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marvelstoriesepic · 3 months ago

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Eyes made of Starlight

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Maid!Reader (Cinderella Au)

Summary: You are drawn into a royal masquerade by a mysterious woman with a magical mask.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Classism (social hierarchy themes); self-worth struggles; fantasy themes (fairy godmother, spells, illusions); power dynamics; magical disguise

Author’s Note: Oh how I loved writing the magical Cinderella vibe!! This amazing request also comes from my lovely darling!! I hope you'll enjoy this as well, beloved ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The palace walls groan with music. Light spills through stained glass. You can hear the laughter of women who never had to scrub anything in their lives.

You have no reason to be here.

You have no right to be here.

The gown does not belong to you.

The mask does not belong to you.

This moment does definitely not belong to you.

You shouldn’t be here. Not walking under crystal chandeliers, not between silk-slick gowns and heels carved from heaven. Not with perfume-laced air choking your lungs or golden music playing with your ribs. Your hands are calloused. Your eyes are too wide. You walk as if waiting to be punished.

Because you will be.

You are nothing but a maid in this place. One of many. A slip of a girl with sore fingers and silent steps, always in the background, always apologizing.

You had ash on your hands just this sunrise. Streaked across your apron. Tangled in your lashes.

You had scrubbed the same hallway twice - once out of duty, once out of nerves.

You are not meant to be here among those royals, and yet you are.

The mask that sits on your face is not just a disguise. It’s an enchantment. Deep green velvet shaped like leaves, spun with gold threads that glow when the light hits just right. You remember the exhilaration you felt when you held it in your hands after it was placed on your bed. Remember the woman who you believe put it there.

No one speaks to her. No one trusts her. They call her strange, witchy, always lingering too long in the shadows of the garden wall, half-swallowed by ivy and moonlight. She has been a part of the place longer than anyone seems to remember, sweeping corners no one else would touch, talking to birds like they can answer her.

Everyone avoids her.

They say she curses the cooks and sings to the moon and never ages a day past forty.

But you have spoken to her. Brought her bread once, tucked it into a cloth napkin with a wildflower and an apology. Timidly waved at her when you saw her standing cloaked in midnight-colored shawls that fluttered like wings.

And one night ago it was just there. The mask. Lying under your sheets, ready to be worn. You don’t know why you actually decided to do it. You never would have. It’s not a decision you would even consider. But somehow, you pulled on that mask and were suddenly dressed in a gown more worthy than your life.

You are trembling now, standing at the edge of the ballroom. The candlelight plays games with your shadow. You can feel your heartbeat tap-tap-tapping against your ribs.

The clock chimes nine.

The doors open wider and the crowd shifts.

You saw him once.

The prince.

You were delivering lines for another maid who either quit or vanished or both. And on your new route, you saw him at the end of the corridor, coming closer with each step. He had been dressed in navy and silver, his hair pulled back and his expression unreadable.

You tripped and dropped the stack of sheets in your panic, not expecting to just encounter the real prince on a simple delivery. Not as a simple maid. You hated yourself for being in his way.

And when the sheets met the floor, you didn’t breathe.

Just watched the crown prince himself bent - bent - to help pick them up.

Just watched him smile at you and ask if you were alright.

As if he wasn’t a prince and you weren’t made of floor polish and forgotten names.

You didn’t stop thinking about it since. Didn’t stop thinking about him since.

You don’t even recall if you even answered him or kept staring all while blushing so hard your skin stung.

All you are able to recall is that he had eyes like storms and a mouth made for poetry, and something about him - something in the way he looked at you, not through you - unraveled your spine.

That was weeks ago.

And now he is here.

And you are too.

He enters without fanfare, without guards, without his title dragging at his heel. He wears deep blue tonight, with black embroidery shaped like curling vines across his shoulders. His dark hair is loose, falling just below his ears.

He is beautiful. But in a way fire is beautiful. Dangerous and too bright to look at for long.

He stands there like a painting brought to life.

He scans the room and stops suddenly.

On you.

Eyes lock.

Breath caught.

Your heart drops out of your chest and slams into the floor.

He is staring. Not at the dress. Not at the mask. Not at your lips or your waist or your trembling fingers.

He’s staring at your eyes.

As if he is trying to place them in the sky.

And then he is moving. Descending the stairs slowly as if the floor belongs to him and he is offering it to you.

The crowd parts for him.

People turn to watch. Whispers start.

You want to run.

You want to melt.

You want to rewind the world and be a maid again and never take that mask from that strange woman and never come here.

You clutch the sides of your gown, panic boiling in your chest. You could run. You have to run. He can’t know.

But he’s already there and you are not moving.

“Don’t go,” he speaks and his voice is velvet.

He is standing in front of you now, impossibly close, all shadows and silver eyes staring straight into yours.

Deliberately, and without taking his eyes off of yours, he offers his hand.

“Dance with me,” he says. “Please.” His voice is deep. Genuine. A request.

A prince should not talk to a maid this way. You are sure he wouldn’t if he knew who you were.

But a maid also cannot say no to a prince.

So you take his hand with shaking fingers and the second you touch him, you are pulled into his arms, into his chest. The music swells around you as if it were meant for this.

You dance like the world has forgotten gravity.

His touch is light and guiding. One hand presses against your back, the other is intertwined with yours. He doesn’t say anything about the tiny nicks in your palm you got while hanging linens out to dry and forgetting the rose bushes behind.

Never in your life have you danced before.

Never in your life have you felt the proximity of a dance partner or the sequence of the steps to the music.

Your mind doesn’t know but somehow your body does. Your body moves as though it’s been waiting its whole life to be near him. To dance this dance with him.

Perhaps that too has something to do with the mask.

Music rises. Time bleeds away. It feels like flying. It feels like burning.

He looks at you. Doesn’t stop looking at you. And you wonder if he sees past the magic. If he sees the girl who cleans his windows and folds his sheets. The girl who dropped them in front of him and stammered out an apology so awkward she wanted to dissolve on the spot.

Your breath is suspended like the stars outside the palace windows. His hand rests against your back, the pressure just enough to keep you guided, not enough to push. The thumb of his other hand moves in slow circles over your skin and you find yourself staring at it.

His head tilts down to you.

“You keep looking away,” he observes slowly, calmly.

You look up and his gaze is already waiting for yours. “Excuse me?”

“Your eyes,” he adds, voice gentle. Quiet. “You keep hiding them.”

He leans in even closer. You hold your breath. Your steps falter.

“The most important part of dancing,” he states quietly. “is eye contact.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Everything else follows if you don’t look away.”

You feel the breath of his words against your skin and it makes you hot.

He is not teasing. Not amused. Not quite serious either, but sincere. Thoughtful. As if this moment means something to him too. As if it’s not just your heart fighting its way out of your chest.

You swallow. “Why is that?”

He pulls you closer, shifting his grip. His voice drops even softer. “If you don’t look at your partner, you cannot read them. You cannot anticipate the next step. Cannot be ready to catch them if they fall.” Something passes through his expression.

A beat. His gaze dips to your mouth. Your chin. Back to your eyes.

“And people fall.”

The words land inside of you immediately and you feel them spark a fire that heats up your neck.

You blink a few times, snapping your gaze away from him only to have his hand leave your back to turn your head in its right position - looking at him. His thumb brushes your jawline before he pulls away and settles right at your back again.

As if nothing happened.

You force yourself to nod. Careful. Like if you move too fast the spell will shatter and you will wake up barefoot in the laundry quarters with soot on your face.

