, he still feels inclined to be his friend. Tommy is aware that he is being manipulated, as shown by the word “conditioned” here; he knows that he does not actually want to be Dream’s friend. Tommy just does not know how to make this feeling stop. What Tommy does know is that Dream has ruined everything for him, and he does not want to see Dream ever again. Tommy goes on about how Dream is horrible, specifically calling him out for almost killing Tubbo. In response, we get this:

“I did bad things but- Everybody thinks they’re right from their perspective-” “That’s not true.” “Wow. I mean, I think I’m right. I did bad things, but I did them for good reasons but-" “What do you mean ‘good reasons’ you’re a psychopath-” "but I’ve learned. I did bad things. And I’ve learned that I shouldn’t have done them." “What good reasons? No, please, enlighten us, please, enlighten me-” "I just wanted to bring the server together, have it be a happy family, you know?”

And this, my friends, is a lovely example of Dream’s mindset and ability to manipulate. Dream repeats that he has learned from what he’s done, but that is not true. He tries more than once to excuse his actions by saying that everyone is right from their own perspective and that he was doing bad things for good reason. He does this in an effort to make Tommy think he’s not that bad and can be either let out or revisited. This also proves that he hasn’t learned at all, because if he truly did learn, he would acknowledge exactly what was wrong with his actions. He would’ve apologized to Tommy a long time ago if he really believed that what he did was wrong. Tommy immediately disagrees with Dream’s points, which, again, shows that Tommy and Dream do not have the same mindset, despite what Dream believes. I think the most important thing to take note of is the “happy family” bit, which has been dragged through hell in back in discourse posts. In order to bring the server together to create a happy family, all of the members would have to be involved, and all of them would have to be happy. Based on Dream’s actions, he doesn’t actually want this. Abusing people does not make them happy. Threatening to kill others does not make them happy. Leaving your friends behind in pursuit of your obsession does not make them happy. In Dream’s mind, a “big happy family” is one that he can do anything to without repercussions, which is something Tommy calls out. Later, he says,

“I am better than that. I am better than you. I am done here. You ruined my past, Dream, but you will not ruin my future.”

Other than this being a banger line, this basically sums up everything Tommy wanted to accomplish with this visit. Dream tries to make Tommy second guess himself by asking him to visit, and saying that Tommy visiting would help him get better. Thankfully, Tommy knows that it’s not true, and refuses. But because we can’t have good things around here, right after Tommy says goodbye, TNT starts to go off, and Tommy starts to yell for Sam and panics. Dream does not have much of a reaction to the explosions. Tommy once again tries to bid Dream farewell, saying “It has been an honor knowing you, but it will be an honor forgetting you.” but is quickly distracted by more TNT. As more TNT rains down, Tommy grabs the item frame off the wall to use as a potential weapon. Eventually, Tommy asks Dream to let him out, which signals to Dream that Tommy is in a vulnerable state. Dream capitalizes on this by saying that Tommy might be stuck with him for a while. As they argue over not knowing any better than the other, Tommy doesn’t believe that Dream doesn’t know anything about the TNT.

Eventually, Dream says that this is a good thing and that they can bond. He remarks that this is just like exile, and Tommy immediately begins to curse at and hit him. Tommy continues to hit Dream and pace all panicked, and it only gets worse when Dream says that this is the best thing that has ever happened to him in the prison. Dream tries repeatedly to give Tommy food and books, but he refuses them. Eventually, though, he eats the food. As the two argue some more, Dream says that they will have a lot of fun together. This, again, shows that Dream has a warped perception of what “fun” is, and does not see any reason for Tommy to panic. And to end it all, Tommy says, “I was about to be done.” as he realizes that there is nothing he can do.

#dream smp #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #dream smp prison arc #dream smp analysis #snailtrail.slimes

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itsany62 · 3 years

Text

SteveTony - Getting Together

Here are some Getting Together fics that I adore. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

Lovesick, by royal_chandler, 3 k >, fluff.

The depth of the flu aisle in the pharmacy is substantial, overwhelmingly so, and Steve is half-convinced he needs to return to the front and trade his basket for a full-on cart.

There's a Party Going on Right Here, by Annie D (scaramouche), Post-Endgame.

After the Battle of Earth, Tony hosts a party.

Open Tab , by machi_kun , 5k> words, Post-Avengers 2012.

Tony has a lot of money. Really. More money he could possibly ever spend by himself. So what if he spends some of it buying gifts for his friends? People like gifts! And Steve is his friend. His best friend, actually, inside the Avengers, and he’s glad it turned out this way - so it’s also a way of saying 'thanks for putting up with me', he thinks. He just wants Steve to be happy. If Tony can make him happy, then why wouldn’t he? Tony buying Steve gifts is no big deal. Shut up, Rhodey.

(Pretty) Odd, by machi_kun, 5 k> words, Developing Relationship, Fluff.

In his file, Tony Stark had been described as eccentric. He had also been described as a narcissist, as a self-destructive liability, as not-recommended, and all sort of fancy words that are used to disguise the fact that they were calling him an all-around asshole; And that’s a very long list of bad adjectives, for a guy Steve saw carry a nuke behind his back to save the city, gave them a place to stay, and is slowly showing himself to be one of the most curious people Steve has ever met. Maybe Tony Stark is eccentric – and maybe he is a bit of an asshole. But maybe he’s also more than that.

Six Times DUM-E Made It Worse (and One Time He Fixed It) by FestiveFerret, 4 k > words, Outsider POV.

DUM-E has a lot of Very Important jobs to do, and he does his best to do them right. Sometimes, though, things don't work out very well.

All he wants is for his humans to be happy.

Sweet Child O' Mine by starspangledsprocket, 9 k > words, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff.

After just their second outing as the Avengers, everyone except for Steve and Tony are turned into toddlers. Madness ensues.

'Cause Everytime We Touch by Perlmutt, 5 k > words, Touch-Starved.

Steve noticed it the first time they were officially introduced at Fury’s office after the battle of New York.

He extended his hand for a handshake, a silent peace offer after their horrible first meeting at the helicarrier almost a week ago. Stark looked at it like it would bite him any second. Steve could see how his hands twitched where he’d buried them in his pockets. But instead of taking his hand, he stared into his eyes for a moment and nodded before turning back to Fury.

Only later would Steve learn that it wasn’t hatred or aversion.

how the thought of you does things to me by Finduilas, 6 k > words, Mutual Pining, Domestic Avengers.

Steve has a thing for Tony's butt. Tony has a thing for Steve's beard. They're both very obvious about it (just ask any of their friends!), but somehow they manage to also be completely oblivious.

Right here waiting by gottalovev, 19 k > words, Cat Dads.

Steve has been missing Tony like crazy since he left the compound. One day, Steve drops in unannounced at the tower, and when on a walk for coffee they rescue newborn kittens.

Or: A yearning Steve, an oblivious Tony, and co-parenting kittens. (= fuff!)

picture perfect (picture us) by starklystar, 18 k > words, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Photo Shoots.

Tony has a habit of being handsy during photoshoots.

Steve has a habit of being flustered whenever Tony touches him.

Misunderstandings happen.

Or, five times Steve and Tony went to a photoshoot

+ the one time they had better things to do.

++ the one time they take their photoshoot online.

take me out (to the ball game) by muItifandomjess, 1 k > words, Fluff.

“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd,” Steve sings, his shoulder bumping into Tony’s as he sways back and forth. “Come on, Tony, sing!”

“I am a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist,” Tony protests around a mouthful of hot dog. “I do not sing.”

Or, Steve and Tony go to a ball game. It all kind of snowballs from there.

Drifting Further Everyday by GotTheSilver, 8 k > words, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Steve’s quiet a lot of the time, it’s almost like living with a ghost, and Tony kind of hates it; he lives with more than enough actual ghosts every day. The longer time goes on, the more Tony recognises what’s going on, sees the jumpiness, the haunted look on his face, and he gets it. Realises they’re both trying to bury things they don’t want to talk about. More often than not, Tony turns around in the workshop to see Steve sitting there, patiently working on something in his sketchbook or reading an actual book, usually something he missed during the years he was frozen.

Somehow Steve is filling all the gaps in his life Tony didn’t realise he needed filling.

Goop, Or Five Times Steve Rogers Was Covered In... Something, And One Time Tony Was by Bill_Longbow, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining.

There were a lot of things Steve had expected about the future; sleek buildings, sleeker electronics, and all the food you can eat. Being covered in alien goop wasn't one of them.

How Steve being covered in... stuff, brings Tony and Steve closer.

