#because this is ALMOST his loom of fate outfit

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Dean Devlin: In case you haven’t heard the exciting news, Christian Kane has officially joined the cast of #TheLibrarians The Next Chapter, coming to The CW 📚

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[toastofthetrashfire]

DFF and Color Part 4: Episode 8

Okay let's jump into color again! Posts 1-3 on color here, here, and here. As before this is a brainchild in collab with @slayerkitty

Tee continues to wear and use blues and grays. And being around his uncle only reinforces this.

Non continues in reds, oranges, pinks, and tans and other warm colors. He starts in the same tan shirt we left him in last episode, faded, angry, hurt. But by the time he's off with his new script he's back to a brighter pink, ready to act for himself.

Unlike previous times, he's gone with the group he has no greens, grays, or blues on him (with the exception of his jeans but I'll read those as neutral). He's set against the group, and it reflects his determination to embody that role.

The rest of the group continues to be in blues and grays, with the exception of Jin. In the last episode, he went from yellow to pink. Here, he's in a middle ground of orange. Perhaps because he still has some hope of getting past what he did, he's not as pink as the last episode, so perhaps not as deeply mired in anger and guilt. But he's certainly not his usual yellow. In either case, he is marked by his guilty conscience in a way the others aren't. It also makes him much closer in color to Non at the very point where he can't even look Non in the eye, almost as if he, like Por in last episode, is stealing and draining Non's color.

The threat of the group (or primarily Tee in this case) comes back through the greenish gray water bottle.

As they film and Non confronts them, they've switched into all blues and grays so Jin is matching the group now. It's the group vs Non. Jin apologizes but ultimately Non passes out before it's resolved, leaving Jin still complicit.

Meanwhile Non is drowned in the black costume. It's not the first time he's worn it, but it's certainly an important moment. His shirt collar and bracelet give him his last bit of color but we can see the toll everything has taken on him. If last week his battery and color were being drained, now he's running on fumes. The pink that stood out before as Non tried to take control is covered over much like the drug Tee gave him kicks in before Non can continue or resolve the situation. Of course black can also be linked to death, which looms over Non as Tee takes him to his uncle. Like his fate, Non is shrouded in black, a mystery with high stakes--death or disappearance.

The gang circles the wagons and continue to wear blue while talking to the police. This includes Jin who chooses to protect the group. We don't know why he does so, but whether it's out of fear, a desire to not betray his friends, or another motive, he is siding with the group. We're clearly meant to read this as Jin once again slipping back to the group and hurting Non.

Interestingly, Tee wears blue but also pink. In fact his outfit mirrors what Jin wears in the present day. I can think of two ways to read this. If for Jin, pink represents his guilt, perhaps Tee also is feeling guilty or at least a cognitive dissonance. We know that later in the episode he'll grapple with the implications of what his uncle may have done to Non even if he lies to himself that it's fine. On the other hand, we could read this as Tee stealing Non's color, much like Por did last episode. This reading makes a lot of sense since Tee is currently the most culpable of the group and the most aware of what happened to Non. It makes this an extra gut punch as Tee wears the same color Non did when he handed him over to his uncle while at the same time hiding everything.

They all are in their blues and grays again as they finish the film. The only other color (aside from Top's hint of his future yellow) is the orange camera case. Perhaps a reminder here of our absent friend.

This is where it gets interesting. While Jin stays in blue with Por, the other three are in orange and red. Now Tee has mixed in red before but always with blue along side it, and we haven't seen Fluke in any colors beside blues and grays in the past. Top has had some yellow (cause who can keep his "winning" personality down) but orange is new. In the scene Jin begs the group to call Non "Non" instead of Greasy for once. Normally when he speaks up to the group he has other colors going on, but now he's in conformist blue so what's going on? Perhaps his blue is a final hope that he can reach the group, get them to understand without having to abandon the friendship.

Meanwhile Fluke, Top, and Tee are in Non's range of colors. I see three possibilities here. First, they have stolen Non's color. Similar to last episode and Jin and Tee respectively at earlier points in this episode. Though in it's interesting that Fluke takes the pure red while the other's take orange. Perhaps because he is now the lowest in status? Or perhaps it marks the distinction between Fluke as a bystander and Top and Tee who took the active role.

The second possibility is that the color shift marks their guilt. Non's blood is on their hands and seeped into their color schemes. We even have the same alcohol cans as Jin smashes after he films Non and Keng. The amount of remorse they might feel will vary but they're tainted nonetheless, just as Jin moved to pink after the video.

The third possibility, which is perhaps interrelated, is that it marks these characters starting to shift to the colors they'll use in the present. Fluke goes from blues and greys to red, perhaps overshooting but soon will settle into purple. Top moves to orange on his way to yellow. And Tee is now adding orange which he'll later mix in when he defends White.

Interestingly in all of this Por remains in blue like he hasn't been impacted at all. In addition to having likely no guilt, unlike the others he has a lot more protection from consequences due to his family's wealth and influence. So while, Non's blood is technically on his hands, it can't touch him, and won't be visible to others.

At the premier, Tee and Top have bounced back to their usual blue. Meanwhile Fluke remains in red, again perhaps because he's now the lowest tier member, or perhaps because (as we see in the future) the weight of this is much heavier on him psychologically. Jin meanwhile has lost color. We could argue this is part of the gray part of the blue/gray color scheme, but it reads more brown to me, like a unsaturated yellow or pink that's turned brown and muddy. We can tell by his facial expressions throughout this too that he is increasingly jaded. Like Fluke, it's weighing on him but in his own way.

Por has taken credit for Non's work, erased him from the film. But he is still quite literally "the hidden character." The fact that Por can't fully cover this up is evident in the red letter "H." Non is present even as he is hidden and erased.

Por has a touch or blue/green in his shirt but is mostly in black here like his father. He is shrouded and overshadowed by his father, his achievement ultimately linked to his father and not his own efforts.

DFF really likes it's red, yellow, and blue scheme. Again, despite how hard they try to erase Non they're surrounded by his color during the premier. Showing how they can't escape their culpability but also how they've appropriated his color for their own gain.

Interestingly they throw in one audience member in blue. At first I thought it might be White, but looking through shots I think it's just an extra. Still a striking choice to throw blue into the sea of red and yellow.

Phi continues in his own blue but still mixes in Non's colors. He still wears the bracelet in the scene with his father, and in the theater he is framed against reds and oranges. On top of that of course is the fact that he is collaborating with someone in red (likely Tan).

When Tee talks with his uncle they're both in blue, but the orange tigers hang over Tee just like him wearing orange before. The implications of what he's helped his uncle do hang over him as well.

Interestingly, Tee's uncle is typically in blue except for this scene. Here the shot mixes reds and blues. He looks like he's in purple, with red and blue lighting and decor mixing in the background. Similarly Perth's character mixes red with blue as well. I'm wondering if this is to signal that Perth's character will in some way be aligned with Non or help in some way to take down the uncle. His presence and touch change the uncle's color but still hide his own intentions.

That's been this week! Next week we have Jin sporting red! Could it be his guilt, a slowly deteriorating relationship with the group, his budding relationship with Phi? I'm interested to see.

[neutron-stars-collision]

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 12 - All These Things That I've Done

Masterlist; Chapter 11 Summary: The Riddler gets ever so closer to Bruce, making you question your sanity and motives as danger looms near... Warnings: Canon-typical violence; a dose of angst because it's Battinson we're talking; swearing. Author's Notes: Welcome to what we call a filler chapter! Make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the show! *jazz hands* Yeah, no, just kidding, but also not kidding. Admittedly, it's a slower one, but that's because no 13 might be a lucky number for some :)))) (them). Thank you for sticking around and waiting for the updates, it means more than you can imagine 💝 Enjoy and let me know what you think? ✨ Taglist: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care

The eventful Sunday night was still on your mind when you boarded the train the next morning. It was there in the darker shades underneath your eyes and the heaviness in your limbs. You could feel it in your heart too, foolishly occupied with the final text you received and the memories of his lips against yours. Yeah, it was safe to say you were screwed. But maybe so was Gotham, so you did not stick out too much.

The heavy atmosphere permeated the city more than usual. It seemed that the nightly rain did nothing to ease the fear and worries of the fellow citizens. With three public figures murdered within days, it was clear who was the winner. The best you could hope for was to make sure the number stayed at three. But even that seemed like a considerable fate when all you had were disjointed puzzle pieces and a few riddles. You still had to try, however.

With the brain occupied by trying to stay afloat the anxious-driven tides, you let yourself into the Wayne Tower on autopilot, barely taking notice of the surroundings. Only once you stepped into the study, gaze fixed on the floor, your senses took in the room. It was quiet, just as usual, though there was a faint white noise of the tv running in the dining room. The louder noise came from the room you were standing in, around the fireplace, hidden from view. A guitar, the strings plucked gently as if only to occupy the fingers. A grin showed itself on your face as you rounded the corner to look at Bruce. You caught him by surprise if the blush adorning his cheeks was anything to go by.

“Morning, sunshine” there was no point in faking the tone anymore; softness was inescapable, “What are you playing?” you raised your eyebrow, approaching him slowly as if not to scare him away.

It was the right strategy always, for Bruce still seemed on edge, putting away the instrument hastily and giving you an almost embarrassed once-over. The intensity of the gaze slipping over your body nearly made you question the outfit choices for the day before Bruce finally seemed to shake himself out of the stupor:

“Hi,” frowning at the hoarseness of his voice, he cleared his throat and tried again, aiming for nonchalance, and failing, “Um, nothing, it’s… Nothing” if, before his answer, you were only a little intrigued, his reply made it worse.

Because what could have been that made him nervous? Frankly, you were not sure whether you wanted to know. You eyed him closely for another second and then flashed him a cheeky smirk, closing the distance to perch on the edge of the armrest of his armchair. You waited for Bruce to nod, permitting you to breach his personal space and took the seat, arm coming up to rest along his shoulders:

“I’d keep on bothering you about it, but it seems that I need coffee to keep up the spirit” it was half true, and you chose to stick to it, meeting his gaze with a remorseful shrug to enforce the act, “And I’m yet to have my first cup,”

“Lucky me” Bruce cracked a smile, and you felt your chest expand in a terrifying reflex.

Choosing not to dwell on it too long, you let your fingers trace the collar of his shirt, soaking up the warmth of his body and the slight catch in his breathing at the action:

“Indeed” as your eyes wandered over his face, you noticed the darker shapes planted on the skin of his neck; warmth flooded your cheeks as you remembered the nightly actions, immediately knowing how to break out of the strange awkwardness “What I can do though is…” you curled your hand around his neck, slipping into his lap with the eyes trained on his for any sign of discomfort “Alright?” still, you did ask.

But Bruce seemed fine with it, responding with the softness in his gaze that could easily steal your breath each time. It felt almost wrong to look at him then, making you close the remaining gap between your faces and kiss him gently. Enough to make Bruce gasp and cradle you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist with ease. He tasted like tea and blueberries, a combination which you would have never guessed would be that sweet. When you finally pulled back, the daze clouding your eyes and the tongue chasing the aftertaste on your lips, Bruce breathed out the belated permission:

“Yeah… You’re so-” hanging on to every word he spoke with the breath held in your throat, the interrupting noise of the door opening further in the study felt like a disappointment.

Unable to hold back the groan, you quickly stood up from Bruce’s lap and ventured into the space to find Dory beaming at you from the doorway:

“Ah, good morning, miss” she raised the silver tray with steaming porcelain and smiled warmly, “Do you fancy a cup of coffee to start the day?” there was no judgement whatsoever in her gaze.

As if your presence had been accepted and taken as a fact rather than something worth examination. As if you were welcome there. Ignoring the repercussions, you quickly crossed the space and picked up the cup with the widest grin you could muster.

“Dory, you’re a lifesaver” before she could turn away, you pressed a kiss to her cheek, chuckling at the woman’s shocked gasp, “Thank you,”

You waved the housekeeper goodbye and settled at the table, a coffee cup warming your hands. Once you had that first glorious sip of the beverage, you noticed a pair of eyes trained on you. Bruce had not moved from the armchair since you stood up, and you could still see the intensity in his gaze, hidden in the unreadable depths. While he was always an enigma, this particular expression was even harder to puzzle out. It looked almost as if Bruce was entranced by you and simultaneously terrified of what he saw when he stared at you. Or perhaps of what he felt when it came to you.

Both options seemed too dangerous to think about. And so, you took another sip of the coffee and glanced at him expectantly:

“So… riddles?” the word was enough for Bruce to leap up from the chair and stride over to the desk.

He picked up a few pages and spread them over the table for you to see.

“Yeah… Those are the ones I have so far” pointing to the photos of the cards he received, Bruce continued the explanation, “That’s from Mitchell’s house. This here is Savage and the last ones are what Riddler mentioned on the livestream yesterday” he took a step back, letting you pore over the clues.

The sense of dread was not going anywhere. You read the riddles once then again, hoping to find the answers within the words. It was difficult to ignore the lingering frustration that Bruce kept such a crucial piece of the mystery from you. You chose to file the feeling for later and met his pensive gaze above the table:

“I might not be Bilbo Baggins, but I think I may have some ideas…” the reference made your lips twist into a sardonic smirk, hoping to push through the uncertainty.

“What?” Bruce looked utterly perplexed, staring at you with confusion in his eyes.

How even. Resisting the urge to hide your face in your hands out of exasperation, you chose to meet his lost gaze with an incredulous stare of your own:

“Riddles in the dark? Nothing?” upon the lack of recognition in his handsome face, you groaned, quickly throwing in the remark, “Well, one day I have to educate you on good literature” you finished it off with a warning glance and pulled the pictures closer to look at them again.

Bruce stayed silent for a long moment, yet you could feel his eyes on the side of your head as if thinking about what to say. Then he finally took the seat opposite you by the table and spoke:

“I’m lost when it comes to who’s the rat, he speaks of… I mean, clearly, all victims had something in common, so corruption… and the like” you glanced up to see a frown on his face as Bruce kept on talking, finally comfortable with speaking his thoughts in your presence, “But what if they also shared a case in the past. Maybe that’s the key” the tentative spark in his eyes was the sole reason to lean over the pages and look at them.

Because you could not turn down the possibility of helping him. Not now, after everything. Even though the clues were not easy to guess. Using the fact that Bruce seemed to be focused on the topic of the rat, you chose that photograph to stare at, reading the words quietly to give them a rhythm and voice. Without looking up, you commented:

“As in the rat is a previous informer that holds the city’s secrets in the palm?” it was impossible to get rid of the bitterness in your tone, especially, as you added, “Whose reveal would make things even worse than they are, according to Colson?”

“Yeah…” the grave tone of his reply was enough to meet his gaze.

Bruce looked concerned, too, fully aware of the pure assumptions and guesses that made up your conversation. There was too much uncertainty to act on anything. Yet you were already running out of time, unable to foresee what would be the Riddler’s next move. Whether there was another murder in the works.

Sighing with frustration, you tried to rake your head, searching for cases that were important enough to warrant an informer’s influence and were public knowledge. You did not need long for a particular idea to pop into your mind, making you suck in the air, startling Bruce. Well, shit.

“It’s the Maroni drug bust, isn’t it?” you whispered out the question, trying to block the unwanted memories and stay focused.

It was too late; the words had already done their damage.

“That’s my guess” oblivious to your unfolding crisis, Bruce shrugged.