He watches you some more. The way your eyes move over his face. The way your brow is twitching. The way your breath is uneven.

You almost stumble. He steadies you effortlessly as if he’d known it would happen.

“Try again,” he encourages gently. “Just look at me.”

You meet his eyes again. Fully. The ballroom fades. The velvet and glass and gossip melt. The crowd around you spins in their own perfect orbit but this is something slower. Something more important.

He leans in another time, breath ghosting your cheek. His voice is a whisper.

“Do you think I could ever forget your eyes, hm?”

Your heart drops alongside your stomach.

The clock chimes midnight.

One.

Two.

Three.

You stumble back. Out of his hold. Out of his arms. Out of his orbit.

The mask is growing warm. Too warm. Your vision flickers. Your dress begins to dull, like color draining from a dream.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking, rushed. “I have to-”

And you turn.

“Wait-” he almost shouts, desperate, confused. “Please tell me your name-”

But you are gone.

Glass slippers skim the marble. Tears burn behind your eyes and make it hard to see. The mask slips from your face as you disappear into the night, heart hammering loud enough to break open the stars.

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callsigns-haze · 3 days ago

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A night out

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have a really dark relationship where the man literally worships you. While you tease him all night at the restaurant you two are at, he reminds you that at home you're still his.

Warning: Mentions of explicit sexual content, dominant/submissive dynamics, suggestive language, mild humour and shadow daddy Azriel obsession.

The restaurant is stunning—of course it is. Velaris never offered anything less. The vaulted ceiling sparkles with starlight enchantments, ambient music drifting from a corner harp. The entire place exudes class and restraint.

Too bad you’ve never been great at either.

You sit across from your mate at a private table tucked into a shadowed alcove. The lighting is low, intimate. Your heel slowly slides up the inside of his leg beneath the table. His jaw ticks.

Azriel hasn’t spoken in over a minute.

You sip from your wine glass, the picture of innocence. “Something wrong, love?”

His eyes flick up from his menu. Glacial. Controlled.

Dangerous.

But you just smile sweetly, sliding your foot higher under the table, grazing his thigh.

Azriel doesn’t move. But his shadows coil tighter around his shoulders like they’re trying to contain him, to warn him. It only makes your smile widen.

“I’m just trying to enjoy my meal,” he says coolly, voice dark and even. “But someone seems determined to make that impossible.”

You lean forward on your elbows, cleavage just barely dipping over the neckline of your dress—that dress, the one he said should be illegal in public. “Maybe I just wanted to see how long you could last.”

His knuckles go white around his wine glass.

You continue, your voice low and silk-sweet. “It’s been such a long week, hasn’t it? Thought you might want something to look forward to.” You trail your fingers around the rim of your own glass, tilting your head. “You like it when I tease you.”

Azriel exhales slowly through his nose. “I like it when you behave.”

You hum. “No you don’t.”

His hand comes down on the table, quiet but final. The silver ring on his finger clinks faintly against the wood. “You’re on very thin ice.”

“You love it,” you whisper. Then, under the table, you press your foot right between his legs—lightly, delicately, but just enough.

Azriel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

He just stares at you with that lethal, smouldering calm.

“You know what’s going to happen when we get home,” he murmurs, voice like shadow-wrapped silk. “You know I’ll ruin you for this.”

You grin like it’s a promise and not a threat. “Then why wait?”

That’s when his shadows crawl across the edge of the table. Subtle. Controlled. Sliding up your thigh like cool silk, invisible to anyone outside your little bubble of candlelight.

Your breath hitches. Just once.

Azriel leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, lips quirking in the faintest, smug curl. “Careful, sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’re playing a game I’ve already won.”

The tension between you and Azriel crackles like lightning through the velvet-dark air, barely contained within the soft glow of candlelight.

His shadows have retreated under the table—for now—but his golden eyes stay pinned to yours. Still smouldering. Still dangerous. One wrong move, one more flutter of your lashes, and this dinner will be cut short with you carried out the door.

And then—

“Two house specialties,” the waiter says brightly, appearing beside the table like he’s just stepped into a war zone with absolutely no armour. “One chocolate ganache torte with violet cream, and one lavender honey custard with sugared petals.”

Azriel doesn’t blink.

You flash the waiter a too-sweet smile, voice syrupy with mischief. “Thank you so much. It looks divine.”

The poor male beams, oblivious to the way Azriel’s shadows twitch, like they’d rather be wrapping around your wrists than letting you eat dessert. “Enjoy, both of you. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Azriel doesn’t even look at him.

You do, though—smiling sweetly as the server walks away, giving him a chirpy, “Will do!”

When you turn back, your spoon already halfway to the ganache, Azriel still hasn’t touched his dessert. His jaw is clenched. His fingers trace the edge of the table like he’s picturing your thighs spread over it.

“You’re in trouble,” he murmurs, low and lethal.

You scoop a bite of torte and place it delicately on your tongue, moaning—just a little.

“I know,” you whisper around the spoon, eyes sparkling.

Across the table, Azriel smiles.

But it’s the kind of smile that promises ruin.

Azriel still hasn’t touched his dessert. His honeyed eyes remain locked on you, burning and unblinking, while you slowly, deliberately take another bite of ganache and moan again—just a little too loud. Just enough to make his knuckles twitch against the tablecloth.

But even as the tension hums between you like a taut string, you lean back in your chair with the ease of someone not the least bit sorry. You sigh, satisfied, swirling the remaining wine in your glass.

“So,” you say casually, like you aren’t sliding your foot along the inside of his calf again, “I spent the whole godsdamned day with Nyx and Gearan after work.”

Azriel’s brow arches. “Both of them? I swear they always drop them off now and never ask.”

You nod solemnly. “Five-year-old Nyx, who now believes shadows are for riding and insists on calling me ‘Shadow Queen,’ and three-year-old Gearan, who bit me because I wouldn’t let him eat a handful of moss.”

Azriel huffs a quiet laugh—just a breath through his nose—but you see the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

You hum thoughtfully, licking chocolate from your spoon just to test his restraint. “You know, Cassian swears he’s going to grow out of the biting.”

Azriel leans back in his seat, finally lifting his fork. “Cassian also once told me wine wasn’t an appropriate drink for toddlers. And yet I’m fairly certain Gearan chugged half a cup of Night Court spiced cider before Feyre noticed.”

You snort. “That would explain the sprinting. He scaled the back of the couch like a bat.”

Azriel finally takes a bite of his dessert, gaze still fixed on you over the edge of the fork. “And how did Nyx behave?”

“Oh, he was perfect,” you say sweetly. “He only destroyed three of your reports.”

Azriel’s fork pauses midair. “Which ones?”

“The ones marked ‘Eyes Only: High Lord and Spymaster.’”

His head tips just slightly, and his shadows curl at his ankles.

“I’m kidding,” you grin. “Mostly. One of them is now a spaceship. The other two are... missing.”

He stares at you for a beat. “I should ground you.”

“You should thank me,” you chirp. “Nyx said I’m better than Cassian because I don’t smell like sweat and war. He also said I look like I belong in a painting.”

Azriel’s mouth twitches. “He has taste.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast. “And Gearan gave me a pinecone. So I’m basically everyone’s favourite.”

Azriel’s golden gaze darkens just slightly as he sets down his fork and leans forward over the table. “You’re my favourite,” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “But if you don’t stop teasing me like this in public, I swear to the Mother—”

“What?” you cut in sweetly, tilting your head. “You’ll punish me?”