The art of longing by itsallAvengers, 63 k > words, Oblivious Tony, Not Actually Unrequited Love.

Steve's used to missing his shot. To being too late, too scared, and losing everything. But he really did think that this time, with Tony, something could work.

Then Tony meets Mark. He's cool and charming, he's a scientist and he's perfect for a man like Tony Stark.

And suddenly Steve...

Well. Steve just doesn't have a place anymore

earth laughs in flowers by starksnack, 3 k > words, Love Confessions, Secret Admirer.

A secret admirer has been sending Tony flowers and confessions of love.

Crash Into You by FestiveFerret, 15 K > words, Post-Avengers (2012), Stranded.

Tony was pretty used to crashing.

It seemed like these days more often than not his return to earth in the Iron Man suit was at least somewhat out of control. He couldn't count the number of times he'd used a helpfully situated building, a local landmark, or, hey, even a teammate to slow a wild descent. And he'd be damned if he'd admit it to Pepper, but on more than one occasion he hadn't even been conscious when he'd hit the ground.

So crashing wasn't really a new experience. He would get banged up a bit, maybe put a scratch in the suit somewhere, but bruised ribs healed and there was no better way to work off the post-battle high than smoothing dents out of his most prized possession.

He had a feeling crashing in the Quinjet, without his armour, was going to be a bit different..

I like me better (when I'm with you) by I_write_things_sometimes, 79 k > words, Domestic Avengers, Friends to Lovers.

If you ask either of them how they got together, they'd go back to an unremarkable night filled with expensive food, rich donors, and lots of schmoozing. And, of course, the anxiety attack that started it all.

"Not recognizing someone was strange enough, but the longer the two men spoke with — or, more accurately at — Tony, the more convinced Steve was that the conversation was unwanted, at least on Tony’s part.

The first clue was that Tony was actively leaning away from the men he was talking to. Steve had learned firsthand that Tony was an incredibly tactile person. When he wanted to talk to you, Tony engaged completely; he’d sling his arm around your shoulders, squeeze your arm, or drag you around as he talked, walked and usually did at least two other things. Even when he argued, Tony was often immediate and in his opponent's space; Steve knew that from experience.

Right now? Tony was scanning the outskirts of the room rather than making eye contact with the men near him. If Steve had to guess, Tony was looking for the nearest exit."

Or, the way Steve Rogers and Tony Stark became friends and then more.

Mission SteveTony by itsallAvengers, 7 k > words, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers.

If the entire team of Avengers could please stop trying to get it on with Tony when Steve is right there, he would really appreciate that, thank you

you'll wait a long time by nanasekei, 16 k > words, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie).

Steve and Tony share a moment during a wedding. Things escalate from there.

Alternatively: Four weddings, a funeral, and one very emotionally stunted idiot.

The Game by FestiveFerret, 5 k > words, Gay Chicken.

The game starts when Tony walks into the garage to find Steve sitting astride the R1200RS, staring down at his phone, and he maybe, just a little bit, walks into a car.

Talking Bodies by itsallAvengers, 13 k > words, Misunderstandings, Insecure Steve Rogers.

Coincidentally, the physical effects of romantic and sexual desire match up very closely with the physical effects of fear. But it's not a problem-- it's not like anyone is going to be able to hear the way your heart speeds up, or see the minute dilation of your pupils, are they? They'd have to be some sort of Superhuman to do that.

And what's worse than a Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and concluding that you're in love with them?

A Superhuman hearing that quick pulse and seeing those dilated eyes and thinking you're terrified of them.

more than just a dream. by frostfall, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Parent Tony Stark.

Tony: Fine.

Tony: I think I might.

Tony: Just might.

Tony: Have a teensy-weensy crush.

Peter: ;)

Peter: Is it who I think it is?

Tony: Unfortunately, yes.

Tony: You happy now?

(Peter thinks he's found the perfect partner for his dad. Tony thinks his son has officially lost his mind. Steve's just oblivious to the fact that he's out of Tony's league.)

don’t want you to get it on (with nobody else but me). by frostfall, 4 k > words, Jealous Steve Rogers, The Pocky Game.

There are a lot of things that Steve doesn’t get about the future. But it’s fine. He will, eventually. He has time.

But one thing he knows is that he’ll never, ever be able to wrap his head around is the fanfare surrounding Pocky.

(Or Steve’s jealous of biscuit sticks.)

check yes (if the feeling isn't new) by cvptains, 12 k > words, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Meddling.

After the battle with Thanos, both Tony and Steve struggle with reconnecting in certain aspects of their lives. Sam Wilson and Peter Parker are totally over it.

Where both Steve and Tony's respective friends make accounts for them on the renowned dating app, FlickLove, and the results come out a bit... surprising. Cue unadvisable meddling that really — honestly — comes from good intentions.

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking, 13 k > words, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues.

He’s tired, so tired of waiting, tired of touches with no meaning, tired of holding his breath when Steve’s in the room, tired of keeping this love to himself.

“I can’t—I can’t, if you don’t mean it.”

***

Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.

#stony #stevetony #fic rec #my recs

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yumpty-dumpty-inactive · 3 years

Text

WHO DO I SHIP MY MUTUALS WITH? (PART 1)

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a little gift for y'all <3,, let me know what you think :D!!

NOTE: THIS WAS ONLY DONE FOR THE MUTUALS I'M CLOSE TO! I DIDN'T WANT TO MATCH ANYONE I DON'T KNOW VERY WELL BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT YOU!! (@jooninya , @catcze , and @witch-hazels-musings I already did one for you so HA.)

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@y2nderez ~

I ship you with Kamisato Ayaka <3! Your kind and motherly nature would blend well with her personality! I know you have some things going on in your life right now, and she'd be more than happy to help you through that! your dedication and understanding of each other would be very admirable, and I literally ship you two so hard oh my fucking god-

dates the two of you go on are ~ : cafe dates, museum dates, and movie nights <3!

@homesnorky ~

I ship you with Mona! now I know you have mona as your theme, but hear me out. mona is quite confident, almost to the point of being arrogant. your patience and easygoing personality would 100% help to balance her out, and even though it'd be lots of work, you teach her how to come across as confident without, too much confidence (if you get what I mean, ehe-)

dates the two of you go on are ~ : stargazing dates, long-lasting cuddle sessions (they're so long you two just consider them dates at this point-), and shopping <3!

@aquamarine-eyed-girl ~

I ship you with Aether! you two would literally be the cutest couple ever, with nose nuzzles and cheek pecks all day long. paimon is very much annoyed by the constant affection, but she secretly thinks it's adorable. you both have a hard time saying no to others, and you would balance each other out, making sure the other gets rest, food, water, etc. (literally you two are so cute,, GIVE ME HUGS-)

dates the two of you go on are ~ : flower picking dates, movie nights, and cafe dates <3!

@lavender-cloudz ~

lavvie my love, I ship you with Barbara! this is a good old case of not opposites attract. you both are so similar, and that's why I think you'd make a great couple!! taking care of each other is always happening, and just watching the two of you interact is the cutest thing in existence. barbara is surprisingly protective of you, and whenever someone hurts you she will not hesitate to make them pay talk to them!

dates the two of you go on are ~ : cuddling dates, game nights, and evening strolls (does that count-) <3!

@dilucbar ~

I ship you with Xiangling! you both are just so fun to talk to,, you'd make such a great match!! your relationship is filled with so. many. forehead kisses!! chongyun and xingqiu tease you both constantly, but they love you two together haha-! you two always come up with smug comebacks too AHAHA. you're also her personal taste tester, which has its,, pros and cons.

dates the two of you go on are ~ : cooking dates, gardening dates (YOU TWO PLANT INGREDIENTS,, HELP THE FLUFF-), and cloud-watching dates <3!

@heaven-dissolution ~

shuu, I match you with Xiao!! your soft and loving personality would REALLY mesh well with Xiao's,, and you'd slowly but surely ease him of his pain!! hand holding is a subtle thing that you both love, and your source of comfort is each other! all other stress and anxiety coping methods are thrown out of the window when you two begin dating, and you two rely on each other heavily (not in a bad way!! it just shows how much you trust each other <3!)

dates the two of you go on are ~ : walks 24/7, movie nights, video game dates (headcanons about that coming soon :0??) <3!

@chichikoi ~

KOI!! I match you with THOMA!! you two are literally a recipe for mass destruction,, and please can I be the 3rd wheel. pretty pwease ;__;? in all seriousness, one reoccurring thing in the relationship are BACKHUGS. SO MANY BACKHUGS. he'll hug you from behind, and press a cute little kiss to your nape (if your taller than him) or the crown of your head (if you're shorter than him) ;___;

dates the two of you go on are ~ : arcade dates, movie dates, and picnics <3!!