He picked up the laptop lying on the side and switched it on.

“Jesus…” as soon as you spoke, eyes fixed on the table to prevent any further signs of weakness, Bruce froze.

The blue gaze swept over you with concern as he asked:

“What?” the complete attention he offered assured you there was no chance of getting out of it without answering.

But you were still going to try, faltering, and starting again, unable to look at him as the words poured out:

“No, nothing, is just… Well, at the time, my mother used to think he had something to do with what happened to my father. Because dad was an investigative journalist and he liked to dig where he shouldn’t,” it was difficult enough to recount, the weight of it pulling you further down than you ever wanted to be again, but the silence told you Bruce was listening so you continued, “And she had this theory that Maroni had him killed to make sure he stayed silent” finally, you looked up at Bruce to find him watching you intently, hanging on to every word as if what you said was worth remembering “But it was just that, a theory” trying to lighten the mood, you flashed him an unconvincing smile and shrugged, diving headfirst into work “They all worked on the drug bust… And probably whoever had informed the GCPD must’ve benefitted from it”

The meaningful pause was all Bruce needed to get the hint. He gave you a final, searching look before brushing off the sensitive subject and scribbling something on one of the pages. Before you could ask, he spoke again, a strange conviction in his eyes:

“I think it’s the Penguin” upon your questioning glance, he elaborated, a nervous stutter making an appearance among the confidence, “The clue says something about a rat with wings, and he fits the picture” he shrugged.

For a moment, you wanted to agree, but something did not seem quite right. You understood his logic, and it made sense. But it also didn’t. The last thing acceptable would be a mistake when it came to something this important. And sure enough, the bird metaphor he was going off was not exactly precise.

You did not tell him that both bats and falcons could be understood as rats with wings. Neither of you needed that.

“Maybe… But also… I don’t know. He doesn’t strike me as a snitch” rambling with dejection, you met Bruce’s sceptical look and shrugged again, hoping to get rid of the attention, “But I’m not you so…”

You downed the cold coffee from the cup and stood up from the table, pacing over to the expansive window overlooking the park below. The low clouds only added to the melancholy and uncertainty. Suddenly, it was hard to find the spark, to fight for what you believed. Because what if you were wrong? What if Bruce was right, and you had it all wrong? What then?

“What do you mean?” the incredulous edge to the question made you look over your shoulder at the man.

Another shrug, your hand reached toward the window and pressed against the cold glass. Anything to break through the sudden numbness. A chair scraped over the wooden floor as Bruce stood up.

“Well, you’re in charge here. Sherlock Holmes wannabe and all,” a sarcastic grin bloomed on your face, shown only to the reflection looking back at you.

You could hear the approaching footsteps as Bruce got closer, evidently unable to continue the strange conversation without facing you. Turning to look at him, you immediately noticed the frown etched between his eyebrows and pursed lips as he stared, desperately trying to understand you:

“Is that… What are you saying?” Bruce gave up with a sigh, now close enough to touch you if he wanted to.

He didn’t. But now you knew what it had been all this time, what were the issues that did not seem to let go of your mind since you woke up. You could tell he felt it too, the familiar worry filling his eyes as he hesitated, awaiting your answer like a death sentence.

“I can’t wrap my head about the fact that it’s you” there it is, “That you’re the vigilante everyone’s-” you never got to the end of that sentence.

Bruce closed the remaining gap and cupped your cheek, closing your mouth with a kiss. This time it was not chaste, the tongue prodding your lips to open for him, the teeth nipping at your bottom lip. There was no choice but to let him swallow the traitorous gasp and grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him flush against you, your back hitting the glass with a shallow thump. The desperate tone of the kiss was impossible to miss as Bruce’s fingers dug into your hip, bruising the flesh underneath the jeans, and all you wanted to do was let him continue. The hunger was always there, lurking underneath the pretend composure and indifference. Only it was increasingly harder to ignore.

A frustrated whine escaped your throat when Bruce pulled away, your eyes inadvertently darting to the strings of spit still connecting his mouth with yours. A quip pressed itself onto your lips, but you only got as far as opening your mouth to speak.

“Shut up,” Bruce uttered the command with a strained voice, quickly attempting to soften it but never hiding the wince of discomfort, “Please,”

Torn between the desire to understand him and the want wreaking havoc in your veins, you chose to give in to the chaos. Making sure he held your gaze, you fluttered your eyelashes, finding the perfect tease for the occasion:

“Yes, sir”

You took pleasure in the moment when it clicked. When the words had their effect. Bruce sucked in the air sharply as if suffocating. His blue eyes darkened, the pupils widening as desire took hold of his senses, and he crashed his mouth into yours without care. You met him halfway, smirking against his mouth because, of course, it worked. Because kissing him like that was worth the uncertainty. Because there was nothing else you would rather do.

Only one thing could stop you. Or, rather, one person.

Hearing the door to the study open with the telltale creak, Bruce jumped away from you as if burned. His cheeks were aflame, telling the story without anyone needing to ask. Alfred certainly did not, apologizing profusely before treating you both with a tray of cookies fresh from the oven. Needless to say, the mood was different. Something had shifted. But you did not question it, focusing on the riddles with renewed interest.

***

By the time you made it home that afternoon, the city had been bathed in darkness again as the rain thundered down hard on the steel, glass, and pavements. You could not sway Bruce when it came to the Penguin, and he bid you goodbye by simply stating that there’s a matter he needs to attend to that relates to the case. All you had were guesses, but each seemed worse than the one before, so you chose to ignore them, and focus on work. Still, you placed the burner phone by the laptop on your desk. Just in case.

You managed to write exactly 345 words out of the 2k long feature on the future mayor before you lost the plot, rebellious thoughts turning towards Bruce as if to spite you. Soon enough, the cursor was blinking on the word doc, and the mind was centred on the memory of his lips against yours. Fuck. In moments like this, alone and without any working distraction at hand, it was impossible to ignore it. To pretend it was merely a passing fancy, an attraction that would burn out on its own if you paid it no attention. Because if there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you never backed down from closeness. Never consciously returned home to give the other person space they did not ask for. You never shied away from a night of carefree fun, especially not when there was an undeniable desire underlining every word and every move. Yet that was exactly what you had been doing.

You chose to return to your cold and solitary apartment because you knew that another night spent with Bruce by your side would not end with just making out. And, for some reason, you were scared to take that step, to let him in completely. And equally petrified of the worst turn of events, the one where he would break your heart soon after. Now you were sure that it was a possibility, something Bruce was capable of. You had already given him the tools.

The cursor kept on blinking, humouring your despair. The phone stayed silent, urging you to find a different occupation. And you did try, forcing out another 500 words before closing the laptop in resignation. Luckily no one remembered about article deadlines in the face of high society murders. Even the election hardly mattered now that it was obvious who would be elected. A spoiled story was hardly breaking news, even if the Pulitzer Prize winners would try to make it into one. Not that you were one of those.

Eager for an escape from the constant chatter of the anxious mind, you sat on the sofa, tv remote in hand. But there would be no rest. Your hand holding the fork froze halfway between the bowl of pasta and your mouth. The helicopter footage of the highway downtown was the reason. Or, rather, the headline was: ‘The masked vigilante wreaks chaos on the express road’. You forced your brain to focus on the newscaster, instantly getting the gist of the story. It finished half an hour ago, and, right now, the coverage was showing the aftermath in the form of a pile-up and a burning truck. According to the correspondent, the Batman has been chasing someone down the highway and then flipped their car to get his target out of it, speeding away shortly after. There were no more details. But you knew anyway. That was how his little side quest involving the Penguin turned out. Fuck.

You moved from the sofa before you knew what you were planning to do. Throwing the phone into the purse, you checked whether the keys to Wayne Tower were safely stored in the coat pocket. The next thing you realised the apartment doors closed behind your back, the noise echoing through the hallway. There was no plan whatsoever. Only the feeling that you had to find Bruce. You had to see him as soon as possible and perhaps tell him what an idiot he was for the car chase. Or kiss him. Or both of those. The desire to call him was there too, but you quickly brushed it away, choosing to get to the tower and wait there instead. But fate had other plans, as always.

***

The unnameable sense of dread had made its home in the pit of your stomach as you exited the platform by the tower, the pulled-up hood hiding you from the wind and rain. Glancing at the phone, you were surprised by how early it was still, with the clock not having even struck ten. Another night spent waiting on Bruce in the study did not seem like such a terrible idea, or, at least, you tried to convince yourself to stop the spiralling anxiety.

Suddenly, not so distant explosion ripped through the air, making you stop in the middle of the crossing, two corners away from your destination. The dread settled like a heavy fog over your mind, making it harder to walk forward. If there were any doubts left whether what was happening was the worst nightmare coming true, the commotion all around you got rid of them. More and more people started walking in the same direction as you; gasps and yelling interrupted the steady stream of rain and made the blood freeze in your veins. You staggered to a stop once you caught the view of Wayne Tower.

The windows that belonged to the study and the neighbouring rooms were ablaze with the fire raging inside. The explosion took out the glass from the frames and made the smoke pour through the gaps. You clenched your fists in the coat pockets, urging your mind to stay calm. Somehow you knew Bruce was still out, that perhaps he had no idea it was happening. You also knew that this was no coincidence. Just another step in the plan for the Riddler. Another one that you missed. You pushed through the crowds, needing to get closer to the doorway and try to sneak inside without anyone noticing. Because even if Bruce was not inside, Alfred and Dory were. You had to help them.

Even if helping meant perching on the steps until the fire brigade arrived, followed by the GCPD. They did not question who you were, accepting the bullshit story you came up with on the spot and listened to the directions you gave as they kicked in the doors and spread over the foyer. As soon as you saw Dory walk down the stairwell, you let out the breath you did not know you were holding. Everything after felt like a delirious blur. Bruce was not picking up; you both tried to reach him before the paramedics made it in. They left with Alfred carried on the stretcher. You pieced the story from what you saw, understanding that Pennyworth was the one who picked up the explosive sent to Bruce. All other details were held back for the master of the house to arrive. You did not even know what state Alfred was in. Only that he was unconscious and taken to Gotham Central Hospital for the initial checks.

Ten minutes after the paramedics left, Bruce called back the landline. You were sat on the stairwell by the kitchen as Dory talked to him, explaining the situation in a hushed, worried tone. He was on his way, terrified and already half-consumed by guilt. Before you could ask her for details, the phone in your pocket started buzzing insistently. You whispered an apology at the woman and quickly ventured down the only hallway that seemed quiet, picking up the phone without hesitation:

“Where are you? Were you in there when-” the anxiety reverberating through the line still made you gasp despite knowing that Bruce was far from alright.

Leaning against the wall, you closed your eyes to let out a steady breath, piecing together the response:

“No, no, I’m here now. I saw the explosion as I was coming up” for whatever reason, you were still breathless.

And Bruce was still strangely quiet. Save for the ragged breathing on the other side of the line. He did not ask outright, but you felt like answering the question that seemed to hang between each of your breaths.

“I’m fine,” you all but whispered the words, adding the sentence as an afterthought, “I’ll meet you at the hospital,”

Were you fine? Probably not. But he did not need to know that. He should not know that.

You did not expect a reply, so when Bruce spoke again, you nearly dropped the burner phone onto the carpeted floor.

“Thank you” the gravelly tone made you shiver, tearing into the illusion that it was anything but casual.

That you did everything on a whim, not acting on the deepest of feelings that terrified you more than death and eternal damnation. That it was all an act.

Ignoring the flight instinct, you allowed yourself a one-worded reply:

“For?” there was no expectation in your voice, too used to being disappointed by the universe that you no longer trusted hope.

What good would it do?

“Staying,” Bruce sighed and hung up the call before you could analyse his response.

You wanted to tell him that you did not really have a choice. That leaving is not an option anymore. But all you did was walk back towards the kitchen; the soothing smile aimed for Dory already on your face.

***

The hospital staff did not buy the story you tried to sell them regarding why you should be allowed to see Alfred. On the one hand, you were grateful they did not, hoping it meant he would be safe there. On the other, after ten minutes of waiting, you got tired of the pale green walls in the corridor and the uncomfortable wooden chair. But you still stayed, pacing up and down the hallway outside Alfred’s room and waiting for Bruce to show up. At times, it was difficult to ignore the question simmering in the depths of your heart. Why did you stay? Because sure enough, you did not expect anything from Bruce, not even gratitude. But you had to be there for him, just in case he needed company. It was only that. Right?

Your fifteenth walk down the corridor was interrupted by the heavy footsteps rushing through the doors to the hospital wing. You quickly whirled around to face Bruce, unable to stop the shallow gasp at his state. Wet strands of brown hair were falling over his eyes, drops of rain trailing down the collar of the jacket and onto the floor. He was underdressed for the cold weather, shivering slightly. Yet it was the look on his face that struck you the most. He was utterly heartbroken. The hard lines seemed to be permanently etched into his expression with the resignation written into the depths of his blue eyes. Upon your sight, Bruce stopped and let go of a little bit of tension, making his shoulders sag and frown deepen. Suddenly you did not feel like closing the gap, worried that it was the last thing he wanted.

“Where’s he?” Bruce took a few cautious steps towards you, eyes darting around the hallway as if unable to concentrate on anything.

All the while, he was avoiding looking at you for longer than necessary. So, you stood your ground, pointing towards the second door in the corridor:

“Just through that door there. They wouldn’t let me in, but the doctor is waiting on you” when his eyes settled on you, you offered him a small smile.

You were never comfortable with subtle gestures, preferring to rely on touch and affection to show that you cared. But then Bruce changed it because it was evident that he was completely different, not used to physical tenderness or other fervent expressions. And certainly not in the public eye.

You tightened your fists and forced your body to obey the wishes of common sense, keeping the distance Bruce had set.

“Why are you here?” he was still looking at you, the uncertainty tinting the question.

The softness from your conversation on the phone had been lost in translation, making you shrug with resignation and pour feelings into the response.

“Because I want to be” it was that simple.

You were willing to fight him for it, already preparing another argument to make sure Bruce could not talk you into regrets about the decision. But you never had to present it, for his features softened, the expressive eyes revealing a gleam of recognition. He nodded once and put his hand on the door handle, the final murmur breaking the tense atmosphere:

“You can leave now, I’ll-” you never let him finish the thought.

“No, I’ll stay” interjecting sharply, you waited for him to meet your gaze and grinned, eager to give him at least that much should he allow it, “You’re welcome, darling,” you winked, chuckling when the last thing you saw was Bruce rolling his eyes as he entered the hospital room.

Then it was just you and the pale green walls again. Unable to stay seated on the uncomfortable chair, you paced over to the leaflet stand and flipped through a couple of pages. It was impossible to take your mind off reality even for a little while, but you had to give it a shot. After the leaflets, you studied the educational posters lining up the walls, presenting the importance of regular check-ups. When you were eager to declare yourself insane, the door behind you opened, followed by quiet footsteps and an uncertain voice:

“Miss? Mr Wayne says you can come in if you want” turning to face the speaker, your gaze fell upon a young nurse, smiling at you from the doorway.

Finally. Ignoring the desire to grin like a Cheshire cat, you returned her tentative smile and nodded:

“Thank you” without waiting for Bruce to change his mind, you dove into the room, quietly shutting the door behind you.