Azriel’s smile is all sharp, quiet promise. “No. I’ll wait. And then I’ll make you beg for it.”

Your heart skips a beat. But still—still—you reach for another bite of dessert with an infuriating little smirk.

“Good,” you murmur. “I was planning on skipping sleep tonight anyway.”

Azriel’s jaw flexes as he leans back, arms crossing over his broad chest while his shadows flicker around his shoulders—coiled, tense, like they’re ready to drag you out of this candlelit restaurant and into the first dark corner they can find.

But instead of growling or storming from the table the way you almost expect him to, he exhales a long, slow breath… and smiles.

It’s not a kind smile.

It’s not even a patient one.

It’s the calm-before-the-storm sort of smile. The “you’ve made your choice—now you’ll live with it” sort of smile.

Which only makes your grin widen.

Still, conversation between you flows smoothly, so fluid and effortless it would almost fool anyone watching—if they couldn’t feel the tension vibrating like a live wire between you.

“So, when are you going to tell Rhys that Nyx is absolutely planning a prison break with his cousins?” you ask innocently, toying with the last petal on your dessert plate.

Azriel’s brow lifts. “He’s five.”

“He’s persuasive,” you counter. “He told Gearan he could fly a stolen Illyrian ship if he was brave enough. And then asked me if prison cells come with window views.”

Azriel sighs. “He’s been spending too much time around Nesta.”

You raise your wine glass again, wiggling your brows. “I don’t know. I think it’s more of a ‘nature over nurture’ thing. He’s your nephew. He’s got that little danger glint.”

Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours. “So do you.”

“Must be contagious.”

He chuckles once, low and quiet, his tongue just briefly brushing the inside of his cheek as he studies you.

Then, as if nothing inside him is vibrating with tension, he says, “Cassian wants to do a family dinner soon.”

“With Gearan and his moss snacks?”

“With everyone.”

You pause, lowering your glass. “At the River House?”

“Or Windhaven.”

Your eyes narrow. “You want to take Nyx, Gearan, and me to Windhaven? Where the beds are like rocks and the baths are always cold?”

Azriel’s shadows curl tighter around his ankles. “I want to watch you try to survive it.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “you’re feeling brave tonight.”

Azriel just smirks, that infuriating, devastating smirk, and raises a slow bite of custard to his mouth. “I don’t need to feel brave, love. I just need to make it through dessert.”

“Mm,” you hum, swiping your finger through the last of the cream on your plate and licking it off. “I wouldn’t count on that. I may ask for a third course.”

His fork freezes midair.

Your smile turns lethal.

Azriel leans in slightly, voice a threat wrapped in velvet: “Make your next move wisely, wife.”

But you? You just lean forward too, dragging your spoon between your teeth as you whisper, “I’m already three moves ahead, mate.”

Azriel lifts one hand without taking his burning golden eyes off you, two fingers raised in a silent signal.

The waiter is at your side almost instantly. Whether he was watching from afar or simply sensed the force of Azriel’s authority, he doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes, sir?”

“The bill,” Azriel says smoothly, already pulling a sleek obsidian-black card from the inner pocket of his tailored jacket. The shadows curled around his wrist retract just slightly—coiling back like they too are done playing games.

But you?

Oh, you’re not.

You slide a folded stack of cash across the table with practiced ease. Neat, crisp bills pressed together and slipped low, slow, toward his hand.

Azriel’s fingers don't flinch from the card.

His eyes flick down once, then back to your face.

And then—with the sort of disdain that makes your heart stutter in your chest—he flicks the cash back at you with a single sharp movement of his middle finger. It’s so smooth, so dismissively dominating, it takes a half-second to register that he’s just told you to shove it and flipped you off in one impossibly elegant motion.

The bills flutter back into your lap like falling feathers.

You blink once.

And then—

“Don’t insult me, woman,” Azriel says, his voice low, rough silk dragged across stone. His shadows swirl tight against his legs now, like they’re holding him back from devouring you right then and there.

The waiter awkwardly clears his throat, blinking between the two of you—clearly unaware of the undercurrents, but smart enough to sense that whatever is happening, he doesn’t want to be a part of it.

Azriel hands him the card without breaking eye contact with you.

You pick the money off your lap with slow, deliberate grace and tuck it back into your clutch, head tilting just slightly. A smirk ghosts over your lips.

“Touchy,” you murmur.

Azriel’s smile is small. Dangerous.

“Careful.”

As the waiter retreats with the signed bill, barely masking the tension in his shoulders, the atmosphere between you and Azriel thickens—not with anger, but with something far more potent. That magnetic, suffocating intimacy only the two of you know how to wield. You feel it wrap around your throat like silk and shadow.

Azriel rises slowly, all lethal grace and quiet dominance, the soft creak of his chair the only sound you register as your heartbeat picks up.

Without a word, he steps behind your chair and slides it back with one hand, the scrape of wood on marble muted by the hush of the restaurant. His free hand moves to your shoulder with firm possession, the weight of it grounding you—reminding you exactly who you belong to.

You look up at him with all the sweetness of a trap laid bare. He only lifts a brow. “Up,” he says, low and sharp as tempered steel.

You rise with a coy little smile, expecting him to step aside and let you lead.

But instead, he shifts into place, extending one strong, tattooed arm slightly to the side in an unmistakable cue. A silent demand: wrap your arm around mine.

You blink once—because it’s unnecessary. You’re his mate. You’re leaving a restaurant, not being escorted through a court.

But the look he gives you? You obey before you even realize you’re moving.

Your hand slides through the crook of his elbow, settling snugly around his forearm, your body folding into his side without hesitation. He doesn’t move right away. He just lets you cling there for a beat too long, like he wants people to see it. To understand: you’re his.

The waiter reappears awkwardly, fur coat in hand. Azriel accepts it with a nod of thanks, not sparing the male more than a glance. Then he turns his attention back to you—unfolding the coat like a sacred offering.

He holds it open with precision, standing close enough for you to feel the heat of him behind you. You slip your arms in slowly, savouring the chill of fur against bare skin—and the burn of Azriel’s fingers ghosting down your arms as he pulls it up your shoulders, straightening it with infuriating care.

His mouth brushes your ear from behind as he leans in, voice pitched for only you.

“That smug little smile of yours,” he whispers, each syllable a velvet threat, “won’t be so cute when I’ve got your legs tied to the bedposts and my shadows stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.”

Your knees almost buckle.

He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of reacting to it. He only presses a single kiss beneath your ear and straightens, his palm skimming dangerously low over your waist as he guides you forward, arm still laced through yours.

You don’t look back. You don’t need to.

You feel every eye watching as the two of you walk out—like shadows and starlight made flesh.

Reblogs, comments and asks always appreciated!

credits @tsunami-of-tears to for the dividers!

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milunalupin · 7 months ago

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— two turtle doves

remus lupin x reader ★ 1.2k words

twelve days of nico-mas masterlist

It was the holiday season, and James Potter’s house was alive with warmth and laughter, a perfect contrast to the cold winter outside. The old manor, tucked away in the countryside, was bustling with the sounds of four excited Marauders and their three closest friends—Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and you—who had gathered there to celebrate the holidays. It was a rare occasion where the entire group could come together with everyone's busy schedules, and James had insisted on hosting the event at his family’s house.