@mikachuchu ~

I match you with Childe! you two are a super fun and loving pairing,, and literally I just AAAA. he LOVES giving you pecks on your nose, and thinks you're literally so cute omg. teucer literally loves you,, like LOVES you. teasing is exchanged between the two of you constantly, and flirting is just sad to watch. to you two, flirting is reciting the CORNIEST and CHEESIEST pickup lines ever. it's cringey and sad, but adorable nonetheless <3!

dates the two of you go on are ~ : movie dates, game nights, and cuddling dates <3!

#yumpty post :D!#THIS IS PART 1!!!#SECOND PART COMING SOON <3 #thank u

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likeiwishiknew · 3 years

Text

Azriel x Gwyn - Small Fires

Read on AO3

They had agreed to meet at Rhys and Feyre’s house by the river.

It was easier to have Lucien meet them there than to have him winnow part way to the House of Wind.

Azriel would admit he was in no rush to see the firey male. However, this wasn’t about what he wanted. But rather what Gwyn needed.

He’d truthfully never seen her angry before. Frustrated, stubborn, fierce, he’d seen that. Her anger at Devlon’s inaction, on the other hand, had been another story entirely. At first, Azriel had thought he'd imagined it. The shimmer to her skin, the spark just under the surface. Until he’d felt the heat rolling off of her and caught sight of fire flaring to life in her hands. Only then had he been certain it wasn’t his imagination.

He knew in that instant that he had needed to get her the hell out of that camp. The Illyrians had hardly been welcoming, but they’d be even less so if they further learned Gwyn's origins. They'd already considered her an outsider. The last thing anyone needed was for the Illyrians to deem her a threat.

Azriel did not fear them, not in the slightest. But he also wasn’t stuck living among them. Emerie was. And if Gwyn had done this for anyone it was Emerie. To see all her efforts de-railed by the blood that ran through her veins, something she had no say in, he refused to let that happen.

When they’d arrived at the house Lucien had been standing silently / sitting silently observing Elain with a thoughtful look on his face.

Elain appeared to be ignoring him as usual, though, as always, she did not send him away. She never did. Azriel had never noted so before, but now it was plain to see. Although an undercurrent of unease sat between them, neither of them ever fled the other’s presence.

Strangely enough, neither the realization did not bother him.

Instead, it was the fact that as soon Gwyn stepped into the room Lucien’s head turned her direction. The other male’s awareness of Gwyn, that bothered him.

What’s more, as soon as Lucien’s eyes landed on her he smiled.

Lucien stood up from where he sat and approached them. Elain did not move from her seat, but Azriel did not miss the brief flicker of her eyes toward Lucien’s back as he moved away from her.

Gwyn stepped forward to meet the male halfway.

She smiled at him fondly, earnestly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Azriel found himself disliking the other male more than ever.

- - -

Gwyn was surprised when Azriel had been the one to suggest bringing Lucien to meet her. She had a distinct impression that the two did not get along and that the feeling was entirely mutual. Which was a shame, because she quite liked both their company.

“Is everything alright Little Red?” Lucien asked as soon as he was close, “Rhysand was rather vague in his request that I come and see you.”

“I’m okay,” she assured him, “But there is something I think you should see.”

Lucien’s face grew concerned but he remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. Rather than say anything, Gwyn decided it best to try and show him.

Exhaling, she focused on her hands, tried to summon the flames and ignite her palms as she had in Devlon’s presence.

But nothing happened.

Maybe focus was not enough.

Gwyn thought about what she’d been feeling when the incident had happened. Her anger, her frustration, her desperation to not feel helpless. She attempted to recapture those feelings as she tried harder to call upon the fire.

Gwyn glanced down at her hands as she began to feel the tiniest kiss of heat.

No flames lit, but her skin had begun to glow a faint orange and she could sense the heat further building beneath her skin. Thus, she doubled down on the negative feelings she’d felt back at the camp and soon enough the tiniest flames flickered to life at her fingertips.

Looking up, she saw those very flames reflected in Lucien’s eyes. A slight smirk graced his lips.

“I suppose you truly do have fire in your blood, Little One.”

She could tell from his smile that he was remembering their previous conversation, and so Gwyn found herself smiling back. Far easier than they’d come, the flames faded. But she could still feel the warmth sitting just under her skin.

Lucien must’ve sensed it as well because he reached for her, but before he grasped her wrist he looked to her for permission. She gave him a single nod. And so, Lucien took her wrist in one hand and ran a finger along her veins. Likely getting a feel for her power.

“You’ll need training, to control it properly,” he commented.

She nodded again.

She’d had the same thought. Fire was a beautiful but equally destructive element. Gwyn knew well enough that she could not afford to lose control of it.

Like any skill, she would need to work on it, hone it. That was surely why Azriel had asked for Lucien to be brought to her in the first place, and she was grateful he’d had the foresight to know that she’d want to learn.

They were the same in that regard, she and Azriel. Both of them were always eager to learn, to acquire more knowledge.

She’d learned that back when they’d first grown close. It was one of the reasons Gwyn had known she could trust him.

Those willing to learn, who sought knowledge, were rarely if ever, bad people.

Gwyn would certainly have her work cut out for her though, with all the revelations this week.

She had hoped to learn more about her heritage and wound up discovering new abilities she knew next to nothing about. At least, they were new to her.

But the sooner she could get some grasp on them the better.

Lucien’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Come stay with me, I will train you.”

- - -

Lucien wanted to take her away. That was the last thing he caught of their conversation.

His shadows cried out their objection, to which Azriel agreed. He all but glowered at the male standing not so far from him. Not that Lucien noticed or even cared.

Before he could speak up in objection, Nesta beat him to it.

“Not a chance on hell, Vanserra,” the eldest Archeron sister spat, probably with more venom than was necessary.

He could always count on Nesta to speak her mind. Though at times it was to her detriment.

“Nesta,” Gwyn chastised, looking back over her shoulder at her friend, “Should it not be my choice?”

From the shock, upon Nesta’s face, it was clear the female had not been anticipating her friend’s response. Azriel had certainly not.

“You wish to leave the Night Court?” Nesta asked, her surprise evident in her voice.

“I did not say that, but I should like to have the chance to think about it,” Gwyn replied, turning back Lucien who'd kept his eyes focused on her the entire time.

“May I?” she asked the male.

Lucien nodded, “Of course.”

No one else in the room spoke up in favor or against the idea.

Elain was silent but her hand stilled on her flower arrangement she'd been working on the moment Lucien had made the suggestion. Nesta was clearly not excited about the prospect. Feyre, of course, eyed her sister worriedly, no doubt fearing Nesta would say something damaging she couldn’t take back. And naturally, his two brother’s moods were reflective of their mates. Cassian ready to step in should he need to, and Rhysand no doubt communicating silently with Feyre through their bond.

While Gwyn didn’t see Lucien as anything other than potential family, Azriel wasn’t so sure about the other male. Gwyn may very well belong to the Autumn Court, but that did not necessarily mean they were actually related.

And while Lucien might be mated to Elain, perhaps the other male might finally be considering abandoning the effort. It had been years now, and not all males were as foolish as himself. Content to wait around years in the hopes that something might change. It was quite possible, Lucien might entertain the idea of walking away.

Hearing Gwyn’s words to Nesta, that she would consider going off with Lucien to stay with his band of misfits left Azriel feeling cold. As though, if she went, Azriel would again find himself losing to the Autumn Prince. But as soon as he had the thought, he chased it away. Gwyn was not some prize to be won or lost. He knew that.

It took a moment, but Lucien finally seemed to read the tension in the room.

“If the idea of leaving makes you uneasy I have no issue with coming here to see you,” he offered, then, seeming to give it some further thought, looked to Feyre and Rhys, “Assuming I’m welcome move about the Night Court freely?”

Rhys appeared to consider this, whereas Feyre answered almost immediately.

“Of course you can,” his High Lady spoke with a smile.

Once upon a time, Lucien had been her first and only friend in the realm of Fae. Though Feyre never admitted it, he knew the rift in their relationship saddened her. Rhys knew it too. But there was nothing that could be done to fix it. Too much had happened, too much time had passed. One day they might find their way back to each other, but it would be no easy task.

Personally, he did much like the idea of seeing more of the Autumn Princeling. But if it was for Gwyn’s sake he’d learn to deal with it.

It was far better than the alternative.

- - -

Sometime after dinner, as talk again returned to a discussion over Gywn’s situation, along with that of the remaining mortal queens, Elain had managed to wander off.