The space was divided into the hospital room and a small hallway, the glass window separating the two and assuring that the patient was not bothered by the visitors. That is where you found Bruce, his gaze fixed on Alfred laying on the bed on the other side of the window. Beneath the murky light of the fluorescents and in that awful greenish hospital gown, he looked so different. His head was bandaged with the cuts visible on his face and hands resting atop the white blankets. None of the usual strength or energy present. The fear rose underneath your skin as you closed your eyes on the sight and turned to Bruce instead.

He seemed frozen, staring at Alfred with that familiar frown fixed on his features. Glancing down, you noticed that his hands were clenched into tight fists, fingernails likely marking the skin of his palms. You had to do something, only you did know what would help.

“How’s he?” a tentative question was the safest start as it was enough to make Bruce acknowledge your presence.

His gaze slipped over you almost unseeingly before he went back to looking at Alfred.

“Stable. But nothing is promised until he wakes up, and no one knows when that’s going to happen” the lack of emotion in his voice felt like a chill passing through your body.

Combined with the response, you could tell that it was bad. But you still had to act. To try to make it better. Closing the distance with slow, measured steps, you whispered the reply, filling your voice with all the reassurance you hardly ever felt:

“It will happen. He’s going to be alright,” a weak smile, which had bounced off his closed-off expression noiselessly.

Once you have been told that sometimes it was better to lie to someone than hit them with the painful truth. Occasionally lies were better than the uncomfortable reality. That they were worth it. Back then, you argued. Now you felt complicit in the crime.

Bruce did not buy it, offering you a glance before diving into a spiral. The only warning you received was his sharp inhale.

“It’s all my fault, though. All of it” raising a shaky fist, Bruce thumped against the Plexiglas before leaning on the wall and focusing the reddened stare on you, “Riddler sent that card to me, and I should’ve been the one to open the damned package,” the self-directed hate poured from each word he said, instantly answering questions you never wanted to ask.

You knew the blame well, the feeling of being the one responsible for all the evil of this world. It was painful to see it reflected at you from someone who did not deserve the feeling or the ache it always inflicted. Closing the distance between you to a mere minimum, you eyed him closely, hoping to level the tone and reason with him:

“Then you’d be the one lying here, in the hospital bed” you knew you had his attention from the way Bruce winced at your argument, giving you the force to strike, “Is that what you wanted to happen?”

Deep down, against reason, you had been hoping that he would deny it. That he would back off, saving you the pain of the revelations. But he did not, turning to face you instead, the cold blue eyes offering no mercy:

“Yes,” Bruce pursed his lips as if trying to keep the words in, but it was too late; the anguish started rushing out, “Nobody would care if something happened to me. And if that’s what it takes to save this city…” he faltered as if remembering about your presence.

The indifference felt like another stab in the heart, making you question the stupidity that led you to the here and now. The stupidity of having started to care. But it was too late. You could not get rid of the tenderness that threatened to slowly suffocate and kill you. Only this time, you did not smother it, making sure it permeated every vowel as you spoke:

“I would” the softness of your tone was startling when heard in the heavy silence of the hospital room.

It felt almost wrong.

“What?” you could see the hints of alarm on Bruce’s face as he raised his head and stared at you.

He gasped quietly upon the affection held in your gaze and took a step back, creating the perfect gap for you to fit in. You placed your hand on his shoulder delicately and used your free hand to angle his chin so that Bruce had no choice but to meet your gaze:

“I would care if something were to happen to you” the confession felt strange, revealing the vulnerability you preferred to hide, so you gladly took the spotlight off yourself “And Alfred would, Dory. That’s not nobody,” the flash of pain in his eyes kept you going, using the hand on his shoulder to gently brush your fingers against the side of his neck “What you’re saying is utter bullshit, though. Who cares if Gotham could be redeemed when the price could be you?” you meant that one too, making sure he could see the conviction in your gaze “Go home, Bruce. You won’t help anyone right now” smiling softly, as he leaned into your touch, you allowed your fingertips to venture higher, tenderly stroking the underside of his sharp jaw.

After a beat, Bruce closed his eyes and covered your hand with his palm. The room was silent save for the steady hum of the machines in the background and his ragged breathing. It almost felt like the calm after the storm, with the emotions easing off. But you were not allowing yourself to put down the guard just yet.

Using the quiet moment, you rose on your toes to press a kiss to Bruce’s cheek and squeeze his shoulder, leaning back just in time to catch his slightly dazed look.

“What… What are you going to do?” swallowing hard, Bruce placed the question without the previous bravado in sight.

In truth, you had no idea. Only that it would be impossible to stop worrying about him, Alfred, and everything else, but you would have to try your hardest. And then you grinned, entwining your fingers together and raising them to your lips to place a kiss on his knuckles:

“I’ll go home too,” a minuscule white lie obscured with a shrug, “I’ll come by in the morning” in case that was too presumptuous, you quickly followed the statement with a ramble, “Unless you don’t want me to, in which case-”

It was Bruce’s turn to squeeze your linked hands and shut you up by placing his fingers against your mouth. You did not miss how his touch lingered or how his eyes darted to your mouth for a split second. It felt almost reassuring.

“I want you to visit in the morning” the blush spread across his cheeks as Bruce offered you another of those rare and precious smiles.

It was all the convincing you needed to return the grin:

“As you wish, sunshine” using the momentum, you let go of him and moved to the door, throwing a final look at Alfred; the silent prayer on your tongue, “Let me know if anything changes. Goodbye”

You did not want to risk another glance at Bruce, disappearing into the pale green hallway and hoping to ease the fears. Somehow.

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Punishment (18+)

Whew here we go. First work posted. Was I expecting to post a pure smut filth work first? NOPE. But here we are. I will be putting 18+, more as a "this is a smut minors don't reblog or like" since I know I was far from innocent as a minor.

Warnings: pure filth. 100% smut, use of toys (a vibrator), language, edging, teasing, spanking (reader gets what she deserves), breast play and nipple play, bratty sub!reader, dom!Yunho, dom!Mingi, brat taming?, clit slapping, cum eating, blowjob (Mingi receiving), sir kink, deep throating, face fucking (reader receiving), hair pulling (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), orgasm denial (reader receiving), overstimulation (Mingi receiving), anal, double penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it up peeps).

Okay, so maybe you’d pushed your luck a little too far. You knew how much your boyfriends hated to be teased, especially in front of the others and you really should have chosen your outfit a little bit more carefully. After all, the shorts that barely passed your ass and the sheer camisole left nothing to the imagination. But sometimes, you just couldn’t help but push your usually energetic and goofy boyfriends’ buttons.

It had all started during the movie night that you’d sprung on the rest of the group, the only exception being San who was keeping your roommate busy in his own ways and had accidentally kicked you out. What San, Yunho, Mingi and the others hadn’t realized was that hearing everything going on between your roommate and San had left you feeling different, wanting nothing more than to push the limits of your boyfriends and see that dark side they had warned you of.

Walking through the front door of the dorms, you immediately run to Mingi’s room, peeking in to make sure he is still sleeping before pouncing on him. He wakes with a start, grabbing your hips and looking around slightly dazed and confused. You giggle, pressing kisses across his neck and bare collarbone.

“Wake up, baby” you purr in his ear, planting a light kiss to the skin right below it. Mingi groans below you, his grip on your hips tightening before you hop off of him, humming as you run back to the living room. Poor Mingi was left slightly confused and lost, wondering if he imagined your unusual wake-up call. Ruffling his hair, he walks out of his room, running right into Yunho. Yunho smirks at the younger boy, looking down at the tent forming in Mingi’s pants.

“So I see Y/n has already paid you a visit?” Yunho chuckles, almost feeling bad for the tired boy in front of him. Yunho himself had been your victim when you kept accidentally dropping things in front of him and bending down to pick them up. “Our girl seems to be in a mood today.”

Mingi groans, becoming irritated at the thought of having to deal with your bratty antics. “The fuck is wrong with her,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate the tension there. “Does she not remember the last time she decided to tease us both?”

“No idea,” Yunho shrugs slightly, a smirk slowly forming. “But a part of me wants to wait and see how far she’ll go to get her way. You game?”

“And what did you have in mind?” Mingi’s interest peaked, looking directly at his hyung.

“I say, we let the little minx think she has us,” Yunho starts, glaring at Mingi who actually growls at the thought of you having power over him. “only for a short amount of time, and then right when she goes to take control, is when we show her exactly who’s in charge.”

The shit-eating grin that passes over Mingi’s face is one that sends shivers down Yunho’s spine, making him almost regret voicing his plan. Almost. After all, he is the most dominant of the two boys. Mingi is about to retort when you come sliding around the corner, stopping directly in front of them in a posture that screams a challenge.

Your hands are crossed over your chest, hip stuck out slightly as you raise an eyebrow at the two men conversing.

“Are you two big babies coming? Or am I gonna have to ask one of the others to pay attention to me?” a smirk crosses Yunho’s face as well as yours, while Mingi scowls at you, counting in his head to ten in an attempt of not taking you up against the wall right then and there.

“Oh don’t worry princess,” Yunho grits out, Mingi pulling a strained smile and walking past you. “We would never leave you to your own devices.” And so the games begin.

You’ve made it about 3/4 of the way through the movie, with pretty much the entire group crammed together to watch it. Throughout it, you’ve slowly grown more confident in your advances, fleeting strokes up Yunho’s thighs, a light tap over Mingi’s bulge which has hardened significantly, even going so far of knocking your cold drink on Yunho’s lap, causing him to hiss as you press tissues on the wet spot on his pants, smirking at the realization that it wasn’t just from the soda.

Mingi struggles to maintain his cool composure, pinching your hips if you try to grind on him and forcing a laugh at the death glare Yunho gives you once you finish “cleaning” him up. It’s when you reach beneath the waistband of his pants that he can’t take it anymore, tossing you off his lap and racing to his room. You squeak in surprise, pouting thinking you might have pushed him too far. You look at Yunho, who pays you no mind while scrolling through his phone, deciding in his own mind that your little games have gone on long enough.

He too rises, heading towards the bedroom and slamming the door shut, causing you to jump in your seat. Your pout grows, guilt and doubt filling your entire being. The movie ends and everyone works at cleaning up the mess, with you being lost in your thoughts. As soon as you finish, you walk over to the room, peeking in only to find it surprisingly empty. You walk in fully, noticing a tiny note on the bed attached to your- oh. That would be your bunny vibrator.

With a shaky hand, you pick up the note recognizing the handwriting as Yunho’s immediately.

Since you decided to be a brat, Mingi and I decided to have a little fun of our own. If you touch yourself before we get back, you’ll be punished. If you don’t, we’ll give you what you’ve been asking for all evening. The choice is yours, kitten- “big baby #1″

You scoff, picking up the vibrator. So they weren’t upset at all. They were probably just getting themselves off instead of bringing you along to join the party. Well, two could play that game.

You quickly strip yourself of everything except your undergarments, picking up the vibrator and your phone, pressing record to send to your boyfriends.

“Hmph. After all of that work I put into getting you guys ready,” you whine out, stomping slightly. “you both have fun without me? Well, just for that I’m going to take that little toy you left me and-” you never finish your sentence, your phone being snatched from you.

“And here I thought our little kitten could behave,” a rough voice says in your ear, nibbling on the lobe lightly while you shudder. “Go on and finish kitten. Mingi and I are dying to hear how you were going to ignore our simple instructions.”

“I-I, I h-have no i-ideA OW!” you squeak out, your ass being smacked by a firm hand.

“Spit. It. Out,” Mingi grunts out, walking in front of you to loom over your smaller, shaking form. “What were you about to do?”

Mingi’s jaw is clenched, his pupils blown and looking at you in a way that makes you shrink.

“Oh?” Yunho hums, laving his tongue across the outside of your earlobe before pulling it between his teeth. “What happened to all that confidence and attitude you had earlier? Cat got your tongue?”

“Or maybe it’s because you realize how bad you fucked up,” Mingi asks, his calm tone scaring you almost as much as when he first addressed you, chuckling darkly at how your entire body seems to vibrate, eyes closing as you unconsciously lean back into Yunho's chest. “Honestly, what were you thinking would happen, kitten?”

“Did you really believe we wouldn’t do anything about your little games?” Yunho hums, watching as Mingi pulls the elastic of your panties away from you before letting them snap back against your hips. “Thought you wouldn’t get punished like little brats deserve?”

You open your eyes and glare at the person teasing you from the front, biting your lip before deciding to see how long you can keep this up. A small smirk forms on your lips, and you practically purr your next sentence. “I was going to take that little toy, and shove it so far into my pussy that I’d cum quicker and harder than I ever have. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The effect is instantaneous, although to an outsider it would seem as though nothing had changed between the three of you. But you could sense it, how both boys auras switched from controlled anger to borderline blind rage. It showed in how Mingi closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and shaky as if he were pulling a boulder behind him. It showed in how Yunho’s ministrations had stopped, fist clenching around the vibrator tightly. Your inner self was begging you not to push them over the edge, not to say what was on the tip of your tongue and seal your fate for this evening. But sometimes, you just don’t know when to quit.

“Well?” you say impatiently, reaching for the vibrator in Yunho’s hand and tapping your foot impatiently. “I’m waiting for an answer?” And that is the final straw for them both.

In an instant, your panties are left in a torn pile on the floor along with your now split bra, a gasp leaving you as the boys work as if they have one mind. Mingi latches onto your nipple in time with Yunho turning the vibrator on to the highest level, pressing it harshly on your clit. A scream almost leaves you from the double stimulation, but Yunho’s large hand covers your nose and mouth.

“You make a single sound babygirl, and we’ll make sure you don’t cum for an entire. Fucking. Month.” Yunho says firmly, emphasizing his point by removing the vibrator to smack your clit in time with each word at the end of his sentence. You almost scream again, biting your lip. “Good girl. Good to know you can listen at least some of the time. Right, Mingi?”

Mingi hums in affirmation, biting lightly on your breast before releasing the abused flesh from his teeth. He stands up straight, smirking while looking into your eyes.

“Oh I know she knows how to listen, hyung,” he replies, eyes dark and smirk ever present. “She just likes to make things difficult, don’t you babygirl? You like getting us both riled up so you can get the fuck of your life.”

You are unable to respond, the realization dawning on you that you maybe- no, scratch that. You DEFINITELY pushed your boyfriends way past their breaking points and weren't going to be walking properly for quite some time. Another slap to your clit brings you out of your thoughts, Mingi biting down on your nipple.

“Focus on us, babe. Otherwise you’ll end up worse off than you already are.” Yunho warns, pressing the vibrator harshly against you as your hips buck up in response, your teeth digging into your lip to the point of almost drawing blood as you nod weakly. “Good girl~ now. How should we punish you first, hmm? Should we edge you for hours with every part of our bodies except our cocks? Since it’s clear that you want them so badly-”

It was an accident, the picture Yunho’s painting affecting you so much that it can’t be helped when a loud and shaky moan slips past your lips. Time seems to pause for a moment as Mingi glances at you, the evil grin from before returning as Yunho lets out an inhuman noise. In an instant, you are bent over the bed, ass in the air with Yunho behind you and Mingi kneeling in front of you, keeping a hand under your chin to force you to keep eye-contact with him.

“You are gonna count each spank, not missing a single one nor stuttering. I want you to speak clearly or we start all over, understand?” Yunho grits out from behind you, rubbing your bare ass with one of his large hands, the other resting on the curve of your back to keep you from wiggling away. Not that you would.