Sirius had already begun to set up an impromptu game of wizard’s chess, which quickly devolved into a mock battle with flying pieces and the occasional dramatic outburst. Marlene and Lily were in the kitchen, chatting animatedly as they prepared a mountain of food that seemed to replenish itself every time someone took a serving. James and Peter, who had taken to lounging on the couch, were discussing something in low voices, though their conversation was peppered with bursts of laughter.

But amidst the joyful noise, there was one person who wasn’t quite as carefree as the others.

Remus Lupin sat at the corner of the room, watching the festivities unfold, his fingers nervously tapping the edge of his glass. His eyes drifted to you. You were initially sitting near the fire, wrapped in a knitted blanket, but were dragged over by Sirius to help him clean up the chess pieces. Your hair caught the light in a way that made it look like you had little bits of starlight woven into it, and it was a sight that Remus had grown to appreciate more than he liked to admit.

The problem? Remus had drawn your name for the Secret Santa exchange.

His stomach fluttered at the thought. He had liked you for ages—since your first year at Hogwarts, when you’d enchanted him with all of your astronomy talk. But in all the time that had passed, Remus never had the courage to confess his feelings. Instead, he had buried them deep, convinced that someone like him—someone who had so many things to hide—wasn’t meant for someone like you.

He could still remember the panic that had set in when he’d drawn your name from the hat, his heartbeat quickening as he realized he’d have to gift you something. Something meaningful. What could he give you? What would you even like? Remus had spent the last few weeks combing through shops and stores in Hogsmeade, trying to find the perfect gift, but nothing felt right. Every item he considered somehow seemed inadequate for someone he treasured as much as you.

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he watched you, trying not to be too obvious. You caught his gaze once, offering him a warm smile that sent a jolt of heat through his chest. He quickly looked away, his face flushing in a way that was unmistakable to anyone who knew him well. Unfortunately for him, that would be everyone in the house.

James, ever the observant one, leaned over to him, grinning knowingly, “You’re not fooling anyone”.

Remus shot him a look that could have melted a frost salamander, but it did little to deter James, who was enjoying himself immensely. Peter, ever the second to James in enthusiasm, chimed in. “Yeah, mate, you’ve been eyeing her all day. It’s just Secret Santa, right?”

Remus groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think it’s just that,” he mumbled under his breath, but James’s grin only widened.

“I know, I know. Trust me, I’m rooting for you,” James said, giving him a little nudge. “On with it now, it’s time for the exchange.”

And with that, the room settled down, everyone gathering around the tree in the corner where a pile of neatly wrapped gifts lay. Marlene and Lily sat side by side with a smugness that was only slightly irritating—both of them had a reputation for picking perfect presents. You, on the other hand, were quietly fiddling with the edge of your sweater, still unaware that Remus was about to hand you a gift that would send his heart into overdrive.

As the Secret Santa exchange began, one by one, people took turns giving their presents. The room was filled with laughter and excitement as everyone unwrapped their surprises. James had given Lily a knit scarf she’d been eyeing for ages, Sirius had gifted Marlene a new pair of combat boots, and Peter, surprisingly, had chosen a book of obscure magical creatures for James.

And then, it was Remus’s turn.

His heart hammered in his chest as he stood up, holding a small, amateurly wrapped package in his hands. You looked up as he approached, your smile gentle and warm, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving.

“Here, dove,” Remus said, his voice surprisingly steady. He held out the gift toward you, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Your eyes widened with curiosity, and you smiled. “For me?”

“Yeah… I-I hope you like it,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours before quickly darting away. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at you for too long.

You carefully tore off the paper, revealing a box containing small silver pendant in the shape of a crescent moon, delicate and shining with an almost ethereal glow. Beside it was a matching pair of star earrings that sparkled as if they had just been pulled down form the night sky. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you lifted it from the box.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, turning it over in your fingers. “Remus this is too much."

Remus swallowed, suddenly feeling like the weight of the world was pressing on his chest. “It… it reminded me of you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The moon, I mean. It’s kind of… I don’t know… I thought you might like it. You like astronomy... and stuff."

You looked at him, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt strangely quiet, as if the air had thickened with the unsaid words between you. Finally, you reached out and gently took his hand, your touch sending a warmth through him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Remus,” you said softly, a genuine smile on your face. “This is… more than I could have ever asked for. It’s perfect, thank you."

His heart skipped a beat at your words. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, and he struggled to maintain composure, his fingers still tingling from the touch of yours. The rest of the group was watching, but for a moment, it didn’t matter. Remus finally allowed himself to look you in the eye, and the unspoken connection between you two was more than words could ever convey.

“Well,” Sirius, ever the instigator, raised his glass. “To Moony, the Marauder with a heart!”

The rest of the group joined in, raising their glasses in a clink of celebration. Remus shot them all an exasperated look, but his heart was light. When the noise died down, you looked back at him, still holding the pendant in your hand.

“You’re welcome dove," Remus said softly, though his voice was steady now. “I’m glad you like it.”

And as the night went on, the warmth of the holiday season wrapped around you all, filled with laughter, food, and the simple joy of being together. For Remus, however, the most perfect gift of all had just been given—because for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something more between you and him.

— taglist ♥︎

@willowlovestheweasleys

#twelve days of nico mas #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus john lupin #remus john lupin x reader

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thevoidscreams · 4 months ago

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I have an idea for the last days of Mating Press March: Vulkan with a little wifey from a Ice World. Taking an example from his brothers, he searched for a mother to his Legion and a lady to be at his side and found and feel in love with you. Like the gentleman I imagine him being, he began courting her gallantly, taking advice from the Primarchs, and finally the love sick couple married. After their wedding, he takes her to bed to consummate. The contrast between his extremely warm body temperature and her freezing as they make love :3. Plus the extra fact that Vulkan is going to obviously be very careful around her and the best lay she's ever had. As always, he's the king of aftercare, offering her all sorts of comforts

Day 5 Year 2: Warning: First time sex, tooth rotting fluff, This man has no pull out game, you will have cum in you.

Words: 2971

"I hope that you are adjusting well to the temperature my love." Vulkan hummed softly, his deep voice vibrating through your body as he carried you to your honeymoon suite. "It's a bit warm but I think I'll live, especially in your arms." He smiled, his burning eyes creased at the edges with the expression as his delight showed on his face. "I am glad to hear it. We'd hoped that the temperature would be cool enough after some adjustments." Your heart fluttered with the sentiment. "You lowered the temperature of the ship, just for me?" He kissed your forehead sweetly. "Of course, I want my wife to be comfortable in her new home." Vulakn's words were all affection for his beloved and you could feel it in each syllable. He stopped by the door where two of his sons stood guard. “You may take your leave my sons. Your mother and I will need our privacy.” They nodded and left, but not before congratulating yourself and your husband on your nuptials. The room was spacious, it offered all the comforts of a personal space that one might require, and the bed was the centerpiece of it all.

Vulkan set you down on the edge, his eyes alight with desire and eagerness as he unclasped the cloak around his shoulders and set the article of drake scales aside. He was dressed ornately, for such an occasion called for nothing but his best. His wedding attire had been hand crafted from fine materials and his head and arms had been adored with the fangs of great drakes and the claws of the giant ice beasts that roamed the frozen wastes outside the city he had taken you from. The crown of teeth was set aside the cloak and the fabric of his shirt untied to free his scarred onyx chest to you.