As Gwyn was busy speaking with Nesta and Lucien, Azriel took it upon himself to check on the middle Archeron sister.

Unsurprisingly, he found her in the garden with her rose bush. The gloves Lucien had gifted her all those years protecting her delicate hands. She’d never thanked the other male for the gift, but Azriel had noted countless times how often she’d used them.

“How are you feeling about Lucien being here more often?” he asked.

She said nothing at first, only halting briefly in her pruning.

“He won’t exactly be here, will he?” Elain responded. Her tone sounding odd.

No, he supposed she was right. He wouldn’t be visiting the river house, but rather the House of Wind. But who was to say, given free reign, that he would not try and come to see his mate. Then again, as much as he disliked Lucien, the male was never one to appear uninvited.

“Have you ever thought about how much easier things might have been if you and I were mates?” she questioned softly.

Azriel blinked once, surprised by the turn-in conversation. But he knew the answer well enough.

He had.

But the cauldron had not seen it fit to bless him with a mate.

However, he had once coveted the beauty before him. Their attraction mutual, as far as he could tell.

“Yes,” he found himself admitting, “I have.”

- - -

Gwyn wound up in the small library of Rhysand and Feyre’s home. Though to call it small might’ve been a bit of an insult. It simply wasn’t as large as the once housed in the House of Wind. But it was nice, tidy, private. And she needed that bit of privacy right about now.

Gwyn dropped into one of the chairs by the window.

Azriel had wanted Elain for a mate.

The very idea broke her heart. A new crack forming among the many scars that already ran across it.

A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away almost as quickly as it came. Which was just as well, because not a moment later she heard a knock.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lucien standing in the doorway. Normally, she’d have no issue detecting him. But clearly, her heightened emotions had her distracted.

It took a mere second for him to take in her face. His mood immediately shifted as he approached her. His long strides closing the distance between them with ease. Lucien sat down in the seat opposite her and placed a gentle hand on her knee.

“Little One, what’s wrong?” he voiced, concerned.

Gwyn pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply she forced herself to push the feelings down and keep the tears at bay.

“I’m an idiot,” she confessed.

Lucien straightened at that, “What?”

Her foolishness did not require explaining. It was Elain. It’d always been her. The necklace, everything...

Why had she done this to herself? Why had she gone and allowed her hopes to flourish again?

Gwyn shook her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the look on his face, Lucien obviously did not want to let it go at that. But he conceded to her all the same.

“Alright,” he let out reluctantly.

The male stared at her with thoughtful eyes.

“My offer to take you away from this place still stands,” Lucien spoke softly, as though fearing someone might hear, “Clearly, something here has upset you. I will take you away from it, should you wish.”

She appreciated his willingness to help her by any means. In truth, Gwyn hardly knew anything about Lucien. Only second-hand stories she’d heard from Nesta and the others. But she found something about him inherently trustworthy. Her gut insisted that he would not hurt her, and she was inclined to believe it.

She’d been honest when she’d said she would consider his offer. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of the library, the Night Court, left her feeling a tad apprehensive. But in recent months Gwyn had started to learn to push past that feeling.

Lucien’s idea made sense from a practical standpoint. It would get her out of her comfort zone, and she’d have a teacher readily available. She knew she’d be safe. After all, if Emerie could manage to live among men she loathed. Gwyn could certainly learn to live with Lucien.

Yet despite knowing that, she still felt uneasy.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” she admitted.

She’d miss everyone, Nesta, Cassian, her fellow priestess’...Azriel.

Lucien said nothing in response, only sat there quietly, ready to listen.

“I know it sounds silly. It’s not as though I’m leaving to never return again. It’s just, the idea of being away...it feels strange. For years now, this place, this court has been my life. My home.”

But then Gwyn was struck with the realization that she hadn’t this way when she’d wound up staying at the Illyrian camp. She hadn’t felt as though she’d left home at all.

Because Azriel been there with her.

Her throat ached at the thought.

He wanted someone else. Had always wanted someone else, despite the fact that the female already had a mate. A mate who happened to be sitting right in front of Gwyn now. She wondered if Lucien knew. Though she supposed, he had to.

He might not have been as old as three males of the Inner Circle, but he’d certainly been around long enough to learn how to read other’s intentions.

And yet he did nothing. He did not pressure Elain, nor did he seem to hold any resentment toward her for entertaining the company of another male. He also never returned her coldness toward him. Lucien was only ever the patient mate, waiting on the sidelines for the female the Cauldron destined for him to make her decision.

Gwyn wondered how long he’d be willing to wait.

She found herself almost envious of the other female. She wondered what that must be like, to be wanted, to be adored. Until she remembered something her mother had always said. That envy was one of the worst sins. It could twist even the purest hearts into wicked things.

She refused to go down that path.

Gwyn had plenty in her life to be thankful for. She would not ask nor demand more.

She was content. Gwyn had friends who were like family. A possible family that she might one day reunite with. Every day she grew stronger and more skilled in combat, more capable of fighting for herself and those she loved should war descend upon them.

If she could gain mastery over her fire, she would prove stronger still.

“A home will always be a home, if it is where you are meant to be you’ll always find a way back,” Lucien said, his voice close to a whisper.

She stared up at him, to find him watching her.

“I will never force you to do anything you do not want to or are not comfortable with. I only want you to understand that you will always have options and that in your life the only one with the right decide what you do is yourself.”

The way he spoke, she could tell his words were as much a reminder for him as they were for her.

“I know first-hand what it feels like to believe you have no other choice. It leads one to make mistakes one can never take back.”

Gwyn eyed him with concern, “Have you done something you regret Lucien?”

His eyes saddened, “Far too many things.”

She wanted to reach out to him, hug him, and tell him that she believed in his goodness. That his mistakes alone surely did not define him. But Gwyn wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, and so she held back.

Lucien rubbed her head and gave her a small, almost bittersweet, smile as he rose from his seat.

"Let me know what you decide, Little Red,” he said briefly before departing without another word.

With him gone, she was once again left alone in the library with her thoughts. And what a great many she had.

- - -

They’d returned to the House of Wind rather late that night, after having had dinner at the river house.

Cassian and Nesta had gone off together almost immediately upon their return. In the months since their mating, their hunger for each other had yet to subside. Though, if they were anything like Rhys and Feyre, it was likely it never would.

He was happy for his brothers, even if it left him feeling a bit green with envy at every reminder.

Gwyn had not said much to him on the way back. But he’d overheard her telling Nesta that she intended to work out in the training ring despite the late hour. Something about needing that time to think.

And so, after he’d gotten his own affairs in order, Azriel headed up to the ring to find her.

As he neared Azriel could sense his shadows begin to dance. They moved as though in time with a song he himself could not quite hear.

Reaching the archway, he caught sight of Gwyn. Her movements were rhythmic and fluid, the sword she was wielding a perfect extension of her arm.

She must’ve sensed him because she stopped what she was doing and turned his way.

Their eyes met, but her expression did not change. It remained perfectly neutral. A practiced look that he all too easily recognized, because it was one he enacted almost every day of his life. The sight of it on her face fed his growing concern.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

It took her a moment, but she nodded, “I have a lot to think about.”

In that regard, he agreed with her. The last few days had no doubt proven life-changing for her. She’d awoken abilities she’d never even known she had. But something in her tone, in her voice, in her steady effort to keep her neutral expression in place gave her away to him.

“You’re honestly considering leaving with him.”

Neither of them needed to clarify who it was Azriel spoke of. They both knew.

Yet for some reason, Gwyn appeared surprised at his directness. Her beautiful eyes widening a fraction in response. But she did not speak up in denial. They stared at each other a moment longer before she managed an answer.

“Perhaps,” she admitted.

Azriel found himself stepping into the ring, closing the distance between them.

“Why?” he found his voice rising, “Lucien has already offered to teach you here.”

And he’d come to terms with that, but the idea of Gwyn leaving? He had not prepared himself for that.

She inhaled, before answering, “I know.”

Then why were they having this discussion?

“But it might do me some good to see what lies beyond the borders of the Night Court.”

Azriel did not want to trap her here. He would never dream of it. He had always been supportive of her broadening her horizons, seeing the world. She deserved a chance to learn, to live.

Yet something had him fearing her leaving in this current state. As though, if she left now she might not come back. He could not explain why he thought this, but he felt the certainty of it in his very bones.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he attempted to say, only to realize that wasn’t what they'd agreed on.

“When did I say that?” she naturally responded.

He corrected his wording, “You said you wouldn’t run from me.”

- - -

His words struck her, leaving her unsure as to what to say.