“Y-yes sir- AH!” you cry out, back arching at the harsh smack against your right ass cheek, the flesh jiggling and stinging.

“I said, speak clearly. Now, count.” Yunho slaps your ass hard, switching to your left cheek.

“One-” you whimper out, trying to lower your head only to be stopped by Mingi. Glaring at you, Mingi tangles his hand in your hair to keep you in place. You are about to speak when another smack hits, this one on your right ass cheek again. “Two, Mingi please let me hide my face-”

“What did you just call me?” Mingi tightens his grip on your hair, tugging slightly and nodding at Yunho who tuts behind you. “I think this means she should have to start over Yunho~”

You shake your head, mumbling out apologies in desperation. “Please I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to it was an accident I swear-” you yelp as Yunho lands another blow.

“Don’t be rude. You are starting over and that’s final.” You nod in response, arms and legs trembling.

You aren’t sure how long it is into your punishment, but your legs barely have any strength left in them, your ass is on fire, and wetness has been dripping down your legs for the last few spanks. As the next blow hits, your arms give out and Mingi catches you easily.

“Twelve~” you pant heavily, peeking over at Yunho who smirks at your dripping core, massaging your bright red ass cheeks and cooing to you.

“Very good my dear~ we only had to restart twice! And look at you, you are dripping wetness all over the place.” Yunho chuckles darkly, running a finger up your thighs to gather some of the slick there. “Almost makes me wanna have a taste~”

When Yunho brings his fingers to his lips, moaning around them, your eyes trail to the tent in Mingi’s boxers, tongue running over your lower lips at the darkened circle where his tip is. Mingi chuckles, stroking a thumb along your lips, tugging on your lower one. Yunho continues to swipe his fingers through your juices, enjoying watching your reactions everytime he almost brushes your folds and pulling away, driving you insane with the need to be stimulated in some way. A broken whine slips out signalling that Mingi and Yunho achieved their mutual goal of teasing you as much as you had them, which was easy considering how sensitive you are to their touches on a normal day.

“Yunho? Think this brat has earned a taste of my cock? Or should we tease her more~” Yunho brings a wet digit to his lips, grinning as he sucks off all of the juices loudly, your heat trembling in response.

“I mean, I guess you could let her~ after all, she did take her punishment kind of well~” Yunho snickers at your offended expression as you look at him over your shoulder, pouting cutely.

Swallowing your pride, you look up at Mingi with puppy dog eyes, wiggling your hips as you speak in the most innocent tone you can. “Sir? Please let kitten taste your cock~ let me take you completely in my mouth, swallowing around your tip as it hits the back of my throat. Kitten wants sir to fuck her mouth~ kitten wants to please sir and help sir cum~ pretty pretty please sir?” Batting your eyelashes, Mingi bites his lower lip hard, asking Yunho silently to allow you to give him everything you just offered and more. Yunho responds by simply shoving your face closer to Mingi’s crotch, retrieving the vibrator and shoving it into you, turning it on as he pushes it deep into you.

Mingi quickly slips out of his pants and boxers, his red and angry looking cock slapping his stomach, sending precum across his abdomen. Moaning out at the sight combined with the vibrator’s unique shape hitting all the right spots in you, you lean forward and clean off the precum from Mingi’s abs, humming before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking eagerly. Mingi throws his head back, the hand in your hair tightening and shoving you down farther, curses and grunts slipping past his lips at the feeling of you.

Yunho begins curling the toy inside of you, refusing to give you the satisfaction of thrusting it into you. You moan around Mingi, hollowing out your cheeks and pushing your head down to the point that Mingi’s tip is resting in your throat. Mingi checks on you, waiting for the sign that he can finally begin thrusting. You tap his hips, whining out around him and fondling his balls. It’s this action that causes his restraint to snap.

Mingi starts snapping his hips into your mouth, gripping your hair tightly to guide you on his cock, grunting at the feeling of your mouth around him and your throat constricting. You let out mixtures of whines and moans, scraping your teeth lightly against his shaft whenever he pulls out and hollowing your cheeks as he thrusts in, trying to stimulate him as much as possible. Yunho continues to use the toy on you, his pants becoming tighter and tighter when your worst nightmare occurs, a cry being choked back. The batteries run out.

Yunho pulls the toy from you, spreading your lips to thrust three of his long digits in you and starting to pump them roughly, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Feeling the knot forming in you, you try to signal Yunho of your release, not knowing if it’s to tell him to keep going and allow you to have the sweet release you crave, or stop him to prolong your time together. Unfortunately for you, he chooses the latter and rips his hands away from you, watching your body writhe in need of him. There isn’t much time for you to complain about your denied orgasm though, because Mingi’s cock is twitching in your mouth and his pace is becoming irregular, his own release dangerously close. Running short on air and tears stinging your eyes, you bob your head faster on his cock, hearing his labored breaths and muttered curses above you. You close your eyes, focusing on bringing Mingi to his release and swallowing hard, moaning around him as you feel spurts of liquid hit the back of your throat.

Eyes shooting open, you look up at Mingi, shocked at the whimpers and whines coming from him as he cums down your throat, encouraging you to milk him of his release until he practically rips you off of him, overstimulation becoming too much as he pants and glares at you. Releasing your hair, Mingi wipes your lips with his thumb, slipping it into your mouth and swallowing before mumbling a simple “swallow” and watching as you listen to him. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, revealing that not a single drop of cum remains in your mouth. Mingi hums and pets your head gently, soothing the ache from his grip on your hair.

“Yunho-hyung, I think she’s finally earned the right to cum, don’t you?” Mingi purrs, slipping his hands under your arms to pull you up and turn you around to face Yunho, who eyes you hungrily. You gulp, batting your eyelashes at Yunho and jutting your lower lip out in a pout. Yunho strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side and reaching for his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers to reveal his hard cock, mirroring the way Mingi’s dripped earlier before you sucked him off. One of Yunho’s hands wraps around his cock, stroking himself to spread his precum. Smirking at you, he nods at Mingi, crawling on the bed and kneeling in front of you.

Mingi pushes you, encouraging you to kneel as well while he reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a tube of lubricant and popping the cap open. Mingi presses his chest to your back, opening the cap and squeezing out the clear liquid and spreading it on his fingers and rubbing some over your asshole. You gasp at the cool liquid, clenching around nothing as Yunho slides his shaft between your folds to gather more slick on his cock. Yunho leans down and sucks on your collarbone, grasping your hip in one of his hands while the other lines his cock up with your seeping hole.

“Look at you, an absolute mess~ see, this could’ve happened a lot faster and smoothly if you had just asked us like a good little girl~ but you just had to misbehave, didn’t you?” Mingi purrs in your ear, slowly slipping his pointer finger into your ass and biting on the shell of your ear. You gasp in surprise, whining and rolling your head back onto his shoulder, your hands resting on Yunho’s for support. Yunho moves his mouth all over your neck and collarbones, biting and sucking marks anywhere he can reach. The very tip of his cock teases your entrance before slipping out again, leaving you a desperate and panting mess between them both. Your legs shake as Mingi stretches you out, carefully slipping in another finger and scissoring them apart deep inside of you. “Look how well she takes my fingers~ I wonder if she can handle us both fucking her at the same time? Should we test it out Yunho?”

“I think we should Mingi~ but let’s take it slow, wouldn’t want her tearing in half from both of us now would we?” Yunho chuckles, finally pushing his cock deep inside of you and stretching you completely. You moan loudly, gripping his shoulders tightly at the feeling of having something penetrating both of your holes. Mingi manages to fit a third finger in, spreading and thrusting them into you to prepare you for when his cock enters you. You moan out, tapping Yunho on the shoulder to signal him to move, hissing when he pulls almost completely out of you and pushing back into you, repeating the movement over and over painfully slow. You whine out, nails scraping down Yunho’s chest and leaving angry red lines, causing him to hiss and reach up, tugging you back by the hair and marking up your chest and neck as his pace remains unchanging. After a few moments, Mingi pulls his fingers out of you. Yunho freezes, his cock buried deep inside of your cunt and watching Mingi over your shoulder. You try to look at him, but Yunho grasps your chin and forces you to look at him. “Unless you don’t want to cum for the next week, you will focus on me, understand?” You nod but receive a slap to the outside of your thigh, prompting you to speak.

“Yes sir” You gulp, becoming impatient as you wait for them to continue. You hear Mingi squeeze more lube out, coating his cock and pumping it before lining up to your asshole. Yunho pulls you into a deep kiss, muffling your whimper as the head of Mingi’s cock pushes into you, slowly stretching you out. Mingi pauses periodically, ensuring not to hurt you since it’d been a bit since you’d taken both of them. With murmured praises and soft nibbles on the shell of your ear, Mingi finally bottoms out, barely keeping himself restrained from fucking you senseless right then and there. Panting, you shift your hips slightly, causing both boys to groan as one grips your shoulders and the other your hips, keeping you in place. A smirk crosses your features, and before Yunho can warn you not to, you clench around both of them, causing the last of their restraint to snap.

The grip on your hips becomes bruising as they begin fucking you roughly, making it so that as one cock pulls out of you the other one is ramming harshly into you. You practically scream out in surprise, nails digging into Yunho’s shoulders and your head laying back on Mingi’s shoulder. Mingi bites on your shoulder, a bruise surfacing instantly as his hips snap into you roughly. One of Yunho’s hands trails between you both, finding your core and rubbing at your clit. You’ve become a moaning and whining mess between them, not even bothering trying to gain any control of the situation or their pleasure, too far gone to function.

A tight coil begins forming in your gut, and you struggle to warn them. “I-I’m about to c-cum~ s-so close pl-please let m-me cum!” Yunho groans, rubbing at your clit faster.

“Go on babygirl~ I want you to cum all over my cock~ it’s okay, let go now” at his words, you scream out in pleasure, clenching around them both as a ringing fills your ears. You see white, and go rigid in their holds. It only takes a few more thrusts before they’re both cumming deep within you, their thrusts becoming shallow as they ride out their highs. Whimpering from the sensitivity, you tap on Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho and Mingi nod, pulling out of you. You sigh in relief, only to yelp in surprise when you get set on your back, wrists getting handcuffed above your head. You look up at them both, the sudden cruel reality of your behavior hitting you like a freight train.

“You honestly didn’t think your punishment was over, did you princess?” Yunho looms over you, a smirk on his features. You hear a drawer opening, and after some shuffling, Mingi comes into view holding a fresh set of batteries and your bunny vibrator along with your butt-plug. “Oh baby~ we’re just getting started~”

And that was the start of the longest night of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so there it is! I hope y'all enjoyed it!

[hes-a-rainbow]

Simply Meant To Be (Part One)

A/N: I’ve always loved soulmate AU’s so I wrote a little something based on my interpretation. I’ll only continue this if it gets good feedback so remember to like and share!

word count: 2k warnings: small mention of panic attacks. 

Soulmates weren’t a new concept. Many people argued soulmates were as old as the universe itself. But that didn’t stop the tiny twinge of jealousy that twisted in Rue’s stomach as she opened up yet another wedding invitation. She stared back at the smiling couple, one of her friends from high school that had met their soulmate a few years back in college. Another photo zoomed in on their ring fingers. Their first initials scarred on both of their fingers indicating their eternal bond. 

She flipped over the invitation to fill out the rsvp and dinner selection she would be having in a few months time. She also marked an ‘X’ next to ‘not bringing a guest’. She sighed as the tiny ‘X’ seemingly mocked her loneliness.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates, they were a fact of life since the beginning of civilization. It was merely the loneliness she felt seeing everyone meeting their soulmate while she still remained alone. Her best friend, Madison, who had met her soulmate back in kindergarten and she was now six months pregnant with their second child. 

There was no real science to when, where, or how you would meet your soulmate, it was just supposed to happen. Fate would eventually intertwine the lives of two people who were simply meant to be. Rue was now nearing 26. She had been in love before, as many before her, but the looming fact that her significant others’ soulmate could show up at any time kept her from anything long term. 

There was always that terrible thought in the back of her head; the one she had since she was young and still kept her up at night. Growing up, the concept of soulmates were taught in schools. Children mocked each other on the school yard that they would be forever ‘unmarked’, a term coined for those who were destined to be alone. It was a rare phenomenon but it still happened nonetheless.

She took a look at her left hand adorned with rings except for on her ring finger. She remembers spending hours as a child staring and hoping the initial of her true love would show up. But all these years later, it remained as bare as the day she was born. She never thought of herself as a pessimist and she knew she was still young (her parents hadn’t met until they were in their mid thirties) but it still hurt as she watched from the sidelines as seemingly everyone else was matched up.

The loud ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Her friend and close confidante, Caroline, was calling. She swiped her finger across her phone and cleared her throat, “What’s up?”

“Well hello to you too!” Caroline’s voice roared back to her. She hit the volume button down lower as she knew Caroline was a loud talker. “I’m on my way to Rory’s. My guitar string broke this morning and Talia got called in for a late shift. Do you wanna stop by with me and then get take out for dinner?” Caroline’s soulmate, Talia, was a highly wanted chef in Hell’s Kitchen who worked nights at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the entire city. 

She stared at the digital clock on her oven that indicated it was only 5:30. “Sure, I just got home so just let me change and I’ll meet you at Rory’s.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and wandered over to her bedroom to pull out a pair of jeans.

“No need. I’m walking up your stairs as we speak.” Like clockwork, she heard the sound of Caroline’s knuckles knocking at her front door. 

“Jesus Caroline, and what if I had said no?” She walked over to the door, unzipping her work pants. Caroline’s bright smile and bleached blonde hair greeted her. “You can’t say no to me!” Caroline looked down at her friends’ outfit. “Cute but can I recommend something less librarian?” Caroline placed her guitar case by the door as Rue rolled her eyes but held the door open. She sauntered back over to her dresser to continue changing out of her work clothes. Caroline sat on her bed and basically held an entire conversation by herself as Rue simply replied with oh, uh huh, and that’s crazy.

.

.

Winter had come to the city fast, blanketing the city in a slick frost every morning. The two women walked side by side, bundled up in hats and scarves as they walked the two blocks from Rue’s apartment to Rory’s, an old music shop that also happened to be run by Rory, Rue’s upstairs neighbor and close friend. 

“And I know she’ll be upset if I spend so much money but she’s been talking about this knife set for months now.” Caroline rambled on about what she would be getting Talia for their upcoming anniversary. They weren’t married yet, or even engaged for that matter, but they had been together for nearly five years now and didn’t see the need to rush anything.

“I mean it is your five year. She can’t be too upset that you would want to splurge a little bit. But that’s also basically your whole paycheck. You’d basically be leaving it up to her to pick up that entire month’s rent.” Rue’s faded leather boots slapped the pavement as she hid her face further into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up her freezing nose. It was almost completely dark out now which meant there was no sun to help ease off the cold.

“And what about that song you were working on? No amount of money spent could give Talia anything that personal and from the heart.” Caroline was an aspiring musician who worked full time as a coffee shop manager and played open mics on the weekends. Caroline hummed in response, her confidence slipping. “I’m just not sure if I like how it turned out…” She let her voice trail off and stared ahead as if in deep thought. 