You had been similarly garbed, the dress fabric had been woven for just this occasion and it flowed around your form like a silken wave of starlight. Vulkan had been on top of all the preparations of your gown and the choker of drake scales and gemstones had been a labor of love that he had made of his own two hands, gathering and weaving and fixing each gem into the center of each scale. Even in the dimness of the room it glittered so prettily. It matched the set of bracelets that wrapped from your wrists up to your forearms and ended at the elbow, shaped into the slender body of the ice dragons of your home world. The set seemed to glow against your skin. But the primarch could not see any of the beauty but your own. His twin hearts hammering as he knelt at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric as he swallowed the uncharacteristic nervousness that threatened to choke him.

"May I, my flame?" He inquired, longing to see you bared to him. You nodded, biting your lip in anticipation. Hoping he would like what was underneath.

As he drew the fabric up and over your head his breath caught in his throat.

Lace and leather intermingled with smaller drake scales, forming a set of lingerie that, while not terribly complex, held everything in a snug and tantalizing manner. You had been so excited to show your primarch but his shocked expression left you wondering. "Is it okay my love?" You pressed, suddenly worried that he did not like what he saw.

If Vulkan had not been on his knees before he might have fallen to them. He already knew that you were the most radiant creature in the universe. But knowing and seeing were two very different things.

He found his voice at last as his hands reached for you. "It is.. beyond words." His touch was hot and it sent a jolt up your spine as his warmth sunk into you. The people of your world were often compared to the ice that fell from the sky year round. Cold and unyielding. But Vulkan found he enjoyed the cool touch of your skin, it was refreshing in a way. "Never have I seen such beauty all in one place, or one person. How did you make this piece."

His burning fingers brushed over the leather of one strap adorned with scales.

"The woman of your home village, I asked them what would please a man of your home world on their wedding night. They all came together to help me make this.. and to give pointers."

His smile returned tenfold and he leaned in to claim your lips. "Always full of surprises you are."

Vulkan felt his cock strain against the light fabric of his pants and groaned. "I find that I am very eager to explore more of your form my flame. Please, may I?"

"Yes. Of course, I am all yours."

He groaned in pleasure at your words, knowing that it was true. You were his and he was determined to have all of you tonight. He laid you back, his hands caressing your thighs as he settled between them, his face lowering to your stomach. He placed a kiss there, making you giggle, his smile widened and he kissed you there once more, thrilling in the way you wiggled beneath him. He set about kissing a line up from your stomach, planning to revisit those ticklish spots another time. Up from your stomach he kissed a slow line over the bottom of your sternum and between your breasts, which he also planned to revisit shortly. Each kiss left a bloom of warmth on your skin and added to the heat in your lower stomach.

When his lips reached your collar bone you felt as though you were going to burst. Sensing your discomfort he pulled away, and met your gaze. "What troubles you?" His rich deep voice was threaded with worry as he thought perhaps he'd done something that wasn't to your liking.

"I'm okay, I'm just very eager, as is my body. I've been craving you this way for longer than just tonight and all your kissing and touching is just making me want you even more."

He hummed, understanding now. "I see, and what would you have me do first?"

Your cheeks were tinted with a blush as he asked. "Perhaps you could begin between my thighs. Where I am the most sensitive." The thought of that hot tongue on your pussy made you squirm slightly. Knowing it would feel simply amazing. He made a thoughtful sound as if considering your request. "I see, Then I shall do what I can." He began his tortuously slow descent down your body which drew a persistent string of whining from you that seemingly made him kiss slower till he was just above your clothed mound. "Well, it would seem I am unable to go further. I have been barred. with the cloth in the way I can not do as you ask of me." He teased and you wanted to scream. He was SO CLOSE. You could feel the heat of his breath on your cunt but he was teasing you! "Please." You begged. "Vulkan I need you." Giving you some mercy he chuckled and conceded. "Very well." He pressed a kiss right over your clit and your hips bucked up in pursuit of something more.

Well that was certainly something he needed to investigate further. His fingers sunk under your waistband and pulled the panties away, revealing a dripping sex that called to him. He bent low, kissing your clit again, achieving the same result. He liked the way your body responded to him. He licked his lips of the juice that had smeared there and hummed in surprise at the taste. Musky and a bit salty, yet there was a sweetness to it.

He kissed lower over the lips, and found more of that sweetness. Working on intuition he lapped his tongue up between the folds and was rewarded with a cry of delight from you. Vulkan knew then what it is that you had probably wanted and it wasn't just kisses. He rove his tongue up and then back down the valley between your legs stopping only to kiss the small nub above it as well. His arms trapped your hips as you wouldn't stop moving and it was making his retrieval of more sweetness difficult.

You were floored, his tongue was like fire between your legs, so much warmer than expected, but in the best possible way. You moaned and writhed under him as he continued to eat you out, his tongue as skilled at the rest of him it seemed.

You had barely the time to articulate what was happening before your thighs clamped around his head and you came so hard your back bowed off the bed and you were left wailing his name into the night.

The primarch was stunned but drank down the sudden gush of juices that you gave him gratefully. "Are you alright my flame?" He asked as he surfaced from your cunt, concerned for your well being.

"I'm fine," you assured a bit dazed and confused, "you just managed to do what no man before you ever managed is all."

Vulkan felt a swell of pride at that. He may not have been the only man you ever had, but he was going to make sure he was the best and the last you ever had.

He glanced down at his own body to his cock which was fully erect. It seemed as though doing that had only driven him further into his need.

"I must say that I understand the principle of what is next, but I do not have the practical experience to make the next steps confidently."

You smiled and took his hand. "We'll do this together, slowly if we must." You reassured as he crawled onto the bed.

Slowly had turned out to be an understatement once you had his cock in your hand, stroking it as you lined up the head of his member with your entrance. Big was also an understatement. Being a primarch you had been sure there would be some stretching and getting used to, but as you lowered yourself onto your lover's cock it was like losing your virginity all over again. You swore loudly as you felt your inner walls pushed far beyond anything you'd taken before.

"Do you wish to stop? I will not be upset or angry, I can see you are in pain." His hands clamped around your hips and held you still. "Vulkan, let go, I am going slowly so I won’t hurt myself. I just need to get used to your girth, that's all." He shook his head. "I will not see my bride injure herself on our wedding night." You glared at him and he was unsure why. "Vulkan. I can handle this." You spoke with clarity and purpose, you would not leave this room until you had a load of his cum in you. You swore that to yourself and you were not giving up now.

"If it becomes too much, you will stop." It wasn't a question but you nodded anyway. "I will." Relieved he allowed you to continue, his hands resting on your hips and you speared yourself on his cock. It had been a good idea to have him on his back, it allowed you to use your weight to push yourself down his shaft. With a finally deep breath you finally felt the warmth of his thighs pelvis meet your ass as you took him to the base.

"See, I told you I could handle it." You panted and he looked both pleased but very much concerned. His eyes widened a bit as he looked down. "I can see the bugle of my cock through your stomach." He observed, concerned.

"Oh yeah.. pretty cool I say." Your hand rubbed the bulge and he sighed. "Please do not hurt yourself." "I won't." That's why I'm waiting till I've adjusted.

He ran his fingers over your torso where the leather and lace had been before, now it was just your bare skin and the ornate jewelry he'd made you. It made his cock twitch to see you wearing his pieces. You gasped as his cock did so and he pulled his hand away. "Are you alright?" "Yes, oh throne that felt good." You sighed.