She wasn’t running from him. Was she?

“I’m not running from you, Azriel,” Gwyn found herself insisting, “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, how I feel.”

She wasn’t lying about that, not exactly. Gwyn had tried to put her growing feelings for Azriel aside to protect their friendship, but the more time they spent together the harder that was proving to be.

Gwyn had believed she’d been successful right up until their time in the Illyrian camp. When she’d come face to face with the prospect of Azriel with another. The sight had left her with an ache in her chest, and though he’d run after her to assure her there was nothing going on between him and the female it did not mean that he wouldn’t have a relationship with someone else in the future.

That someone might be Elain or it might not. All that mattered was she could not behave the way she had at camp. Little by little she had to learn to let these feelings go. Because locking them away clearly wasn’t working.

Distance might help save what was between them.

“You’re lying,” Azriel insisted, “I’m not sure why but there’s something you aren’t being honest about. I can feel it.”

His observation left her feeling angry.

“Stop that,” she shouted, “Stop trying to see into my head, my heart. You have no right.”

For the briefest of moments, Gwyn found herself blaming him for her inability to let go. He was the one sending her mixed signals, acting as though he might want something more with her only to turn around and admit to wanting another female as his mate.

Her feelings were to mostly blame, but he was not faultless. How could she let him go when he seemed to not want her to?

“Gwyn,” he said almost pleadingly.

But she could not do this. Not now when her emotions were running high, clouding her judgment.

“I need to go. Try to get some rest. I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on with Merrill in the morning.”

His face shuttered.

“I see.”

He said nothing else.

And so she moved past him, leaving him standing there in the ring alone.

- - -

It had been days and still nothing.

After her discussion with Lucien in the library, Rhysand had found her there.

When she’d started to apologize for wandering off, he’d brushed it off and reassured her he did not mind her presence in the library.

Instead, he’d asked her a favor. The High Lord had explained to her his suspicions about the book she and Azriel had encountered in the library. Both he and his second in command, Amren, believe that the book was related to one of two things. True witches or the true immortals. Both of which would prove dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.

When she’d questioned the High Lord about owning the book he admitted that he’d never come across such a thing, had not even known it existed amongst the vast collection of books he’d inherited.

Rhysand had tasked her with finding the book, by any means necessary. Gwyn had been trying for the last week or so and still she had nothing to show for it. She’d tried asking the House. She’d checked the library archives for any mention of such an ancient tome, and she’d all but searched every single shelf on the floor she and Azriel had been on when it appeared.

Wherever the book was, she felt rather certain it was content to remain hidden there.

The hours she’d spent had not been a complete waste though. It gave her a distraction.

Busy as she was, she almost forgot about the argument she’d had with Azriel. If it could be called an argument.

But he needed to understand that if she chose to leave it would be because it was what was best for her, not because she was running away from anything. She knew better than anyone that there were two things in life you could never outrun, the past and your own feelings.

So for now, she would remain in the Night Court. Not for Azriel, but for herself. Because she felt there was something she was meant to do here, and she had a strong inclination it had something to do with the book she'd been tasked with finding.

And she would find it, one way or another.

- - -

He sat with Nesta and Elain in the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s home.

Elain held Nyx within her arms, the little rascal giggling wildly as she played peekaboo with him.

Azriel himself wasn’t particularly familiar with the game, but both Nesta and Feyre had assured him and the others that it was a common practice in the mortal realm. Along with pretending to steal a child’s nose, which, personally, made no sense to him.

Then again, many mortal traditions did not.

Cassian was speaking with Rhys and Feyre. Nesta had intended to join them, but Azriel had asked to speak to her first. It was something that had seemed to surprise all of them.

In fact, Cassian had made some joke about it. Not that he’d paid much attention to it.

No, he’d kept quiet until he and Nesta were alone. Well, aside from Elain and Nyx.

The four of them sat under the warm afternoon sun in the garden that Elain tended to.

“Gwyn wouldn’t be avoiding you over nothing,” Nesta remarked.

He knew that of course. But days had passed since he’d last seen her and he was no closer to figuring out what it was that had caused the sudden shift in her attitude toward him. She still hadn’t chosen to take Lucien up on his offer to spirit her away from the Night Court.

According to Nesta, the other male had agreed to come once a week to meet with Gwyn. And so he was due for a visit soon. Azriel needed to fix the rift between him and Gwyn before then.

“Do you think she could’ve overheard our conversation in the garden that day?” Elain spoke up, as she lifted Nyx off the ground to spin him around.

Nesta eyed Azriel, “What conversation?”

He gave it some thought and realized Elain might be right.

Usually, his shadows alerted him when anyone approached, but that often wasn’t true when it came to Gwyn. And the timeline made perfect sense. They’d been fine when they’d left the Illyrian camp and when they’d first arrived at the river house. It hadn’t been until after dinner when they were getting ready to return to the House of Wind that Azriel had noted the strangeness in her mood.

If that was the case he could easily understand how his words might’ve been misconstrued.

Azriel had admitted to once wishing that Elain was his mate. It stood to reason Gwyn might think he still felt that way.

But, if so, why hadn’t she said anything to him about it?

He considered this a mere second before the answer grew obvious.

What reason had he given her too?

Closing his eyes, Azriel took a deep breath.

He knew now what he needed to do.

~ ~ ~

Notes: Sorry this one is coming to you a little late. I’ve been a bit of a mini rut this week between writing this fanfic and working on my own original story. I also haven’t been reading much these past few weeks, my free mostly spent watching baking shows, so I’ve been a bit short on inspiration. And I do not like putting anything out that I do not enjoy reading myself. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the end product of my toil.

As always, any feedback is appreciated =)

~ ~ ~

@azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @bittermuire @ofstarsanddreams @corrdolium @toolazymyguy @inkdrinkershadowsinger @itswrongsong @dealingdifferentdevils @rhysmoira

@brucexselina @inejjg @rhysmoira @gwynnight @fairytamy @bluegold08 @amandapearls @highqueentaey @lioness-says @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @princessofmerchants-reads @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x

@my-fan-side @spookylightkidranch @velaaaris @keramzinskies @itswrongsong @mirubyjane

@lovelywordsandwine @ladygwynriel @parisakamali @mirubyai

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #acosf #sarah j maas #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azwyn #love #otp #fanfiction #read on ao3 #ao3 update #friendship #romance #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara

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dented-nado · 3 years

Note

Well since you specifically asked: Twiddler

“Yah I like Eddie but he’s straight // BAD LUCK, HUH?”

“No he’s not”

“NO IM NOT??”

Shenanigans

I’m dying right now, the ol’ Harv(ey) stubbornly thinks that Edward fucking Nygma is s t r a I g ht love it. Still one of my fave convos we’ve ever had.

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

Eddie’s POV

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

It had been about a year since he had joined the sort of halfway home that Bruce Wayne had opened up for Ex-Rogues. However Eddie was somewhat convinced the billionaire he now realized had been Batman the whole time (pfft, he totally could have figured that out… he just… hadn’t…) rather liked having he, Harley, and Harv(ey) as a sort of odd band of roommates. And well… a literal mansion wasn’t a bad place to stay in by any stretch of the imagination.

He certainly had expected (and been quietly and not so quietly jealous) that because Harv(ey) and Bruce had apparently been close as far back as when they were children, Wayne would certainly be ecstatic to have Two-Face hanging around. He still was a little bit taken a back that well… anyone would want him around.

But he really was trying to reform. Maybe part of it was because the routine had gotten boring and he’d started finding more quiet and less destructive games and puzzles more entertaining these days. Besides, he realized he could have more fun with such things when he wasn’t being hauled back to Arkham because he’d taken things a little too far so often.

That being said, he had a new focus, a new goal.

And that was the previously mentioned Harv(ey) Dent. The giant, the absolute unit that towered over him.

Two souls for the price of one. Harvey was quietly intelligent (though sometimes a little bit delightfully oblivious), kind, and soft. Then Harv, he was bold, had a wonderfully fun fashion sense, and had a gravelly voice that admittedly caused Eddie’s mind to pull a blank at times.

They were a man that could have half their face burned to a crisp with acid and still be the only man that had been in Arkham (in Edward’s opinion) that could really get it.

He still remembered the first time “two-face” had been escorted into Arkham, the sight of them had knocked the wind right out of him, completely stopped his plotting for his next attempt to outsmart Batman.

Sure, perhaps he had heard and sort of seen images of Harvey Dent, the famous distract attorney that had been nicknamed Gotham’s “white knight” on the tiny, crappy TV they were occasionally allowed to watch when they were let out of their cells. But that never did him justice.