“She’d love it no matter what. Anyone would.” Rue knocked her shoulder into her friends’. “I mean isn’t that like everybody’s dream? To have a song written about them?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” They both stopped at the old music store with the big ‘open’ sign in neon lights adorning the window.

“Ah fuck it’s cold out there.” Caroline announced as the warmth from the stores’ heater hit them. Rue untangled her scarf to hang loosely at her side. A loud bell indicated their arrival and they saw Rory’s head perk up from behind the register. 

“How much for an hour, ladies?” He called over to them and was met with not one, but two middle fingers from them both. Rory was only a few years older than them but had become especially close with Caroline because of their love of music. Rue worked as a receptionist at a law firm but worked a few shifts at the shop here and there when Rory needed extra help.

Caroline walked over to the counter and plopped her heavy guitar case on it. “String broke again.” She popped open the buckles on the side, lifting it up to reveal the old acoustic guitar she had been gifted as a teenager. The shine of the guitar had been long lost and was now replaced with a few dings and scratches but Caroline loved it no less than the day she got it.

“Damn Caroline. Really have to start being more careful with her.” Rory took the guitar out of it’s velvet bed by the neck and examined the broken string that hung lamely at the side. “This is the second time this month. What could you possibly be playing?”

“I’m trying to learn some flamenco techniques and it’s not going as well as I planned…” Rue wandered over to the wall that hung the electric guitars, zoning out the banter coming from her two friends.

She always admired the instrument but had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. She loved how Rory kept all the guitars miraculously clean, there were never any fingerprints or smudges on them and she swear he went over every spot with a toothbrush to make sure. She reached for an acoustic guitar that was hanging lower than the more expensive ones.

“You break it, you buy it!” Rory called over to her as he always did. She huffed in response and propped her knee up on a low shelf that held a variety of guitar straps. She didn’t know how to play nor did she know any songs but she loved the sounds the strings made when plucked. She would find herself mesmerized when she watched Caroline play the guitar so effortlessly. Rue even thought back to when she was a child and took a few piano lessons here and there but could never get the hang of it.

As she stood under the guitars and heard Caroline and Rory bickering about which string would be the best replacement (of course his recommendation was also the most expensive brand he sold), the bell by the front door rung to indicate a new customer. Rue didn’t bother looking over as she played some random notes in an attempt to put something together but only to be met by a terrible ‘plunk’. She decided to put the guitar back before embarrassing herself even further in front of her very talented friends.

She was about to place the head of the guitar back on the hook it hung from when she felt an intense pain in her chest. The hand not holding the guitar went right to the center of her chest as a warmth ran over her body. Her ears started to ring and she teetered in her place before placing the guitar down on the floor, not wanting to damage it if she fell.

“Rue?” She heard her name coming from behind her but her eyes filled with stars. She opened and closed them as the pain in her chest increased, causing her to fall to the floor on her knees. She could hear frantic chatter coming from the counter but her only focus was calming her breathing. She had suffered from panic attacks before but the intense pain in her chest was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard footsteps running towards her as she released a groan from deep in her throat.

“Rue! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline slumped to the floor next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Rue’s vision was blurry and she blinked fast as her eyes started to water. A bang and a deep groan went through the store somewhere behind her. “Holy shit!” A stranger's voice yelled, “Harry, man, are you alright?” 

Suddenly, the pain Rue felt in her chest shot down her left arm. She felt as if she were dying. It was as if her skin was being cut from the inside out while also spontaneously being burned. “Rue! Rue!” She could hear Caroline calling her name but it came through as muffled though her ringing ears. She looked up to see a group of men standing by the counter. Rory was speaking frantically on his cell phone and she could see two men crowded around another who sat in the same position on the floor as she did. The brunette on the floor looked up and their eyes met. The overwhelming pain stopped suddenly as she stared at him. Pictures flashed in her mind of her and this man, someone who was a stranger to her but also oddly familiar. She saw his smile and heard her own laugh. She saw tears stream down his face and her own fingers wiping them away. 

What is this? She thought in her head. 

You know what this is. Her conscious replied.

Caroline’s face came back to her line of sight, “Hey Rue, look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She held Rue’s face in her hands. Rue’s hands came up to clasp her friends’ wrist, her breathing rapid as her heart beat finally started to slow back to a normal pace. Her left hand still stung. More specifically, her left ring finger.

She pulled away from her friend quickly to examine the new mark that now adorned her skin. 

“Holy shit.” Rue rubbed at the mark with her other hand to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But with every swipe, the letter remained. “Holy shit!” Rue heard Caroline agree as she looked down at Rue’s hand, but Caroline’s voice was filled with less fear and more glee than Rue’s.

There, on her left ring finger, still swollen and red was the letter H.

.

A/N: This is just an idea I have that I may or may not continue based on the feedback. I know Harry was literally just a mention in this part but I would obviously include him much more going forward. Let me know if you’re interested in what happens next and please like and share!

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Part Two

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

heartbeat on the high line / fred weasley

unresolved angst for freddie because i felt like it <3

summary: fred broke your heart a long time ago and a walk through diagon alley brings up old memories for the both of you

word count: 2.9 k

warnings: post-war timeline, mentions of torture sort of?, mentions of being underweight because of said torture, fluff sort of if you squint?, angst, open ended, tiny mention of death, let me know if i missed anything!! <3

let me know what you think <3

this is based on the song “cardigan” by taylor swift but it’s not a song fic <3

Skies of dark grey released heavy sheets of rain onto the cobblestone streets below, the pitter-patter of the torrential downpour barely muted the sound of your high heels against the all too familiar stone street. A stark black umbrella held primly above your head shielded you from the typical English weather as you strutted through Diagon Alley.

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on showing your face in the magical hotspot, not so soon after the war anyway. Years worth of memories haunted every twist and turn of the street you seemed to own in the moment, light grey stones darkened and slick from the rain completely devoid of any feet other than your own.

You recalled all of the significant moments, each bookmarked by a certain area of the various alleys. Flourish & Blotts; where you’d met your first love all those years ago, at the age of eleven you’d been so bright eyed and sure of the future, sure of him. In the distance you could make out the bright orange exterior of Weasleys’ Wizard wheezes; where you’d walked away from your first love, all those years later however not so long ago that the sight of his legacy, as vibrant and joy inducing as it always had been, didn’t elicit an uncomfortable pang to spring in your chest. As you progressed past Olivander’s, your lips quirked up ever so slightly as the aging paint of the shop expelled all misconceptions you had about the boy who still haunted all of your “What If?”s, the lightly rusting windows screaming at you as if to remind you that, actually, he hadn’t been your first love. Olivander’s Wand Shop had been the true site of your first love and you’d found that first taste of true, pure, untainted love in the form of your phoenix feather core, thirteen inch, English oak wand.

A wistful giggle left your lips, your feet unmoving, rain lashing down aggressively and sliding off the edges of your umbrella, creating streams of water that fell around you but never got close enough to you to so much as dampen your outfit. Losing yourself in the joy of recalling how happy you’d been upon being chosen by your fateful wand, you failed to notice the familiar frame who had made his way to the doorway of the shop. The creaking of the old door pulled you from your thoughts, a dazzlingly grin broke out on your face as Mr. Olivander himself leant against his propped open door, keeping himself dry inside the comfort of his warm shop.

A grin similar to yours adorned his lips as he called out rather loudly over the rain, “I do recall that smile getting you out of quite a bit of trouble, back in your Hogwarts days,” your smile only widened at his recollection.

“To this day it’s the secret to my success,” you beamed jokingly as Olivander shook his head and released a low chuckle. He had no doubt that you’d be going places, ever since the first moment he’d clapped eyes on you he knew you were destined for success, of course, it was also no wonder that bewitching smile of yours had helped you get there. Like your wand; you chose your company carefully, held nothing but passion for the things you craved, were fiercely determined and surprisingly flexible without breaking your morals.

“I also recall thinking you’d grow up to become one of the brightest witches this country had ever seen. It seems as though you proved me right, dear girl,” he spoke with such reverence that you almost wished to cower away from his gaze, however, you held your confident stance and let your smile melt into an adoring grin once more.

“Don’t act as though you had nothing to do with it, sir,” your voice carried through the wall of worsening rain between yourself and the older wizard, “If it hadn’t been for your encouragement during the war, I think I’d have simply given up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor,” it was a dark time, of course it was, it had been a war after all. You supposed, the love you held for your coveted wand extended to the man who had supplied it to you in the first place; Mr. Olivander, he was more than just the slightly daft wand shop owner, he had been- for longer than you cared to remember- your cellmate, the man who had slid you his rations from across the dungeon when you’d faded to nothing but skin on bones, the one who encouraged you to pursue your dreams of becoming a journalist with the hopes of shining light on issues far more important than the ones covered by that roach Rita Skeeter. He was a lot of things, but above all else, he was your friend.

“Now, now dear,” he chastised teasingly, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as lively now as it had been on the day he was born, and, every day since, “You better be getting to Gringotts. Lots of galleons and sickles to collect I’m sure. Being the head of the Daily Prophet surely keeps those money bags heavy, eh?”

Your laugh echoed through the street one again, your lips which were painted black, supplied him with the very best smile you could possibly muster. “I suppose I should get going. Look after yourself.” Olivander shot you a wink before retreating back into his shop.

A familiar lamp caught your attention, the ghosts of your past passions rising as brutally as the rain fell. You could remember it, clear as day.

His laughter mingled with yours, the hearty belly laughs bellowing through the darkened street as the pair of you stumbled out of The Leaky Cauldron in the early hours of the morning, systems altered by the copious amounts of fire whiskey you’d managed to consume. His hand held yours in a tight grasp, he swung your interconnected arms childishly.

One second you’d been walking and the next he was twirling you around beneath the spotlight of the flickering post above you. Drunkenly, you’d spun your little heart out, spurred on by his slightly slurred, yet somehow sweet, singing. He admired you as you shimmied ahead of him, completely free, fresh out of school and not yet weighed down by the darkness that loomed in the distance. When your eyes caught his you shot him a smile, he knew it well, it was the smile, it shun like sequins when they caught light and he knew it was worth more than all of the gold in Gringotts. You beckoned him over to you with a finger, taking his hand when he got close enough you spun him around and laughed weightlessly.

The feeling of his hands gripping your waist would be imprinted on your skin for as long as you lived, you’d thought, charmed by the look in his brown eyes when you internally swore that you would’ve loved him for a lifetime.

What you didn’t know, as you shook off the phantom hands on your waist, was that he’d seen your eyes that night and despite his heavily intoxicated state, he noted your devotion and even now, when he’d lay awake and think of you; it was that look and that sequinned smile that haunted him. Just as the streets of Diagon Alley haunted you.

Thinking of the sequence of events that led you to walking away from the person you’d honestly believed to be your once in a lifetime, perhaps even your once in twenty lifetimes, or infinite lifetimes, did nothing but torment your already scarred heart. He was always hard to pin down, how could he not be? With a face like his and the world wrapped around his finger, he knew he didn’t have to settle for only one of each thing.

Chasing two girls excited him, at the time. All of the secret keeping, high stakes secret meet ups, illicit affairs and sensual politics had kept him energised. Until the novelty wore off and he was left with nothing but a side-piece whose favourite colour he hadn’t bothered to learn. But he’d known yours, he knew everything about you, he still did. He knew you, he remembered how you’d stared at him, eyes heavy with betrayal and filled to the brim with tears the day you’d confronted him, your bags already packed as you made it clear that; yes, you love him, but no, he couldn’t fix this. No matter how hard he’d fought to change the ending to your fairytale-esq love story, you’d slipped through his fingers like water.

Various knick knacks that had once been yours still lived in his flat, above the shop you’d encouraged him to open, back in school. For weeks, your scent lingered like a tattoo kiss on his skin, his clothes, his bedsheets, his everything as a constant reminder that he’d forced you away. He’d practically paid for your ticket for the last train out of London that day. He told himself that he was only seventeen; what on Earth did he truly know about love? And again he reasoned; he knew you.

Months before the war he swore time and time again that he’d seen your face amongst the busy, condensed crowds of Diagon Alley. On countless occasions he found himself chasing down strangers like a madman, hoping for nothing more than to catch even a glimpse of the woman who made his heart smile as beautifully as she herself did.

Chin tilted upwards as you passed his renowned joke shop, you walked with a sense of importance willing your feet not to stop, but you couldn’t deny the urge you had to check up on him.

The last time you’d seen him, the world around you had been in complete chaos. You’d only just been saved from the months of endless torture you were forced to endure. Nothing like now, you’d been frail and weak and hollow. But still, you’d saved his life. Without a word you’d saved him from being crushed, as if he had been just another person to save, as if he hadn’t shared the most intimate of moments with you, before rushing back off, back into the fray until the battle had been won. That was the last time he’d seen you in the flesh and he ached to see you again- so he could thank you, so he could tell you that he was grateful to be alive but his life wouldn’t be worth half as much if he never got to hold you in his arms again.

The rain smashed unyieldingly against the windows of the shop as he worked on the tills, the shop was unusually empty, nobody willing to do any sort of shopping on a day so miserable. With a bored sigh, he stared out the large window before him, only one woman walked the street, an umbrella struggling to fight off the rain. The raindrops that accumulated on the window blurred his view of the lady’s face but there was no amount of rain in the world that could hide your signature strut of defiance from him.

Quickly he scampered out from behind the counter, “George! Watch the counter!” He screeched, bombing it out the front door while George released a tired sigh, hoping his twin wasn’t regressing back to his chasing strangers phase.

As soon as he’d entered the open air, he was completely soaked to the bone. Your heels clacking like the countdown on a ticking time bomb as Fred stood frozen as few meters behind you. His hair sopping wet, his shirt sticking to his body and his face completely desperate as he called your name.

His heart was beating so aggressively that he was positive you could hear it from up the street. You’d stopped in your tracks upon hearing his voice, your stomach erupting with butterflies while simultaneously dropping in anticipation when you turned to face him.

“You’re here,” he stated dumbly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took you in. As beautiful as you’d always been, he carefully inched towards you, you stayed rooted in your spot but let him advance on you. The phantom feeling of his strong hands on your waist clouded your judgment and made you long to have him come back to you.

You nodded your head, “I’m here.”

Fred nodded too, exhaling a deep breath now that he was sure he wasn’t imagining your presence as he had countless times before. Before either of you knew it, you were standing within arms length of each other, however, far too unsure to touch. The rain was roaring and Fred began to blink rapidly, the water hitting his eyes ruthlessly before you took a single step forward and saved him from the onslaught of droplets. You were close now, so close Fred could smell your perfume and see every detail of your face. The handle of your spacey umbrella rested in between the both of you, acting like a barrier so he wouldn’t tug you against his shaking form and hug the daylights out of you.

“You never let me say thank you,” he started, tears very quickly forming to mix with the raindrops that slid down his freckled face. “At the battle. If you hadn't been there, Y/n, I would’ve died.”

“Don’t say that,” you begged, you’d mulled the scenario of “what if I’d been too late?” over in your mind, more times than you were willing to admit, and the image of Fred cold and dead, despite how terribly he’d hurt you, made your gut wrench so violently that you thought you might be sick. “I was there. That’s all that matters.”

His brows furrowed and suddenly the hands on your waist weren’t that of a past ghost anymore, they were his; very real and in the moment. “Why didn’t you stay? After you saved me you just ran off, I couldn’t find you after it was over-“ his voice was so vulnerable, it cracked and hitched and you forced yourself to cut him off, your umbrella shaking in your hand.