You made a small shift so you were resting on his chest, your hips raising and falling once to test the feeling. The moan you both gave was confirmation enough that you were both ready. You raised your hips again, letting them fall, Vulkan hugged you to his chest tightly, the feeling was intense, like nothing he'd ever felt.

The rush was almost like going into battle but his body was not singing for war, it was begging for more of the pleasure he was getting from the steady rhythm of your hips. His own hips bucked, pushing his cock in deep as your hips fell and you gasped, stars bursting behind your eyes as you clawed at his chest in blind need for more of that overwhelming deepness and gratifying pressure. The primarch held you close as he rolled over, squishing you into the soft bed below. His arms were the only thing keeping you from being fully squashed. "It is not like I thought it would be." He growled and thrust into you again, making it hard to think. He set a new rhythm faster than you had been able to manage and harder as well. “Does it at least meet expectations?” You asked. “No. It far exceeds them.” He growled his reply and his lips crashed into yours stealing a quick burning kiss.

Your panting breaths and words of love were spoken against his lips as he had his way with you, pressing kisses to your lips frequently as he shook the bed with each roll of his body. He enjoyed the sight of your body taking his cock and your breasts bouncing as he rutted into you.

Distantly you were thankful he'd sent his sons away and ordered them to leave you two to have privacy tonight, or else the poor things might have been subject to the string of pure profanity and lewd expressions your new husband had to say.

"I am going to fill your cunt with so much of my seed that you'll be leaking it into next week." The drake lord rumbled, his voice somehow even lower and more commanding. It had you clenching around him as you cried out in assent of this idea. Begging him to fill you to the point of bursting.

His pace faltered and he came hard. The pulsing of his cock was accompanied by a deep warmth that you were sure was him cumming straight into your womb.

You were going to say something, but he flipped you over, his cock slipping free making you whine. Your face was suddenly in a mountain of pillows as he pulled your hips up to meet his, as his cock slipped back in. This angle somehow felt deeper as he thrust into you, pulling you back by the hips to meet each one. He was not slow about it. His earlier concern was replaced by the need to make good on his word. "You are the most beautiful woman in this galaxy and I intend to make you the most beautiful mother as well." He nearly came again as he pictured you very round and pregnant with his children.

You didn't have the presence of mind to respond as he pounded you into the mattress. You were close, but it felt more than just that. You'd come in the past but from nothing even close to a fraction of this much pleasure. You babbled senselessly as he gave another bed shaking thrust and you came apart with a scream that you barely recognized. Your vision went white and your teeth clamped down into something below you.

You came to a minute later from a trembling voice and a hard jostle. Your gaze took a moment to focus as the warm form above you kept shaking you and crying out in concern. It eventually did and you saw your husband with a look of panic and grief on his face. "My flame please! Are you okay!? Please say something." He begged. You smiled dumbly and nuzzled his chest. Oh, you were in his arms, when had that happened. "Heya hot stuff." You mumbled and he sighed, his body was trembling. "What happened?" You asked finally and he took a few steadying breaths.

"You screamed and dug your teeth into my arm. You drew blood." He explained looking like he'd seen death. "Then you went still and quiet and I could not rouse you. I thought I had killed you!" He hugged you close and you wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulder. "No, Vulkan, I'm okay. I just had the moth soul shattering earth quaking orgasm is all."

Vulkan stared down at you in disbelief. "My vision went white and everything. It was wild." You laughed and he looked ready to cry from relief. He reclined back into the bed with you curled up into his arms. "I'm sorry for biting you." You hadn't even noticed his arm had shifted positions. "It is alright my love. It will heal, and if I am lucky, even scar. Then I will forever have a reminder of you to look at." The comment made you laugh. "I'm glad."

You both rested there a moment before you sighed. "We should probably get cleaned up."

He sighed as well. "I suppose we should."

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #mating press march #primarch #my writing #reader insert #primach vulkan #vulkan #vulkan x reader

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starryg4rden · 4 months ago

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SBG Slime Rancher AU!!

In this AU, everyone's aged up by a few years just so it makes sense for them to live alone

Also, time is very... vague. This is my silly AU just let me have fun

I don't have designs because, well, it's Slime Rancher. Have a field day they can wear whatever, they're not even on Earth

This post is actually much more detailed than my Twitter thread tbh

And do ask me questions!!! I love to yap

Ashlyn and Aiden are the only ones who have been living on the Far, Far Range their whole lives. Both Ash's parents and Aiden's parents came to the Far, Far Range before having a kid.

Other than them, Ben has been there the longest. Ben was sent to the Far, Far Range to live with Aiden's family after the whole thing with Shane. Ben's parents write to him semi-often.

Logan came next, and has only been on the Far, Far Range for 2-3 years. His parents disappeared mysteriously dw about it. His grandparents were worried at first, but let him go, and they still write to him all the time.

The twins came the most recently, only being there for a few months to a year. In this AU, Ethan is alive and Mariana is well!! Yippee!! They also write to their kids often.

Ashlyn's parents live on Beatrix/Hobson's ranch from the game (and have the same slimes as are from the game, excluding SR2), and it's where Ash grew up, but she lives with Taylor now, because they're married, because I said so. Ash kind of takes Hobson's place here.

Aiden and Ben live at Mochi's Manor, where Aiden's parents have quicksilver slimes.

Everybody else lives on their own ranch (which I just made up with vague ideas of places from the games).

Taylor and Tyler live on a place like Starlight Strand, Taylor's ranch being on the blue side, and Tyler's ranch being on the pink side. The blue side connects to an area like the Moss Blanket, and the pink side connects to an area like the Dry Reef and a beach like the one already on Starlight Strand in the game. Like I said earlier, Ashlyn is living with Taylor.

Logan lives in an area that's basically just the Ancient Ruins and the Glass Desert. His Glass Desert would connect to Ashlyn/Her parents' Glass Desert.

Ashlyn's parents, like I said, have all the normal slimes from SR1, and, again, like I said, Aiden's parents have quicksilver slimes.

The blue side of Starlight Strand (Taylor's side) has: (blue) flutter slimes, tabby slimes, tangle slimes, honey slimes, twin slimes, cotton slimes

The pink side of Starlight Strand (Tyler's side) has: flutter slimes, tabby slimes, tangle slimes, twin slimes, cotton slimes, pink slimes

The Moss Blanket has: (blue) flutter slimes, hunter slimes, tabby slimes, tangle slimes, honey slimes, phosphor slimes, shadow slimes, ringtail slimes, cotton slimes, yolky slimes

The Dry Reef & beach have: dervish slimes, angler slimes, puddle slimes, rock slimes

The Ancient Ruins have: quantum slimes, glitch slimes (Logan didn't make them, the rancher before him did), phosphor slimes, mosaic slimes

The Glass Desert has: quantum slimes, mosaic slimes, sloomber slimes, dervish slimes, crystal slimes, meteor slimes (I don't care if they were never actually added!)

And Ben has a portal to The Wilds! Don't ask why, I just wanted him to.

On their Ranch, of course everyone has the slimes from the areas connected to them, but here's what else they have (from Range Exchange):

Ashlyn & Taylor: puddle & (normal) flutter slimes (Stolen from Ty), mosaic slimes (from Logan), saber slimes (from Ben)

Tyler: hunter slimes (stolen from Tay), boom slimes (from Aiden), meteor slimes (from Logan)

Aiden: rock, boom, rad, & crystal slimes (all from Ash & her parents), fire slimes (from Ash, who found it and thought he'd like it), hunter, tangle, and dervish (from Ty)

Ben: mosaic slimes (from Logan), cotton slimes (from Tay)

Logan: cotton slimes (from Ty), saber slimes (from Ben), yolky slimes (from Tay)

Here's their favorite slimes:

Ashlyn: phosphor

Taylor: tabby

Tyler: twin

Aiden: fire

Ben: cotton

Logan: meteor

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desceros · 2 years ago

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me, having an insomnia: [copes by writing donnie snuggles] donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated g

You wait as long as you can before you finally give in and go find him.