Seeing him here? Up close?

What a man. A handsome man, carved by angels and blessed by the devil

Now if only he could get Harv(ey) Dent to notice him.

Since that day he’d tried time and time again under the hope that maybe just maybe… this giant of a man would consider a relationship of sorts.

He tried to impress them with his vast intellect, sitting close to him and going off about any fact or subject he happened to know. He then tried to drill Harvey about his knowledge as a lawyer (which he thought also might just be interesting to know). They were certainly a good listener… and Harvey warmed up to talking about legal jargon and the pains of law school with Eddie eventually.

He was able to talk to Harv about their mutual love of fun patterns and bright colors and agreed that anyone who dissed it just didn’t understand fashion. He also realized soon that Harv loved to talk when he was acknowledged, and Eddie was more than happy to encourage him to and lightly swoon at that voice.

However, they were still only on a ‘good pals’ basis.

Which maybe Eddie could have accepted, except he caught Harvey staring at him at times, smiling slightly whenever Eddie would talk about what interested him. And Harv, he had gotten Harv to laugh a few times.

There was something there, he knew it, but for some reason he couldn’t puzzle out, Dent wasn’t acting on it.

It continued to this day. Harley had suggested to Edward he simply outright tell Harv(ey) Dent he was interested in them. But that wasn’t fun or interesting, and certainly not as romantic as Eddie would like.

So, after years of frustration now, he decided he’d go to the one person who had known Harv(ey) Dent their whole life for advice.

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

Bruce’s POV

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

“So, that’s my dilemma.” Edward finished, pushing up his glasses in a very matter-of-fact way.

Bruce sighed. The only person who had ever rivaled his own stubbornness and… stupidity when it came to others having an romantic interest in them, was in fact Harv(ey) Dent. This would no doubt be difficult.

He wasn’t even sure how he managed to get into a relationship with Clark and Diana, so he wasn’t sure how much of a help he’d be trying to get Harv(ey) and Eddie to pair up.

“I’m decently sure he’s interested in you.” He replied.

“I’m quite sure too, however nothing I do seems to get them to do anything.” Eddie expressed, looking completely exasperated.

“hrrn....” Bruce grumbled thoughtfully. “What have you tried so far?”

“Well… I’ve given them gifts, flowers seemed like a sure-fire method- yet he seemed to somehow take them as a platonic gift.”

Bruce stared at Eddie for a long moment. “Who gives flowers platonically?”

Eddie shrugged.

Bruce sighed. “Dammit Harvey… Harv…” He mumbled under his breath. “I could try talking to them, get some better idea of what’s going on their head, could be Harvey and Harv keep arguing on how they want to respond.” He suggested.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “That may be the case, that is a possibility I had not considered… thank you for your assistance batma….. ah… Bruce…” He corrected with a slight grin.

Bruce half smiled back.

Batman was on the case.

====

“So… Harv…. Harvey…” Bruce began wandering over to where they were sitting.

They were seemingly switching between drinking a hot coffee and a Frappuccino.

Harvey had complained more than once that because of their disagreements Harv ended up making them consume way too much sugar. Too much caffeine in this case it seemed.

Their eyes flicked over to him.

“Hi Bruce.”

“What’s up Pretty Boy?”

Bruce sat down across from them. “Eddie seems to be interested in you.”

Never hurt to be blunt with a lawyer.

Harvey snorted. “That’d be nice… he is really cute but…”

“I’m sure Eddie is straight, just our luck, right?”

Bruce had never been so shocked in all his life.

Straight?

Eddie…

Straight?! E d d I e.

Str a I ght, Edward Nygma E Nygam s t ra ight

The two concepts being put together caused a complete error in Bruce’s mind that was slowly beginning to fry.

Who could possibly conclude that Edward was s t r aight?

The riddler…. The riddler who for a while greeted Batman like he was lowkey interested in a literal love-hate relationship

Edward

Str a I ght.

“Are you… fucking kidding me?” Bruce ended up stammering before he even realized it. “He’s not… at all!”

Harvey blinked at him a few times in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Bruce gaped at them. They couldn’t be serious.

“Harvey… I… Harv… he… he’s not exactly subtle about it. In fact he’s very open, very much out and proud, flaming even. I’m sure he’d agree.”

Harvey looked at Bruce through squinted eyes. “Are you sure Bruce?”

“Sure, maybe he’s a bit more flashy than your average guy, but that doesn’t mean gay.” Harv added with a shrug.

“He calls you handsome at least 3 times a day.” Bruce said still staring at Harv(ey) like they were absolutely insane.

“Lots of people do.”

“Have you ever seen him even flirt with any women??” Bruce asked in disbelief.

“No but… well there’s always been more men in Arkham, and when do you even have time for that?”

Bruce was somewhere in-between wanting to laugh at them and slap them.

“He’s given you flowers.”

“Pretty sure he’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly…” Bruce wheezed.

This conversation was taking years off his life at this point. He shook his head and texted Edward.

“Get in here (the living room downstairs) It’s important”

Edward slid in and sat peppily down on the couch with Bruce within a few minutes, causing Harv(ey) to look between Eddie and Bruce in confusion.

“You rang Mr. Wayne~?” Eddie asked with a cheeky grin as he leaned his head against his hand.

“You know what these men just said to me?” Bruce began folding his hands together.

“Bruce nooo…” Harvey pleaded.

“No no, I think he should know.” Bruce insisted.

Eddie raised his eyebrows comically high. “Well don’t keep me waiting, what’s the tea?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “They said… they’re sure you’re straight.”

Eddie stared at Bruce for a minute, eyes widening.

“Me?” He asked completely baffled.

Bruce nodded.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed until his face turned red and he had trouble breathing.

Harv(ey) looked on stiffly, feeling as if they had made a mistake somewhere as the dawning realization slapped them in the face.

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

Harv(ey)’s POV

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

It was bad enough they had put themselves in denial so far they had missed out starting something with the small bean-pole riddle-man much earlier…

But now because they had convinced themselves Eddie was straight and therefore could have no interest in them… Eddie and Bruce were refusing to let them live it down.

And Bruce seemed to have gotten literally everyone in on the joke. Anyone Bruce hadn’t told between his partners and his massive family, Eddie had told.

Harley had begun kissing Ivy in front of them while they both traded off saying “no homo tho” between kisses until Harv(ey) groaned and left the room in a huff, leaving them both laughing maniacally.

Eddie had begun dramatically entering a room with a flourish announcing “Ladies and Gentlemen, Guys, Gals, and Non-binary pals, the straightest man alive has arrived, you may all start the party.”

Even when they first slept together, Edward had started quietly laughing and mumbling about “how straight, and very much not gay at all this occurrence was.”

Bruce hadn’t been able to look at them in weeks without breaking out into a full on belly laugh at his expense, mumbling something along the lines of “The Riddler, st r a I ght, good lord...”

On one hand they were happy Bruce was laughing more but god dammit…

They felt a bit dumb about it to say the least.

“How did we ever think Eddie was straight?” Harvey thought to himself.

“I don’t fucking know. I really… really… don’t.”

Well… maybe giving everyone a little levity while still being able to date a cute red-head that seemed to know the strangest facts about almost everything that they could enjoy listening to him babble about for hours happily…. Was all worth it. Even if they were embarrassed by their comically stupid brand of denile.

#prompt fill #twiddler #two face x riddler #harvey dent #harv dent #edward nygma #e nygma #the riddler #batman #bruce wayne #two face #gotham rogues #dc villains #dc comics #fanfic #dc fanfic

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princeanxious · 4 years

Text

Trust is a Fragile, Fickle Demon.

Pairing: Analogical

Fandom: Sanders sides

Warnings: hurt/comfort, happy ending, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of mental abuse, mentions of abusive parent, mentioned of past betrayed trust, trust issues, let me know if i missed anything!

Wordcount: 1.9k words

(A/n): this is sort of a short one, idk that im very proud of it, its written a little differently than I normally write so let me know if ya’ll like it? I tried!

Trust was something earned, gained, given, not expected. At least, to Logan, thats how it’d always been. The omega had learned young the mistake of trusting anyone so readily, a freely given token of connection that only served to hurt him in the long run.

Even now, Logan was aware his upbringing had been slightly rougher than his common peers. His therapists all readily, or subtly, pointed out that his alcoholic alpha of a single father who never should have been a parent to begin with was undoubtedly the root cause of many of his issues.