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that- the way I was after Harry got the others and I out of Malfoy’s,” you told him honestly, biting back tears as you offered him more elaboration while he shook his head in a frantic sort of disbelief, “I was weak and skeletal, I couldn’t face you. Not when I saw the way you looked at me.”

“I looked at you the same!” He exclaimed and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Exactly, Fred! I was vulnerable and damaged beyond belief and even after everything- every screaming match, or slammed door or horrible words that we wish we could take back you still looked at me like I was your favourite thing!” You rambled, chest heaving painfully as you tried, uselessly, to keep your building tears at bay. Fred didn’t waste a second before he was pulling the umbrella from you and tossing the thing, that had become more of a hindrance than a help, away from you before he cupped your cheeks urgently.

Rain enveloped the both of you and Fred knew he shouldn’t have been thinking it, but merlin, you seemed to glow in the rain and he acknowledged the fact he’d been aware of all along; you were truly an angel.

“Because you were! You are,” his voice was dripping with honest desperation, “I might not have known anything else back then but I knew I missed you, I knew that hurting you would be the worst thing I ever did and when I saw you that day I knew I still loved you and my life wasn’t worth living if it wasn’t spent with you!” You were at a loss for words at his shouted, emotionally charged confession. His eyes searched yours for the look that haunted him, the promise to love him forever that was hidden beneath your irises and after the next words slipped from his lips, he thought that maybe he’d uncovered it.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to you. You’re quite literally the only reason my heart is beating and I’d sooner actually die than let you go one more second thinking that you aren’t the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my stupid, idiotic life.”

[kingkatsuki]

Your Biggest Fan | Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

Wrote this entire fic and then realised that the ask mentioned tights. Whoops ~ but hey! On the plus side, more subway train sex!

Shout out to: @mothwithteeth​ @angeliclyaslut​ @redbeanteax​ @bbygirlpastel​ for indulging in my stranger Kirishima fantasies, a lot of this fic is thanks to their depraved ideas. Also tagging @ikinabi​ because Kirishima?

Warnings: 18+, dubcon-ish~

You raced up the stairs in the train station, after hearing the familiar rumble of your train pulling into the platform. You cursed at the scurry of people coming down the stairs at the mainline station, trying to avoid them as you rushed towards the train. 

“Shit,” You groaned as you heard the familiar voice indicating the doors were about to close, managing to slip into the carriage before the doors closed.

Out of breath you made your way towards an empty seat, thankful that the train seemed to be almost deserted. Panting as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“You okay, cutie?” A voice caught you by surprise as you looked up to see a towering figure looming over you.

“Red Riot?” You blinked, tilting your head as you did a double take, “I-I’m a big fan-” 

There he was standing in front of you, in the flesh. Your favourite Pro-Hero Red Riot. His signature hero outfit replaced by a pair of grey sweatpants, a baggy stringy black vest showcasing his chiselled pectorals and an open black hoodie. You couldn’t take your eyes off his pointed collar bones, the curve of his chest or the peak of his pointed nipple that was exposed due to his vest. This had to be fate. Any other day you would have missed the train, the doors closing in your face as you were forced to wait for the next one. But not today! No, the gods had to be on your side today. He was even more handsome in real life-

“I saw your fight last week where you saved all those people from that Villain attack, you were so brave.” You gushed, unable to quite believe you were meeting your favourite hero.

“That was nothing,” He smiled, coming closer towards you as he puffed his chest out slightly, “just another day on the job.”

“But you were incredible. The way you used your quirk to block the attack and protect those children. I’m honestly such a huge fan-”

“Aren’t you sweet?” He smiled, his own eyes roaming over your body, feeling your face heat up at his gaze. Suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious and your fingers moved down to the hem of your skirt, trying to pull it lower over your exposed thighs, “I can’t lie, I was really surprised to see you on this train all alone at this hour. It isn’t safe, you know?”

“Oh, It’s fine, honestly. I take this train home every day.” You smiled up at him, starting to play with your fingers nervously. His body towered over yours from his position, he was even bigger than you had imagined him to be in real life. Your eyes taking in his wide, muscular shoulders as he shifted his feet, a hand coming up to grip the pole beside you as the train began to move again. 

“You do? At this time?” Kirishima tried to sound casual as he picked up on the information you provided, “I can’t willingly let you take this journey by yourself. It wouldn’t be very manly of me at all.” Kirishima stepped to the side, slipping down into the empty chair beside you. His large thigh pressing against your own as you felt his warmth engulf you. 

“There’s a lot of creeps out at this time, stay close to me and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” He placed a large palm on your exposed knee, the touch sending tingles throughout your thigh as you felt him grip gently, a toothy grin remained on his features as his eyes watched your reaction.

 “That’s so nice of you, Red Riot.” You smiled up at him, his scent invading your senses, “But you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you must be so busy-”

“Never too busy to help such a pretty lady,” He squeezed your knee, his hand sliding further up your thigh, “I couldn’t live with myself if I found out something happened to one of my biggest fans- hey, is that one of my hoodies?”

You blushed as you leaned forward so he could see the back, the hoodie was a design based off his hero outfit, red gears on the shoulder blades and a prominent ‘R’ symbol on the front that you showed him by closing the hoodie. Kirishima’s eyes gleamed as he watched you gush over him, you were so sweet, so innocent.

“I’ll have to sign it for you some time, huh?” He smiled, his other arm moving over the back of the chair you were sitting on, circling around your shoulders as he held you closer to his body, “In fact, I could send you a whole bunch of my merch.” He felt himself harden at the cute, excited gasp that left your lips, your eyes lighting up at the thought.

“You don’t have to do that, Red Riot. But I would love it so much-” Hearing you all him ‘Red Riot’ with your breathy voice sent a throb to his cock every time, 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Your hero was literally sitting right beside you, touching you. This had to be a dream, surely? You cringed as you continued to gush about him to his face. He probably thought you were some creepy obsessed fan girl, especially considering you were wearing his merchandise. This was the complete opposite of the image you wanted to give off, but you couldn’t help it. Here he was, in front of you.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet my fans,” The hand on your thigh going higher, slipping under your skirt, the calloused pads of his fingers grazing against your panties. His lips moved down to press hot kisses against your jawline, his warm breath fanning your face as you felt yourself easing into his touch, spreading your legs as he continued to brush his fingers against your clothed slit.

“I- don’t, I-” You whispered as he shushed you, his fingers sliding under the thin material of your panties, lifting your lower half with ease as he slid them down your thighs, groaning as he saw the glistening string of your slick connecting to the material in the process. Sliding the panties down your legs and helping you step out of them, he immediately move to slip them into the pocket of his sweatpants, “For safekeeping,” He smiled at you before returning his focus to your body, his fingers quick to move back to your cunt, dipping down to stroke between your folds. 

“Red Riot, We shouldn’t-” You were cut off as Kirishima captured your lips in a bruising kiss, taking advantage of your open mouth as his tongue brushed against your own, lashing against your teeth. Dipping a single meaty finger into your tight hole. You whimpered into his mouth as he began to pump his digit into you, feeling it curl inside you as he brushed the pad against the spongy spot inside you. 

Kirishima caught you by surprise as he slid a second finger inside your cunt, groaning at how tight you felt around him. Your insides clenching desperately around him as he moved back from the kiss. His red eyes watching your face as he continued to get you off on his fingers. His thumb moving up to rub messy circles around your clit was all it took for you to feel that familiar feeling inside yourself, your orgasm surging through you as you came around his fingers. Kirishima’s lips moving back to your own in another bruising kiss to muffle your cries.

“I’m so lucky to have such a loyal fan,” He smiled down at you, slipping his fingers from your convulsing sex, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean, “my biggest fan-”

“I hope your stop isn’t soon?” He asked hopefully, glancing down at your flushed face. Your eyes squinting up towards the illuminated passenger information system to try and read what stop was coming up. You had at least another thirty minutes before your station.

“It’s at least another ten stops,” You turned back to him, now unable to make eye contact. You were in public, what did you think you were doing? You glanced around the train to see a few late night commuters sitting in the carriage, busying themselves with newspapers and cellphones. Had they seen your lewd acts? Did they know what you were doing. The pure idea of anyone seeing you engaged in such sinful acts made your stomach lurch. It would be okay, you could just tell Red Riot that you didn’t want to do anything here, he would understand.

“Well, how about you help me with something, Sweetheart?" Kirishima held the same charming smile, his hand now lingering on your inner thigh, his calloused fingers squeezing the plush skin as his larger body loomed over your own.

"Anything for you, Red Riot!" His cock twitching at your words, so compliant.

“I’ve had such a long day at work, saving lives-” He let out a sigh as he pretended to stretch his back, leaning back in his seat slightly so you could see the prominent bulge desperate to be released from the sweatpants he wore, “I could really do with some relaxation-”

“Oh, I-” You’d fantasised about this moment for months, dreaming of sleeping with your favourite Pro-Hero, touching yourself to the thought of Red Riot between your thighs. But now the moment was here, you were terrified. You were in public. What if someone saw?

“I’m not sure if I c-can, Red Riot-” You blushed, your body sliding back from his before the strong arm around your shoulders stopped you from moving away, “I mean we’re in-”

“Oh? I thought I was your favourite Pro-Hero.” His eyes looked dejected as the toothy grin fell from his face, “I guess you’re more of a Deku fan? Or maybe even Ground Zero, huh?” His arm lifted from around your shoulders, placing both hands into his hoodie pockets as he sat beside you on the empty carriage.

“No, no-” You looked at him with wide eyes, “You’re my favourite, Red Riot. My number one-”

“I spend every day trying to protect people, risking my life so that they can be safe-” You bit your lip as he continued to list off his accomplishments, his near death experience from last week. He really did risk his life for everyone.

“It’s okay, really. I’m used to girls leading me on to get to my friends,” He smiled at you, “I just wish you would have told me that before you let me finger you. I mean, before you weren’t going to reciprocate-”

“It’s not that. Not at all. Please-” You stuttered out, your smaller hand reaching out to lay on his muscular forearm, “let me make it up to you,”

“Really? You’d do that for little old me?” His smile returned to his face, spreading his legs slightly as he leaned back in his chair, “You’re such a good fan.”

His hands slid from his hoodie pockets, moving down to the waistband of his sweats, his thumbs hooking under the material to tug them down. His cock bouncing up from its confines as it arched towards his chest, pre-cum beading against the engorged reddened tip. 

“Such good stress relief after saving lives all day,” He moved a hand up behind your head, his fingers trailing through your hair as he put a light pressure on the back of your head.

“H-here?” You stuttered out, eyes darting around the seemingly empty carriage, “We can’t-”

“It’s okay, Princess. I won’t tell anyone.” You felt him continue to press your head down towards his large cock, “You’re such a supportive fan, and you did say anything-”

You did say anything, didn’t you. Your slender fingers moved down to curl around Kirishima’s large girth, a low hiss leaving his lips at the sensation as you lowered your mouth towards his crotch. Your tongue sweeping out to lap at the bead of pre that sat along the tip, taking in a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. Your tongue curling around the head as you felt Kirishima’s hand tighten against your hair, putting pressure on the back of your head as he pushed you further down on his length.

“Shit,” He groaned, throwing his head back, “That’s it. Such a good fucking girl.” His fingers weaved through your hair, holding you down against his length as your nose brushed against his black public hair. Groaning around him as you sent pleasurable vibrations along his cock.

“Shit, not so much teeth, Princess.” He hissed as your teeth accidentally scraped along his length in your attempt to take him inside your mouth, “Careful-”

You tried to maintain your breathing through your nose as you continued to bob your head along his length, determined to make this enjoyable for your favourite hero, Red Riot. The head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with each roll of his hips, making your eyes water at the sensation, trying to hold back your gag reflex to make this as enjoyable as possible.

The train halted at a station and you heard the loud ruckus of a group of men, shouting and yelling which made you pull your head off Kirishima’s cock in panic, your eyes immediately darting towards the source of the sound. Sighing in relief when you noticed that they got onto the carriage beside yours.

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, Sweetheart.” Kirishima’s large palm came up to stroke your cheek, holding it in his hands as he moved your focus back to his own, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

“What if people see, I-” You were in a panic, you never did stuff like this. What were you thinking? 

“Hey, hey.” Kirishima brought you closer to him, planting a gentle kiss to your temple as he shushed you, “It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything with me, I get it.”

“No, it’s not that!” You whimpered, pulling back as Kirishima held a dejected look on his face, “I just don’t want people to see me. Like-”

“Oh,” Kirishima’s face lit back up again, “Well why don’t you sit on my lap.”

You felt his strong hands lifting you from the train seat, pulling you into his lap as you felt his large cock press against the curve of your ass.

“I’m so happy that we ran into each other, Sweetheart. I can’t believe I met my biggest fan today.” His hands slid down to spread your thighs, arching your body as he pressed the tip of his cock against your tightness, “What a treat.”

You mewled at his words, gasping as you felt the bulging head of his cock press inside your tight cunt, stretching yourself around him. Kirishima muttered a crude ‘shit’ as he pressed you down harder, feeling more of his length engulfed by your inner walls, feeling you clench around him in anticipation. 

“You’ve got such a tight little pussy, Princess. You feel so good.” He groaned as you began to wriggle on top of him, desperate to feel some relief to your throbbing sex. His strong hands moving to grasp your hips, using them as leverage as he began to lift your body up and drop you back down on his thick girth.

“Red Riot-” You whined, the curve of his cock angled perfectly to that spongy spot inside you as you continued to rock yourself against him, gyrating your hips against him as you searched for your release.

“See? That fucking pervert could have his hands all over you right now? Do you see him looking at us?” Your eyes snapped open to glance towards the corner of the carriage, seeing the pair of eyes peeking at you from over a newspaper. Immediately glancing back down when he noticed that he’d been caught, “It’s so lucky I ran into you this evening, Sweetheart.”

“You like this? You like my cock in your tight pussy, huh? Who knew my number one fan was such a slut,” Kirishima continued rutting his hips up into you as he dropped you down on his cock, groaning as he bottomed inside you with each thrust, the sound of his balls slapping against your slick filled the carriage as he bit down on your neck to muffle his grunts. 

“Are you my slut?” 

“Y-yes, Red Riot-” You managed to get out between your heavy breaths.

“Say it.” He grunted, his hands bruisingly tight on your hips, digging into your skin as your shirt had risen up.

“I’m Red Riot’s slut, oh-” Your words causing a feral growl to leave his lips.

“I’m sorry I’m being so rough,” He managed to get out between thrusts, his movements rutting himself up harder into your cunt, “I guess I don’t realise my own strength.” Your head fell onto his shoulder as he continued to suckle your skin, his tongue lashing against the wound his sharp teeth had caused, his groans sending pleasurable vibrations along your skin as your cunt continued to clench around his length. His hand coming around you to search for your puffy clit, rubbing messy circles around it as he felt you squeeze around him. 

“Come on, Sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He groaned as he felt your inner walls contract from his words, “Show me how much of a loyal fan you are-”

You whined as you felt the coil inside you desperately close to releasing. Kirishima’s cock was big and he was stretching your tight heat, the prominent veins that wound around his length rubbing against your g-spot perfectly as you felt your climax begin to flood through you.