His lab is empty, which surprises you. Usually, when you’re having trouble sleeping, you can find him in here. Donnie’s good at making you interested in even the most obscure of his projects, but when you come to him in the dead of night, he has this… thing he can do where he rambles in a low comforting voice until you drift off in the chair next to him. He’s tried to explain it to you before—something about vibrations and pitch—but you like to think of it as the power of love.

Scoff, he’d say, turning his face away to hide the way his lips would go a little wobbly.

He’s not in the kitchen getting a snack or cup of tea, which isn’t too uncommon. Something about sugar boosting his brain while he’s tired, you think he said. Nor is he in the living room, scrolling through his phone in the dark while he battles his own insomnia demons. Donnie isn’t always productive, but it’s difficult for him to take a break, sometimes.

Can’t turn my brain off, he says, eyes fluttering shut when your fingers find his face to caress it.

You look everywhere—the game room, his lab again, the garage, his lab one more time—before you think, oh and check his bedroom.

…He’s asleep, you realize, blinking a little to see it. His mask is draped on his bedside table, his battle shell gone to reveal the soft keratin underneath. It’s a bit of a relief to see, deflating that piece in your brain that always worries about him, even as disappointment stings just a little. A sleepless night it is, then, you muse, turning to leave and go back to your room before you’re stopped by a sleepy mumble of your name.

“…C’mere,” Donnie slurs, reaching a hand inelegantly behind him to pat at the bed.

Completely busted, you come inside. Lifting his blanket, you crawl beneath it, pressing close to his soft shell. Instantly, there’s something inside your chest that just—relaxes. Your lungs take in a full, proper breath that smells of his skin. Cool beneath your cheek, his shell comforts you, enticing your palms to press against it even as you curl into him.

“…Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“Mm. Okay now,” you respond quietly.

“Sure?”

“Mm.”

A low rumble comes out of Donnie’s chest; not enough to disturb. It’s a bit like a white noise machine. You sink into it, into him, enough that you don’t feel him move to turn until he’s already halfway there.

Facing you now, Donnie slides a hand to the small of your back and pulls. Easily, you melt into him, sliding one leg between his and slotting into place. Sighing with contentment as his plastron melds to your chest, you wrap an arm around his torso, your fingers tracing familiar divots in his soft shell.

After a few moments of just this, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You shiver, starlight catching in your throat. Wanting more, wanting him to know you want this, that you want him, you hum softly on your next breath.

He knows what that sound means. But he asks anyway. “Good?”

“Mm.”

Slowly, sweetly, he ducks his face in close. He’s a little shy, still, about kissing you; but it takes your breath away all the same, making you stroke a long line down his shell while you tilt your head a little to meet him halfway. It’s a gentle, chaste thing that leaves your heart mostly in place, though it quivers when he makes a little chirpy sigh that betrays his feelings on having you here. The night makes him honest, his hand sure on your hip to keep it pressed to his, his beak nuzzling your cheek confidently.

Tucking your face into his throat, you feel him inhale at the crown of your head and sigh out with complete satisfaction. He goes boneless, his body meeting the shape of yours and little churrs vibrating through your chest where there’s nothing between you except the cotton of your shirt. Mindlessly, your fingers trace little hearts onto his shell, quiet little promises of something you know you’re going to slip and say, someday.

Warm, happy, you close your eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.

#my fic #donatello/reader #me: i can't sleep #my brain: go cuddle with someone until you can then #me: 😭#tmnt #rise #rating: g

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lemony-snickers · 6 months ago

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Hiya Lem! Sorry if I’m too late~but hows about 17 and Kakashi for the Spotify wrapped fic game! Or if ya got too many Kashi’s, maybe Yugao! ~or anyone you feel fits the song best~ ❤︎₊ ⊹

17. fire - louis the child ft. evalyn.

only one late here is me. <3 also, never too many kakashis i did both! sort of! .

lookin' up, starlight; take me there, i wanna fly

Kakashi’s back is hard against Yugao’s as they face the closing circle of enemies, his voice a barely discernable growl as he barks orders from behind his broken mask. They are in the shit, and Yugao for the first time since taking her ANBU oath wonders if this may be the mission that prevents her from ever returning home.

She looks up, the pinpoints of stars dancing in her blurred vision overhead. She doesn’t have time to contemplate the concussion, though, because Kakashi springs forward and she must do the same if she wants to survive, to protect her teammates.

The battle is protracted and bloody. By the time Team Ro limps away, they are all battered and bruised. Ko’s ankle is broken and he leans against Tenzo who used some of the last of his strength to create a wooden crutch to help distribute the weight.

Yugao looks ahead. Their team leader is tense, Hound’s shoulders lifted almost to his ears. Kakashi’s silver hair is stained red and brown – new and old blood mixing with the shimmering strands, matting it to his scalp in places. She wonders how much is his, how much belongs to those he slayed, if any of it came from her own wounds.

In addition to an obvious head injury, she herself has sustained several lacerations and fears she may be bleeding internally, if the sickly grey bruise spreading over her abdomen is any indication. She won’t be able to see a skilled enough medic until they are back in Konoha, and so she grits her teeth against the pain and follows her Captain. When her eyes flutter closed a few short hours later, voices screaming her call sign, the faint beginning of panic bleeding into the edges of the syllables, the last thing she sees is the face of Hound blotting out the stars.

Yugao stares at Kakashi’s panicked half-face through his broken mask and tries to tell him it’s not his fault. She always knew her life in the corps would end this way.

but i’m miles off the ground; i’m leavin’ this whole match city to burn

The hospital lights are blinding, the itchy blankets too cloying and hot when she wakes. Yugao throws them away, but when she tries to stand, she wavers, suddenly dizzy; vision blurring in defiance of the too-bright lights. Adrenaline, insistent and overwhelming, courses through her quicker than common sense.

A firm hand grasps one arm, holds her steady. Her hearing is fuzzy at first, but then it clears like she’s coming up from underwater. “Stand down, Uzuki-san.”

Her eyes slide over to find Kakashi, wearing Konoha’s standard jonin uniform. It feels wrong to see him in the blue fatigues and flak vest. She can’t even remember the last time she’s seen anyone on her team out of their ANBU uniform. Sometimes it feels like they live more of their lives as their masked counterparts than as themselves.

Even though most of his face is covered, it still feels like an intrusion to see his right eye peaking out from over his mask. She’s used to Hound, not Kakashi Hatake.

She tries to shrug out of his grip, but Kakashi’s fingers only dig in harder, forcing her down until she’s sitting on the bed again. She curses, feeling the beginnings of another bruise. When he releases her, Yugao massages the place where his hand had been.

“I don’t think the medics would take kindly to you injuring a patient.”

“If that patient would stay in bed resting, I wouldn’t have to.”

Yugao scoffs lightly, but knows better than to challenge him further. Stories of Kakashi’s escapes from this very place are legendary and many. She has personally witnessed him scrambling from the window of a higher floor room, the voice of the Head Medic screaming its way into Konoha in his wake as Kakash rips an IV line from between his fingers.