First of all of them was the lasting trauma of the emotional abuse he’d endured as a child and teenager. Never smart enough, never quiet enough, never clean enough. He was never enough, he was never going to be enough. He was a weak, broken, and useless omega in his father's eyes, and would never amount to anything more. And while he never wanted to believe it, often said he never believed any of it, he could only confidently say he didn’t truly believe even just part of it by the time he was 23.

Another was that he’d never been given any freedom to do as he pleased when he was younger. He never got to visit friends or do anything more fun than read at the library(and boy did he read any chance that he got back then). His first real social outing was when Roman, his then longtime college roommate and current best friend, had playfully offered for him to come join him to go buy icecream at midnight. But, that story is better saved for a different time.

All you need to know is that, that midnight ice cream became a bi-weekly routine, and the other omega learned more about Logan than he thought he’d ever get out of the closed off nerd that night. Perhaps one could even go so far to say that Roman was the reason Logan ever even dared to go to a therapist in the first place.

Logan had become very stunted from the childhood neglect he’d endured. Omegas had many self-soothing mannerisms built into their primal instincts to comfort themselves when stressed, like purring when upset(was well as when happy or content!) and nesting to decompress or hide in a safe zone when stressed. And well, Logan had pretty much stifled his purring by the time he was 14, and.. Completely stopped nesting by the time he was 9.

There had been no point, and both had become increasingly dangerous to do as he grew older. Anytime his father caught him purring, the Alpha would berate him for being ungrateful, seeing it as a weakness. And no matter how well he’d try to hide his safety nests, his father would inevitably find them and destroy them. Far too many afternoons were ruined when he came home to find his father in a drunken stupor and his newest safe haven wrecked beyond repair, and stinking to high heaven of alcohol and aggressive, angry alpha pheromones.

So he gave up. He gave up trying to make the nests in hopes for comfort, in hopes for a safe haven to hide away. The longest he’d gotten was hiding away in his closet for periods of a time before his father decided it didn’t deserve a closeable door anymore.

Roman had been horrified, and promptly dragged the other omega into his own nest in distress. They spent hours like that, Logan sobbing and tucked up tenderly into Roman’s protective embrace as the omega purred and crooned comfortingly enough for the both of them.

It would be Roman to encourage Logan to begin nesting again. They’d made a whole day out of it, going out and buying brand new nesting materials along with comfort food and rented movies. Slowly but surely, Logan rebuilt his nest for the first time in a little over 10 years, and he was in heaven. And day by day, every time he came home to it intact and undisturbed, Logan’s psyche was assured just a little more that the nest was safe, that he was finally safe.

And no one could really be surprised that Logan became viscerally protective of his nest, even more so than the average omega, at that. The first time they realized this, one of their mutual friends, a beta named Patton, had suddenly come close to his nest in excitement over the new addition. Logan had snarled loudly and aggressively before he’d even processed moving to guard his nest from the approaching threat. When Patton had taken multiple careful steps back in shock, Logan finally snapped out of the defensive mindset and realized what had happened. He’d apologized profusely, and was quick to try and make amends.

Patton understood the justified reaction after some light explanation and waved off the apologies immediately. Logan, though mortified at his own surprising lapse in control, was grateful that there had at least been no hard feelings in the end.

Safe to say, their friend group and subsequently any new friends made in the future would be warned, “Don’t approach, or touch, Logan’s nest.” And it was fine. Things were even looking up, Logan had started truly healing, and trusting people started to become a little less difficult!

So it would really come as a surprise to everyone, let alone Logan himself, when he started developing a small crush on the kind and patient(if a little anxious) Alpha who nearly daily visited the library Lo worked at to study. It was an honest shock, but, perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world..?

Logan had never seriously considered dating another until Virgil came around, and the prospect of dating an alpha was frankly terrifying. But, Virgil was nice, he was caring and gentle with him, and yet unwaveringly respectful. He’d listen to Logan ramble about stars for hours and never interrupt him, only asking questions when Logan’s voice lulled or allowed him to speak. Virgil encouraged this, wanting Logan to open up and ramble and talk without fear of being shut down.

Roman had told Logan it was obvious Virgil was crushing hard on Logan, that they both had it bad for one another it seemed. Of course, nothing had to come of it if Logan didn’t want it to! But the thing was, he did. He did want something to come of it, if at the very least they could just remain friends.

It took a few more months, but Virgil eventually worked up enough confidence to ask Logan out, and the unwavering, almost immediate ‘Yes,’ had almost taken Virgil off guard. They wouldn’t share their first kiss for another few weeks, but neither of them minded.

Virgil slowly but surely was given the whole story, and expressed his own quiet outrage in the form of promising to never let that happen again, nor let Logan’s father near him again. It was a protective sentiment that almost scared Logan, but the protectiveness was born out of love and compassion, not selfishness and hate. So he let it slide, and contently tucked himself into Virgil’s warm embrace with a soft “thank you,” and the first very soft but very happy purr that he’d let out in years.

This alpha, he’d find him telling himself a year and a half into their relationship, this alpha was the one that would be allowed into his nest.

It didn’t bother Virgil personally, that he wasn’t allowed into his omega’s nest. No one was allowed near the nest except him, and even then he still got growled at plenty. He was completely aware that Logan had a deep instinctual fear of the destruction of his nest, sewn by the only parent he’d had growing up doing just that out of malice. Logan had made strides in his journey of healing though. The omega was confident in himself, and refused to be pushed aside or spoken over. Logan was highly independent, even during his heats, which made Virgil feel all the more love for him to be let into his omegas life.

Logan wasn’t dependent on him like society demanded he be, and Virgil didn’t mind in the slightest, because he knew Logan. He loved this omega and knew said omega loved him back. That was all that mattered to either of them.

It took another half a year before Logan finally tried breaking down some of his protective walls over his nest. He was tired, so tired of the separation. Having Virgil's scent heavily entwined with objects in his nest wasn’t enough anymore. At two years into their relationship, Logan’s instincts didn't feel the need to growl at Virgil for being near his nest anymore. He wanted Virgil in his nest, and that thought was jarring to realize.

And when he’d brought it up, Virgil had been quick to assure him that he didn’t have to force himself to let Virgil in, that Logan’s safe space was sacred and he never wanted Logan to feel pressured by anything to let him in.

Perhaps Logan kissed him soundly after that, and was reminded just how much he really loved Virgil. Virgil's insistence for Logan's comfort coming first only made him want to pull his alpha into his nest that much more.

But still, he agreed to take it slowly. Every day, Virgil would scoot a little closer to the edge of the nest, would hold Logan’s hand and stroke his hair, even sometimes daring to slowly lean over and kiss him with prior warning.

It took a full week to really prove to Virgil during their progress that they were ready to take this next step, that Logan truly and fully trusted Virgil and wanted him in his nest.

And when it finally happened, they’d made a little date out of the occasion, setting up snacks and candy, ordering take out and lining up a few documentaries to watch on Virgil’s laptop, getting into their nightclothes.

Virgil had been beyond nervous, and Logan understood why. They managed to soothe each other as everything fell into place, and Logan carefully walked Virgil step by step into his nest. With careful movements, they sat down and Virgil let himself be carefully arranged as he was leaned back into the nest. It took a second for Logan to finish tucking things against Virgil and pull a weighted comforter over them before he finally settled himself onto Virgil’s chest.

Despite their original nervousness towards the idea, everything felt right, now. Logan felt so unbelievably safe now that he was tucked into his alpha’s arms within the cocoon of his nest. It was amazing in its own right. And it takes Virgil chuckling lovingly for Logan to notice just how content they both are.

“You’re purring like crazy, L,” he murmurs with a smile, running his fingers up and down Logan’s rumbling back, “If you’re not careful you might fall asleep before we even get through the first documentary.” Logan just grins back, tilting his head to peck Virgil on the cheek.

“I see no downside to that, V, considering I’ll be falling asleep in my alpha’s safe embrace. What more could I ever want?”

Virgil flusters and hides his face in Logan’s hair as the omega laughs, hugging the other closer. Logan eventually does fall asleep in the middle of the second documentary, cuddled close and relaxed.

And really, there was no other place Logan would rather be.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #luka writes #trigger warnings may apply #tw abuse mention #tw neglect mention #tw trust issues #tw childhood neglect #tw childhood trauma #hurt/comfort #happy ending #let me know if i need to tag more!#omegaverse au

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ryukoishida · 3 years

Text

QianQiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: [Ch. 2] In which teacher!SQ and mafia leader!YWS talk for the first time.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 2/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: No more touching this fic until I’m done with the finals T.T List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3]

ii. No Saint

It was pitch black when Shen Qiao woke up. He blinked once, twice – endless black, deeper than the night — his breath stuttering in his throat and heart thudding against his ribcage in that strangely familiar, bitter taste of terror: the inability to perceive light, the anxiety of facing the unknown.