“Red Riot!” You cried unashamedly, knowing that the man in the corner would be watching your every movement as you came.

Hearing his hero name come from your innocent mouth paired with the way your cunt clenched tightly around his cock made a feral growl leave his lips as he searched for his own release, moving his hand back to your hip as he began to use your body like his own personal cock sleeve. 

“You feel so good clenching around me, Princess. Squeezing my cock.” He grunted, his cock throbbing with his impending orgasm, “Gonna cum in this pretty little pussy.”

“No!” You blushed, immediately remembering that he’d taken your panties. You couldn’t-

“Fuck,” Kirishima grunted as white ropes of cum shot into your tight cunt, painting your inner walls white as he rode out his climax, giving a few more hard ruts of his hips. 

“You’re such a good little girl,” You whimpered as Kirishima lifted you from his lap, his cock slipping out of your cunt as he sat you back down beside him, tucking his length back inside his sweatpants as he helped you to flatten your skirt over your legs. 

“How many stops, Sweetheart?” He waited for you to check the passenger information system.

“It’s the next one,” You pulled your shirt back down, fixing your hoodie as you made to stand, the movement of the train paired with your wobbly legs made it hard to stand. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll escort you home. I wouldn’t be much of a hero if I didn’t make sure a lady out on her own at night didn’t get home safely!” He helped you to your feet as you immediately felt his cum seep from your quivering cunt and spill down your legs, a drip falling to the floor as you tried to pull the hem of your skirt lower down your thighs, “It’s for your own safety,”

[ohshcscenerios]

"Subway"

AU Renge/Tamaki One-Shot

This one-shot was inspired by this TikTok video. The pairing inspired by @falling-pages.

Had she left her apartment ten minutes sooner Renge wouldn’t have had to risk scruffing her newly purchased white corset heels against the gritty subway concrete. Normally she didn’t ascend underground for her work commute, choosing the clean comforts of an Uber instead, but today had started on all levels of wrong. Her cell phone didn’t charge on a broken cord last night which led to her alarm not waking her up promptly at 6am, the appropriate slotted time for her to shower, eat a small breakfast, and gather her day’s outfit before texting for an Uber. Sure, it stretched the normal time it took to get to her job by ten minutes while she waited for her driver to arrive but it was a privilege she made time for, to curve around the dirty west side of Boston with grace.

However she couldn’t afford ten minutes today. Fate had other plans for her, watching her as she crashed around her apartment in a haste attempt to get ready. She forwent breakfast, skipped her homemade cappuccino, and managed to remember to grab her jacket before flailing it over her shoulder as she clumsily locked her front door.

The promise of rain loomed over her apartment complex as she dashed down the sidewalk, cursing herself for forgetting an umbrella. If she had time to open her news app over her morning coffee she would have noticed the forecast. Now she could only pray the skies had mercy over her, just until she was safely tucked away in her cubicle across the city.

Renge hadn’t traveled the subway in a long time, choosing to walk past the ascending entrance with her nose held high. She was above using communal transportation shared with the ditty undesirables of New York. She had heard the horror stories of attempted assaults, the harassment, even the rare cases of people somehow getting lost never to be found again. The subway wasn’t an option for her.

Until today.

It smelled as horribly as she predicted, like fresh mildew and dirt. The concrete walls hadn’t been power washed in decades and she figured it’d be another decade until they were cleaned. The ground didn’t even appear to be swept. Used tissues, rubber bands, wet papers, disposable coffee cups and plastic straws littered the floor. She could have sworn she saw a used condom by the corner but she couldn’t make herself look again to check.

Thankfully she still had her subway pass tucked in the back of her wallet, a neighborly gift when she first moved into her apartment. She didn’t think she’d have to use it but kindly put it in her wallet to give an appreciative gesture. Thank goodness she never bothered to throw it away.

The high screech of the next incoming subway train echoed through the dark tunnel, reverberating off the concrete walls and consuming the hollow space that was the platform. Thankfully there were very few people standing alongside her, making the platform nearly empty. She counted her few blessings and thanked the concrete ceiling she didn’t have to sandwich herself in a crowd.

The subway slammed its breaks to a stop, the horrible high pitched screech forcing her to cringe back the subtle pain in her ears. Everything about the subway felt barbaric, from its surroundings to the very technology used to usher people throughout the city underground. She prayed this would be the last time she ever had to ride.

The aged metal subway came to a glitchy stop, releasing the air from its breaks as it rested on the tracks and released the frail metal doors open. The gray platform met a gray subway floor with a yellow loading strip separating the two bland colors. Renge sighed, both relieved and annoyed by having to board the subway train. A quick look through the wide windows showed her the train was practically empty, another small blessing for her less than amusing morning.

She gripped her purse and clicked her heels forward, making sure to hold her head high with dignity. She was so consumed in keeping her strong appearance she almost didn’t see the blonde man stepping off just as her foot hit the grated floor.

A side glance allowed her to see vibrant violet eyes barely noticing her as well, following her subtle glance behind unkempt blond hair reaching past his lashes. A small smile traced his lips and pushed back his cheeks into his eyes, allowing her to see a hint of spontaneous happiness. Was it for her? Because of her? Or did it concern her at all? She wasn’t sure and at the moment she didn’t seem to care. This beautiful stranger’s smile lit her own complexion, matching his subtle greeting with a smile of her own. Just for an instance, they shared locked gazes tinted with genuine interest.

The moment lasted no longer than a second, quickly fading when both her feet stepped into the train the doors clumsily creaked closed. The stranger hadn’t looked back as he trekked towards the platform steps however Renge watched him through the windows fogged with dust.

He even looked attractive from behind. A slim man with strong arms and well tailored dress shirts tucked into brown slacks. With one hand casually stuffed into a pocket and the other holding a coffee tumbler and a gold watch nicely wrapped around his wrist, he didn’t match the subway’s grotesque atmosphere. His clothes were impeccably clean for having to ride the subway. She dared a glance around the train and wondered if he chose to stand instead of using the many dirty empty seats now offered to her. Unashamedly she figured he couldn’t have sat down because there wasn’t a trace of dirt or grime on his butt.

The subway began to move and her attention snapped back to the man, frantically searching for him before she’d disappear into the dark tunnel. She found him standing by the far wall… watching her.

Unknowingly placing her hand against the glass, as if to silently confess her curious attraction to this stranger, the tunnel swallowed her view of the man and the platform. Her own reflection stared back against the darkness inches beyond the subway doors.

She sighed, strangely recognizing a hint of disappointed grief in her chest, before taking a step backwards to find a seat.

Renge tightly gripped her purse on her lap, not minding the fact she was the only person on the train, and for a fleeting moment thought she should ride the subway again tomorrow.

[krabmeat]

𝚓𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: Wilbur Soot

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: he/him

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: mentions of death, implied s_!c!de, aggressive and angered yelling, glass shattering

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this is gonna be a 7 part series im doing where I write all of the songs from the album "Your City Gave Me Asthma" by Wilbur Soot as short stories! this is the first one of the 7, jubilee line- hope you enjoy!! this short story does deal with extremely heavy topics, so please reach out to a professional or a trusted person in your life if you deal with similar emotions or similar situations. your emotions are valid and deserve to be dealt with, no one expects you to handle your sh-t alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wasting your time.

“Wilbur, what are you talking about?” She’s trying to help again. It’s tiring. She’s my therapist, but also my friend and roommate so I see her often. She can see how much I’ve been struggling with my job, and she’s been trying to help. I don’t think I want it. My eye bags are more defined since I’ve tilted my head down to lace my fingers through my slightly greasy hair. I’m thinking. My eyes are closed when she speaks up again. “Wil!” I snap my eyes open and look up at her.

You're wasting mine.

I don’t know where my body is taking me. Pent up impulse has taken control of my body, and I stomp my way over to the door while briskly grabbing my beanie and trench coat from the coat rack.  “Wil, where are you going?” “Away.” She desperately grabs onto my upper arm. She’s concerned, but am I? In any other situation, I would be. But it doesn’t feel like me talking. 

I hate to see you leaving,

Her voice was shaky when she spoke. There are tears in her eyes. It’s strange, really. She always managed to let her tears roam as they pleased, it’s always been something I’ve found fascinating about her. But my curiosity doesn’t seem to be where it usually is on my mental shelf. I think I may have misplaced it.  I take one last glance around the place before calmly removing her hand from my arm.

Fate worse than dying.

I don’t know how late it is until I hear 11 distinct chimes roll out across the city like a blanket. Even then, I don’t know how long I’ve been walking but I think I’m getting close to my destination. But why am I feeling dizzy? Oh right, 

Your city gave me asthma

Probably one of the only things I brung with me, I found an inhaler in my coat pocket. It’s got enough to last me to where I’m going. With the last puff in it, I chuck the empty inhaler into a nearby alley. Climate change hits hard everywhere, but it gets bipolar in London. It doesn’t matter to me right now. I’d turn it all to ash from the fleeting joy I get from adding more smoke to the sky.

So that’s why I’m f*cking leaving.

The inhaler helped me breathe, but the dizziness is still there. The inhaler doesn’t even matter, the air is still dense and damp from the drenched night before. The world around me is melting, but when I blink it’s like everything was inflated back to normal with an air pump. Before I know it though, my lack of eyesight sends me tumbling to the ground. My arms and legs are damp, I tripped on a puddle. 

And your water gave me cancer.

I’m never usually this mad. Bottling up comes easy to me, yet I find myself angrily stomping on the puddle, causing me to fall again, leaving more scrapes scattered across my pale, cold skin. The concrete meets my knuckles, aggressively landing blows to its invisible face.

And the pavement hurt my feelings.

I get up from the ground. The blood from my knuckles is unrecognizable, washed away by the sudden downpour. The buildings have become a haze. Familiar, but I don’t know what it is. Not the familiarness associated with a home, or a warm and comforting hug. As if I’ve seen it before, constantly looming over me, watching me like a renewed episode of their favorite show. They already know what’s happening, they know what’s coming. I can’t take it. There’s a rasp in my voice and I’m surrounded by re renovated apartments and business buildings, factories puffing their black cigarette smoke out for the ignorant tourists to see. 

Shout at the walls,

My tears are confused with the rain, but both are dripping viciously from my face as gravely shouts and yells stream out of my mouth. Nearby bottles and littered beer cans are pleading for mercy, crushed and shattered by my aggressive hands thrown against the walls.

Cause the walls don’t f*cking love you.

My senses are getting overwhelmed, my arms and legs shaking from either the cold or the jolt of sensation I get when the glass shatters into a million pieces before I could stop it. 

Shout at the walls, 

“SHUT THE F*CK UP, WILL YA!?” My head tilts upwards to see a man at his windowsill with a dirty glare coming my way. A few seconds later, a little girl appears behind the man, seeming to have just woken up. A soft and whispery “Dad…?” Can be heard from the little girl. The softness I feel from the small wholesome moment soon turns into mind-numbing guilt. I run away, the numbness going to my legs as they once again travel on their own.

Cause the walls don’t f*cking love you.

My legs burn and sting with every stride and step they take along the path. I’m almost there. The strange looks and stares I’m getting are blocked out by the splashing and slapping of my damp shoes against the thin puddles on the ground.

Clap, clap

It’s almost as if this place is a second home for me. It’s my home, crowded with chatter and people making their ways through the Jubilee line. I’m so familiar with this place, you’d think I actually live here. I make my way to the glass barriers that block me from reaching the train, my damp feet still slapping against the ground.

Clap, clap

The barrier frustrates me. The visitors see it as a safety precaution, London’s trying to keep us safe! But we know, I know.  It represents ignorance, laziness, failure. London’s desperacy to please those foreign to this place while ostracizing those who have been fed to the brim with government immaturity. I’ve broken barriers like these, it was easy for me to shatter the flimsy glass. The crowds and crowds of people stop, scream, panic, run and express their disgust all at once. I stood on top of the railing, the only other thing in my way. The tracks are calling to me, but so does a voice.

There’s a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line!

This voice isn’t familiar to me, which is why it bothers me so much.  Foreigner. They don’t know. They COULD know, it’s not as if our hierarchy here has made a completely opaque wall between their intentions and actions. I’m still on top of the rail, but my back is faced towards the tracks. My eyes land on a short, blond white woman. Her voice sounded like she was talking with sticks in her mouth, nothing like the smoothness of a British accent. I fail to turn around in time before another voice is heard from another part of the station.

There’s a reason London puts barriers on the rails!

A tall man with ginger hair and lanky arms speaks up. He’s just like the woman, uneducated. Poor foreigners. The brotures and online ads and magazine cut-outs only give webs of lies and deceit when advertising to come to London. It speaks of the grand sights but not the horrid trauma that children here have to bear their sight to because of our crippling economy. The photos show places with warm rays and never the vicious rain and storms or scolding heat. The videos show clear, blue skies and never the gray turning grayer from the remains of society's mass-production. I’m done listening to these people. But one in particular stops me.

There’s a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line,

A tone I recognize, but a face that’s a haze. The man is from here, his voice says it all. His gray outfit and security guard patch on his vest. He knows what I’m thinking. He understands. Understanding would have been useful about an hour ago, yet I still find a soft smile slowly etching on my lips. I spread my arms out, like a bird with its wings spread out from its body. I wish I had wings, I would fly out of this wretched town. Fly out to freedom like Icarus. He flew too high, however. Where I’m going, the only upwards I’ll be is 6 feet under. But I’m ready for that. My face expresses a feeling of relief, tranquility, satisfaction. I haven’t smiled like this in years, it’s nice to close things off with a smile. The buzz of a train can be distantly heard, and I look out to the crowd. With the breeze of the air pushing against my falling back, I manage to breathe out a final arrangement for the crowd to hear.

There’s a reason they fail.

[pixelfun20]

Flower Fields, Ch 1

Summary: Season 7 of Hermitcraft has begun, and their newest and youngest member, Tubbo, is more than ready to prove himself in the eyes of his friends. New memories are made and friendships are forged, but old ghosts from the past still linger, and Tubbo will soon discover that fate has a way of letting things come full circle.

Notes: This an fic idea I legitimately came up with yesterday, based off of @give-grian-rights ‘s Watcher!Tubbo and Watcher!Tommy AU (I hope you don’t mind! I just loved this idea). I wrote this a single evening, let it sit for the night, and decided to publish it today. I hope you guys like it! Just to note, I haven’t finalized a title (or plot, besides some major points) yet, so if y’all have any ideas, let me know!

Chapter 1:

I'm not yours, and you're not mine

But we can sit and pass the time

For a moment, he floated in darkness.

Then in the next, he was falling through the air.

He didn’t fall far, thankfully, and his impact was cushioned by another body right underneath him.

Tubbo groaned, blinking against the bright rays of the sun as he tried to adjust from the darkness that had just encompassed him. He shifted, feeling rough cloth underneath him, and realized he was lying on someone.

“Oh! Sorry!” He exclaimed, swiftly moving off the other. He looked down as he saw a man with dark brown hair, a beard, and a leather jacket sit up, rolling his shoulders with a wince. “I think I spawned right on top of you, xB.”

xBCrafted just chuckled, pulling himself up to his feet. Tubbo followed him, cracking his back as he went, and looked around, trying to discern where he was.

Ah, man. It seemed like they had spawned on a small, sandy island, that was, worst of all, completely devoid of trees. Already it was crowding with the arrival of the other Hermits, with a few more pairs repeating the same situation as he and xB, spawning one on top of the other in the enclosed space. In the distance, he could see a large mooshroom island looming above the waves, but besides that there was nothing in sight.