She heard they started putting the lines in his feet so it would be more difficult for him to pull them out without drawing attention from the guard in his room.

Still, she supposes she is in no position to question her commander—standard uniform or no. Kakashi walks to the window and pushes it open.

“I expect you to report back as soon as you’re discharged,” is all he says before he disappears.

Yugao smirks. She knows he wouldn’t be here unless he cared about her well-being, despite his best efforts to conceal any concern. But every member of Team Ro has seen their Captain’s selflessness, the blows he takes so they won’t have to. He can’t hide his true nature from any of them, no matter how hard he tries.

long nights, it’s a lifestyle; so good to the last drop

Yugao wonders if there is some innate biology that prepares someone to be a great leader. Kakashi must have it, if so. She is in awe, watching him bark out orders not only to their squadron but countless others in the gathered crowd. Everyone listens. Everyone.

There is not a single person within hearing distance who does not sense he is the best person to direct the recovery efforts. Even if it’s outside the scope of Team Ro’s mission. Even if he is a foreign shinobi – none of that matters.

He oozes confidence; competence. His voice is clear, steady, and sharp; it makes people believe in him. It is why Yugao has always found it so easy to follow him into battle, even when the odds are precariously stacked in the enemy’s favor. Her chest flares with warmth for her Captain, for her luck in being assigned to his team.

By the time the dust clears, she knows the number of survivors would be more than half what it is had Kakashi not been here to direct the rescue teams.

She watches as he wanders off by himself, settles against a cold rock to open a rations pack and eat in solitude. She doesn’t approach him; knows how important the decompression space is after an emotionally tumultuous effort. She and Tenzo find themselves a place to sit together and do the same, talking quietly about the mission; everything that went wrong and how eager they are to return to Konoha. To take a hot bath and sleep in their own beds, no matter how uncomfortable their old mattresses are.

When she sneaks a glance back over at Kakashi, she sees he’s sitting with his head tilted back against the stone behind him. From the steady rise and fall of his chest, she thinks he might finally be catching a few precious moments of sleep.

Good, she thinks. He rarely truly rests during their team assignments, and she can see the toll it takes, even without seeing his face.

“Something I can help you with, Leopard?”

Yugao stiffens, not expecting his voice.

“No, sir,” she says, clearing her throat, “Just wondering what our next orders are.” She ignores Tenzo’s teasing glance, the soft huff of his breath as he allows a half-chuckle escape his mouth.

She’ll get him back for that later—as if he wasn’t staring at Kakashi, too. Though, she thinks, Tenzo’s reasons are very different from her own.

“We’ll move out in ten,” Kakashi says, standing, “so best finish your rations.”

Yugao nods quickly, stuffing the rest of the bar in her mouth before chasing it with a gulp of water from a canteen offered by Tenzo. She watches Kakashi’s back the entire way to Konoha, as she so often does, still wondering how he had known she was watching. Another enigmatic piece of her Captain’s puzzle—one she will likely never slot into place. No matter how many missions she runs with him, she does not think she’ll ever find enough pieces to construct a clear picture.

i'll watch it go down; ‘cause that sun gonna take me with it

Yugao can’t move. She feels as if she’s been buried beneath a ton of rocks, each one heavier than the last. Her face itches, eyes tearing no matter how hard she tries to stave off the sadness. The skin around them is red and raw, her lips chapped.

Hayate is gone. And she cannot bear it. Doesn’t want to.

Without him, she sees little reason to move. To eat or breathe or live.

Weak, her mind whispers, you are so weak.

There have been countless knocks at her apartment door, calls from friends and comrades asking to be let inside. They have food, they have flowers, they are checking on her.

Yugao doesn’t care. She wants nothing to do with any of it.

When she hears her bedroom window slide open, Yugao thinks maybe the enemy who killed Hayate has come for her, too. She closes her eyes, grateful for the opportunity to join him in the afterlife, for an end to this awful suffering.

“Get up.”

Her eyes snap open and there is Kakashi Hatake, staring down at her with one cool grey eye.

Her lip trembles, embarrassment lighting her nerves. She covers her face with her arms, an awful sob barreling from her mouth before she has the sense to stop it, to shove it down the way a good soldier should be able to.

Not him. Not her Captain. It doesn’t matter that Hound has not led Team Ro for years, Yugao still looks up to him. Still marvels at the grace with which he can adapt to any weapon, the efficacy with which he can devise a battle plan in any scenario.

Even the way he has taken three unruly genin under his wing, though rumor has it he is perhaps not as adept at leading children as he was Black Ops operatives.

Yugao’s crying seems to never end, ceaseless rivers of tears streaming from her eyes, lungs jolting until she hiccups pathetically.

She hears Kakashi sigh and assumes he will leave, that she is too pathetic and weak for him to help her.

Instead, she feels the mattress dip when he sits down a few minutes later, allows him to pry her arms away from her face as he lays a cool, damp towel over her eyes and forehead.

It feels nice, and her hiccups lessen and then eventually quiet, though a few errant tears continue to leak from the corners of her eyes no matter how hard she tries to staunch the flow.

“It never goes away,” Kakashi says quietly.

Yugao peels the washcloth off and looks at him, but his gaze is trained elsewhere, far across the room. Across time, she thinks, looking at something she will never see.

“You will carry him with you for the rest of your life, and it will be a burden.”

She tries to protest—Hayate could never be a burden to her—but Kakashi holds up his hand, fingers twisted into the mission signal for silence, and she is still good, she finds, at following orders.

When Kakashi turns to look at her, Yugao gasps. Because the fabric beneath his sharingan is damp with tears. His other eye bores into hers, intense and clear. “It will also be the greatest honor to keep him in your memory, and that is why you will get out of this bed and continue on.”

It doesn’t happen right away. Not that afternoon, or the next. But Kakashi keeps visiting, keeps prying her window open and handing her bowls of broth and eventually, Yugao pulls herself out from beneath her blankets and she returns to the world; heart heavier, but her purpose clearer than it has ever been.

i'm building a fire, fire, oh; i'm buildin’ it higher, higher, oh

This is something she can do. A way to avenge Hayate, to protect her home. To carry him with her and use the grief to make something better.

Cutting down Sound shinobi as they rampage through the streets of Konoha has suddenly become Yugao’s favorite thing in the world. She pours all the anger and love she ever felt for Hayate into each swing, as if every enemy she sees is the one who made that killing stroke. She is grateful for all he taught her, the strength she has now because of him.

She throws herself in front of a civilian, holds her armored forearm up to stop an enemy nin’s axe in its bid for flesh. The armor bends, cracking beneath the force, the edge of the blade biting into her skin.

Yugao only smirks. No wound can hurt as much as the one in her chest, the vacancy where Hayate should still be and isn’t.

Behind her mask, she grins. And when her enemy falls to her feet, throat opened like a smile, Yugao wonders if her Captain would be proud of the soldier she has become.

If Kakashi knows how much she learned from him.

Whether Hayate is watching her from somewhere far away, complaining under his breath about her sloppy footwork as she sidesteps one attack and parries another.

She hopes so.

There will be time for such questions later. For now, she has more important things to attend to. Because, though she knows she may one day find herself in a battle she cannot win, she also knows that today, battling for her village in its heart—her teammates scattered around her doing the same—is not a fight she will allows herself to lose.

and if i go down in flames; the smoke gonna spell my name

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