“You’re finally awake?”

A deep voice entered his consciousness like distant thunder, rumbling with warmth yet charged with danger.

A light to his left blinked on, cold white fluorescent flooded his peripheral vision and made Shen Qiao’s eyes sting from the sudden brightness. When his pupils adjusted to the light at last, he was able to make out a fuzzy outline of someone sitting by his bedside. The figure was mostly cast in shadow, but even in the best lighting, it would have been impossible for him to see anything further than half an arm’s length with any semblance of crisp clarity.

Driven by habit, Shen Qiao began to reach blindly to the side for his spectacles, which, of course were not there.

“Looking for these?” the man with the same deep, baritone voice asked, placing a piece of mangled metal that used to be his glasses into his hand.

Feeling the warped titanium remnants with his fingers, Shen Qiao heaved a soft sigh. He knew there was no way these could be repaired, so he’d have to endure the inconvenience of blurry vision until he could get new glasses or get his hands on some contact lenses, which had long fallen out during his rough scuffle with He Huan Group’s people.

Not that it was anything new – the cloudy eyesight – since he’d spent most of his childhood with his eyes in even worse state until he was in his early teens when Qi Fengge persuaded him to undergo surgery, which had improved his ability to see if only just slightly.

Wandering in his own thoughts though never allowing himself to be defenseless in an unfamiliar environment, Shen Qiao suddenly sensed more than heard the stranger invading his personal space – the surrounding air becoming too hot from the man’s exhale and body heat, too stifling from how close and physically intimidating the man’s presence exuded, looming over him like a hunter anticipating the taste of its prey — and Shen Qiao tried to back up as best as he could, given how parts of his body were too numb from sleep or too painful from the fight to move promptly.

The man chuckled but didn’t advance further upon seeing Shen Qiao trying to shuffle back to keep his distance.

“Are you sure you should be moving around like that?” the man sat back down in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to observe the injured man with an interested gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

Ever the polite gentleman, Shen Qiao realized that he was acting quite rude to the person who’d rescued him from a terrible situation that he very likely wasn’t going to get out of by himself. Still, his delicate frame, warm hazel eyes, gentle smiles, and soft-spoken nature all contributed to a first impression of a man who was agreeable and amiable, maybe even somewhat unassuming to the point of foolish naiveté, yet those who’d been acquainted with him long enough knew that beneath his kind and considerate disposition was someone constructed of steel bones and unyielding morals.

There was a reason why he was known to be an anomaly in the underground world, crawling with all sorts of criminals and infested with coldblooded monsters that found thrills in destruction and the fall of humanity. Shen Qiao was the adopted son of a once-famed assassin Qi Fengge, who’d retired for the last decade now but had since headed one of the largest and most formidable assassin organizations that employed the best professionals good money could hire.

“You’re a funny one,” the man commented, hint of amusement seeping into his voice. “What are you sorry for?”

“I just… don’t like it when people I don’t know well get too close to me,” Shen Qiao explained quietly, his body visibly relaxed a little once he knew the stranger had backed off. “I did not mean to be disrespectful to someone who’d saved my life.”

When the stranger didn’t immediately respond, Shen Qiao continued with hesitation, “may I know the name of my savior?”

“Yan Wushi.”

He seemed content enough to offer that, at least.

“Leader of Huan Yue Group?”

Shen Qiao’s slight frown didn’t go unnoticed by the ever-observant mafia leader.

“You’ve heard of me?” Yan Wushi leaned in just a degree.

“My father had told me about you.”

Also, Shen Qiao didn’t think it was a good idea to say it out loud, but he knew that in recent years, Yan Wushi – and really, all of Huan Yue Group – was infamous for being gutsy enough to be striding the border between the criminal world and the political sphere, and still benefit greatly from both.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Huan Yue Group mixes with government officials – specifically Yuwen Yong’s faction – and gets on their good side either by offering them financial assistance under the table or getting rid of any political opponents that stand in Yuwen Yong’s way through any means possible,” Shen Qiao recited the information like he was memorizing it from a textbook.

“It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Yan Wushi admitted.

Shen Qiao’s frown deepened when he continued, “several deaths and disappearances had been suspected to be connected to members of Huan Yue, but the police never found any solid evidence to arrest or lay charges on anyone.”

“You can’t possibly blame us for the police department’s incompetence. And here I thought you’re blissfully ignorant of how our side works,” one corner of Yan Wushi’s lips twisted upwards, his interest in this frail-looking man had been elevated from indifference to modest curiosity. “It seems Qi Fengge had taught you the basics after all, despite the fact that you’re not expected to be his successor. Fascinating.”

“Father simply didn’t wish for me to be completely uninformed,” Shen Qiao exhaled, letting his eyes fall close as if he’d suddenly become too tired. “Having knowledge is a kind of advantage, though it may not seem like it at the time. I didn’t want to take over the family business, and father respected my decision, but he said even if I have no desire to work underground, the underground world will still find its way to catch up to me eventually. He was right, of course.”

He sounded exhausted, like he’d been running and escaping for years, and every time he thought he’d gotten ahead of the bloody claws of the clandestine world, it came at him snarling with gaping jaws, a cruel reminder that no matter how far he thought he’d gotten away, no matter how hard he’d convinced himself that he wasn’t part of the bloodthirst and violence, the mere fact that he was the son of Qi Fengge, the prodigious assassin’s greatest strength and weakest link, had already sealed him to a certain fate.

Shen Qiao loved and respected Qi Fengge. When Qi Fengge found him beaten and half-starving on the street and took him in one rainy night, five-year-old Shen Qiao would have never thought he’d feel the warmth of family and safety of a home again after he’d lost his parents.

He wanted to repay Qi Fengge in any way he could, but when he was old enough to finally understand what kind of organization Xuan Du was and what Qi Fengge’s real identity entailed, Shen Qiao was torn: he could – no, should – accept the position, train hard to become Qi Fengge’s next successor, and take over Xuan Du and its commitment to only execute those who were deserving of it, if only for the sake of doing what he could to show his gratitude towards his adopted father, yet his righteous moral compass and absolute belief in humanity’s good nature – borne from his education and the teachings of his father – forced him to make one of the most difficult decisions in his life.

It was ironic, how the assassination group operated under Qi Fengge’s guidance: Xuan Du Group only accepted jobs whose targets were beyond anyone’s saving and the victims’ families’ reconciling, their crimes numerous or excessive, their sins unpardonable. But who were counting the number of lives taken away by the hands of Xuan Du’s assassins?

Yan Wushi’s baritone voice pulled Shen Qiao back to the present.

“Everyone says the adopted son of Qi Fengge is different – refined, pristine, pure-hearted, a white water lily untainted by the dirty muck that brought him up,” Yan Wushi watched him closely for any flicker of emotion, “but I don’t believe that a person can truly remain unaffected by the surrounding environment.”

Yan Wushi moved so swiftly that there was no way Shen Qiao could have dodged in his current condition, so when he felt strong fingers gripping his chin and forcing him in place while the mafia leader hovered close – terrifyingly close, breaths hot and vivid against Shen Qiao’s own lips – and the other arm trapping the injured man between himself and the wall, Shen Qiao froze, eyes wide open and the only thing he perceived was Yan Wushi’s eyes.

Dark brown, but almost glowing with the rusted red of blood.

“You’re exactly the type of people I’d like to see battered and broken.”

Shen Qiao swallowed, silently willing himself in his mind to keep calm, and when he was certain his voice wouldn’t shake, he asked while maintaining their shared gaze, “then why did you save me?”

A short pause as Yan Wushi regarded the composed expression on Shen Qiao’s face, and then he barked out a laugh, roughly letting go of the other man and stepping back.

“Don’t think too highly of me, Shen Qiao. I’m certainly no saint. You were in Sang Jingxing’s possession, and I just happen to hate that man and want to fuck with him. Besides, I enjoy having people owe me.”

From this distance, Shen Qiao couldn’t see Yan Wushi’s facial expression, but years of living with vision disability meant that he’d trained his ears to pick up on the smallest nuances in the rise and fall of a person’s voice. He could almost picture the man uttering the last phrase with a snide grin.

“Regardless, I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” Shen Qiao lowered his head in a nod of thanks, “if there’s anything I can do in return in the future, please let me know.”

“Anything?”

Shen Qiao could practically hear the smile in that purr.

“Anything within the legal and ethical realm,” Shen Qiao corrected calmly.

#qian qiu #thousand autumns #yanshen #yan wushi #shen qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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