“Looks like we’ll be going for a swim today!” xB chirped as Iskall spawned a foot or so away from them, landing face-first in the sand. “X wasn’t lying when he said we’d have a tricky time starting the Season.”

“And here I was hoping to stay dry,” Tubbo sighed as Iskall shot up, spluttering sand in the air. The two of them laughed at his sorry state.

“Very funny, you two,” the elder man grumbled. Iskall85, or Iskall as he was commonly known, looked considerably older than the two friends, perhaps in his early thirties. He had semi-long, scraggly brown hair and a cybernetic eye, as well as a green sweatshirt and brown vest.

“Oho, is that Scar?” xB exclaimed. Tubbo followed his gaze, and sure enough, a man in a purple bathrobe and dyed-white hair had just spawned, half in the water. Ah, GoodTimesWithScar was an odd one, alright, he thought with a laugh.

“What did he do?” Tubbo giggled. Scar turned towards them, seeming to hear his comment, and put his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he announced semi-solemnly. “The wizard life has chosen me.”

Iskall nearly cackled at that, throwing his head back, and xB and Tubbo joined him. Trust Scar to find new and creative ways to start the season! Tubbo made a mental note to drop by in a few weeks and see where this new bit got him.

“Looking good, Scar!” Stress said, coming up behind him. The shortest of the Hermits, she wore a pink jacket and kept her straight brown hair short and to the chin. “How’re you doing, Tub?”

“Great!” Tubbo chirped back. “Excited to start the Season right.”

“Let me know if you need anything, love,” she added, clapping her hands together. “That goes for all of you! I’d chat for longer, but Mumbo and I have some plans we need to discuss. See you all in a bit!” And with that she was gone, hopping over to the other side of the island. Scar went right on her heels, jogging over to Cubfan135 (a balding man in a lab coat around Iskall’s age), who was standing next to Mumbo Jumbo.

Tubbo scanned over the rapidly growing group of people, grinning once he caught sight of a flash of black-striped yellow armor in the crowd. 

“Hey! X!” He called out, waving. A man fully covered in armor, painted to resemble a bee, looked over to them. Through his vizor, Tubbo could see the corners of his brown eyes crinkle in the tell-tale sign of a smile, and he approached the trio. “Love the outfit!”

“Thank you, Tubbo,” XisumaVoid replied, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m quite liking your new design, too.”

Tubbo fought back a blush, looking down at himself. Like the elder man, he’d changed up his usual outfit to celebrate the newest mob addition to Season 6, the bees. He’d changed into a yellow jacket with black stripes on the sleeves over a gray shirt, as well as black pants with a yellow stripe down the sides. 

“Alrighty, I’ll be leaving you two to your father-son bonding,” Iskall cut in, waving a hand as he walked off. “I’m going to go catch up with Keralis.”

“Oh, will you stop with that!” Xisuma said good-naturedly as Tubbo really did his best not to blush. xB laughed again. Iskall just whistled, walking over to where Keralis, a man in his late thirties in a blue shirt and jeans, had just spawned. The server’s admin turned back to Tubbo. “Sorry about that. You know how he can be.”

Tubbo just shook his head a bit, trying to suppress a smile. Ah, it’d been far too long since the Hermits had all been in one place like this. He’d missed the action of it all.

He, Xisuma, and xB chatted together for a few minutes as everyone spawned in and caught their bearings. It seemed everyone had big plans for the Season. While he and Xisuma had gone with a bee theme, xB was apparently planning to really Hermit out the season, far away from spawn. Scar was certainly embracing the wizard part of himself, and rumor had it BDubs and Doc were going to be neighbors, which was a recipe for disaster and, more importantly, funny stories. 

“Okay, everyone!” It was Keralis’ shout that drew the twenty-some players out of their respective conversations. Almost unconsciously, they’d formed an oval around the perimeter of their tiny spawn island. “Intro time! Let’s go, X!”

“What? Why me?” Xisuma protested, but Keralis just laughed and took his place back in the circle.

“C’mon, admin,” Tubbo teased him with an elbow to the side. Xisuma sighed, rolling his shoulders, then stepped out into the center of the island.

“Alright everyone. Welcome to Hermitcraft Season 7! Go!” He clapped his hands together and dashed back towards the shore, the circle immediately breaking up as the Hermits split into their groups and dove into the ocean. Tubbo laughed as he waved goodbye to xB, who took off in a different direction as he went to follow X.

The water was nice and lukewarm, and soon enough Tubbo was backstroking over the ocean. He looked up at the bright blue sky, and smiled.

~~~~~~~~~

They spent most of the first day collecting supplies. 

As it turned out, both FalseSymmetry, Hypnotizd, and ZombieCleo had decided to go in the same direction as he and Xisuma, so they ended up gathering their first bits of wood and stone together. Then there was some issue with the server that caused Xisuma to have to dive deep into the server code, in the open, at midnight, so their first night went without much sleep and with a lot of mob fighting instead.

“Well,” Cleo said the next morning, twirling her axe as Tubbo set to cooking some meat for breakfast. “That could have gone better.”

“I think the first night went just fine, thank you very much,” False shot back, sharpening her newly-minted stone sword. “I’m going to be honest, though, I’m not used to going out at night without an elytra. Or armor. Or a decent sword.”

“Hey, but did you see how many mobs I killed?” Tubbo put in, pulling out some pork chops and tossing one to Cleo. “I’m a god, I tell you.”

“Yes,” Xisuma replied. He was still sitting on one of the beds they’d made, and was double checking some of the code. “God of giving me heart attacks.”

“Not my fault you messed up part of the code! I saved your life!”

“I’d suggest you remember who bandaged that arrow wound, kid.”

Tubbo’s hand flew to his shoulder, where his jacket was torn slightly, and he blushed. “I’m not a kid!”

Everyone turned and gave him a flat look, and Tubbo blushed harder, looking down. It was no secret that he was, by far, the youngest person on the server. Most players were in their late twenties, like False and Impulse, to their late thirties, like Scar and Doc. Even the youngest before he’d arrived had been Mumbo and xB, at 24 and 19 respectively. At just barely 16, Tubbo was, well, a child compared to them.

Loathe as he was to admit it. It had been hard enough in the beginning, when he’d arrived unexpectedly at the beginning of Season 6. No one had been expecting any new players to join that Season, much less a mentally scarred 14-year-old, and he’d ended up being coddled for the first six months or so. Heck, he’d lived with Xisuma until he’d grown so tired of it he’d had to run off and make his own base without asking him, because the answer would have been no.

He was perfectly capable of living on his own! It was just… well, Tubbo knew he wasn’t as good as the others. He couldn’t make the huge, rolling complexes or over complicated redstone machines that did everything for you like the other hermits did. Of course, it made sense; he had a lot less experience and was still learning these things. But it didn’t help the fact that the others, well, they didn’t look down on him, per se, but they were always a little too willing to help, a little too protective. 

“Sure,” Cleo was drawling teasingly, drawing him out of his thoughts. Tubbo snorted and looked down at his breakfast with a shake of his head, starting to eat. 

“Oh, let him be,” Hypno put in, grabbing some food for himself. “I remember being that age. Young and ready to take on the world. At least he doesn't have any creaky old bones. I’m already feeling my back in the mornings.”

“Alrighty then!” Xisuma announced after a moment of silence, rising from his bed and closing the admin screens. “Looks like all the post-spawn bugs have been taken care of. I’m ready to head out for the day.”

“I guess this is where we all say goodbye, then,” False replied, twirling her sword. “I have the best idea for my base this season, but I gotta go north from here.”

“Tubbo and I are heading east.”

“West for me,” Cleo put in.

Hypno just shrugged. “I figured I’d wander for a bit before settling down.”

“No planning?” Tubbo asked, then grinned, glad for the change of subject. “I like your style, Hypno.”

The bandana-ed man inclined his head at him with a smile. He wasn’t a new player to the server, not at all, but from what Tubbo knew he hadn’t been around for a few years. Prior to the last few days as they’d prepared to jump Seasons, he’d hardly even heard of the man before, and thus didn’t know him too well.

Xisuma clapped Tubbo’s shoulder, eyes crinkling from that helmet-obscured smile of his. 

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Tubbo whooped. “Bees, here we come!”

~~~~~~~~~

Perfect.

That was the only way Tubbo could describe the place he’d come across. He sat in the branches of one of the tallest trees in the area, looking out to where the forest he’d been traversing ended and the plains biome, scattered with flowers in small patches around, with gentle hills rolling even further in the distance.

It was an idyllic location, and perfect for his plans for the Season.

Another day had passed, marking it Day 3 of Season 7. After that first somewhat disastrous night, he and Xisuma had separated from their initial group and travelled to find a base together. Xisuma had decided, for some reason, that he was going to build his base in the middle of the jungle, so they had set up camp there for the night. Come dawn, however, Tubbo was ready to go and scout for a place of his own, and with a promise to check in with Xisuma every day or so, he’d set off that morning.

It was early afternoon, now, and honestly, Tubbo was pleased with how quickly he’d found his spot. It was only a half-day’s journey, while walking, from Xisuma, so once he’d gotten elytra he’d be able to visit whenever he wanted. Besides that, news had it that Keralis and Beef were only a little ways out, which would be fun since Tubbo didn’t know them too well.

Humming quietly, Tubbo reached into his inventory and took out the only belonging he’d taken with him from Season 6－a medium-sized notebook, filled with sketches and notes on what he wanted to build and how to do it. Last Season he hadn’t been ambitious enough; Tubbo had started late thanks to living with Xisuma and then had focused on just having a base of his own that by the end of the season it had looked puny compared to the many buildings his friends/guardians had made.

He wasn’t making that mistake again. Tubbo had grand plans for this Season’s megabase, and he was going to make sure it blew everyone else out of the water.

Okay, maybe that was an over exaggeration. But Tommy had always said to aim high.

His heart twisted a bit, as it always did when he thought of his old friends. Back then, he’d known people his own age, and Wilbur and Techno had rarely held back against him when they’d interacted with him, whether through words or PvP.

He wondered how they were doing; it’d been almost two years since he’d last seen or heard from them. He wondered if they’d moved on.

He wondered if they knew he was still alive.

Tubbo shook his head, chasing the depressing thoughts out of his mind. He’d found himself thinking of his old friends less and less over the last year and half, as he’d settled into life in Hermitcraft and begun to heal from what had happened to him. Not to say he didn’t miss them, that he wasn’t missing something in his life, but, well. Even though he thought of them every once in a while, the numerous letters he’d written to Tommy, unable to be sent, had been left behind with Season 6, in a way of really starting anew.

Doc had explained it best. Life moved on, and sometimes it was best to just hold onto the old memories and work on making new ones.

He’d taken that advice to heart. Tubbo flipped open his notebook to one of the middle pages, holding it out and comparing his sketch to the open plains before him.

Yes. This biome would do quite nicely.

Season 7 was going to be something great.

[renegade-skywalker]

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2  / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21: Homecoming

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen (now going by Vale) continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary: Atton returns to a changed Peragus, fearing now for his life as well as his record, and Brianna catches Atris up to the Exile's whereabouts.

Also found on AO3 | fanfiction.net

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

Atton's body ached. One and all.

First it was his head. A typical headache that soon blossomed into a full-blown migraine, and one the likes of which even the most hungover version of himself could not fathom surviving. And then it was his chest. It wasn't a respiratory ache, but a skeletal one. AS if he'd been kicked in the sternum at full force, the ribs beneath cracking in on themselves like an accordion, and while the medic assured him that he had nothing but a dislocated shoulder and some bruising from where he hit the wall on first impact, he felt as if each of his bones had been stomped on, chewed up, spit out, and hastily gathered back together before being glued and taped haphazardly, hoping for the best. His legs were still jelly, but they felt better than the rest of him, and for that he was thankful.

"Just another lap around the medbay and we should be good for the afternoon," his medic assured him, her mask of a smile having quickly become his new normal.

No other survivors came to join Atton in this wing of the medbay, and while Atton was thankful for the alone time, there was something about it that irked him. Especially seeing how on-edge his attendant was, how her eyes always seemed to be on alert despite the put-upon warmness she'd conjure while in his presence, trying to save face in a valiant attempt at bedside manner.

"You're already miles ahead of where you were a few days ago," she laughed, this time sounding genuinely pleased. "You might even be allowed back to work in about a week, if you're lucky."

Lucky. Atton agreed he would be lucky enough to go back to work, even if it killed him. But his attendant didn't know his sins enough to condemn him to the death that would certainly grant him, and he knew the comment was all part of her charade to make everything going on sound normal. If he was reading her facial expressions correctly, she believed that no one should be put back to work on this rock, at least not until the mysterious accidents stopped entirely. Judging by the look in her eyes and despite her forced smiles, she believed the facility should likely be evacuated completely, if anything, and Atton would have to agree. Not that he'd want anyone to know that.

"You sure about that, doc?" he joked, trying to act polite, trying to act normal. If keeping his head down before was hard, trying to act like the guilt of being a lone survivor wasn't eating away at him was another job entirely, and Atton wasn't sure he could keep it up much longer.

"Positive," she said, her brown eyes locking with his for a moment, her confidence shining through for once, even if she felt no one should be here at all, under any circumstances. But perhaps this was as much a show for him as it was for her, an elaborate farce meant to convince herself that it was worth staying here, if not for the pay but for the mere fact that management had them all trapped here until the next fuel shipment was set to leave the station in a standard week. "Wanna venture down the hall?"

"Sure, yeah, let's do it," Atton said, immediately trying not to shake his own head out of embarrassment for himself after he spoke, hoping he didn't sound as dumb as he felt. "You think I'm ready?"

"Psht, how will you know if you don't at least try?"

Well, damn. She's right.

Atton nodded, still feeling foolish as he allowed his medical attendant to stand him on his own two feet while she reached for the door's console to open it. She reached awkwardly forward, trying to keep hold of his torso in case he leaned too far left or two far right without assistance, and pressed her palm to the door's panel, the durasteel sliding out of place to allow them access beyond with a pleasant swish. The air hit Atton's face as if he were walking outdoors for the first time, and though he was still only exposed to the same old re-circulated air of Peragus' less-than-fresh ventilation system, it felt still felt like he was encroaching on new territory as he was led out of the primary medical wing and into the annex, where the more serious cases were often held.

The medbay was emptier than when he'd arrived, thankfully, but it still felt oddly hollow, lonely almost.

"Doing okay?" his attendant asked after a few paces. He remembered another medic calling her Yara, but he still felt strange referring to her as such, though part of him felt that she had introduced herself at some point but Atton simply failed to remember, either because of the drugs or the supposed concussion he suffered back in the rec hallway.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Atton said, though his voice was stuck somewhere in the middle of his throat as he chalked up the strength to make every step beyond the open doorway, as if he were learning to walk again for the first time. He imagined it wasn't much different - smaller legs, maybe, but the feeling just as jelly-like.

"Now, just turn this corner here," she eased as Atton inevitably leant into her as they made a wide right turn into the adjoining hall, "Aaand we're clear."

He could feel her smile beside him, forced as usual, and especially so as the ICU loomed into view. From past experience, he knew the door to this room was not often left ajar, but now attendants raced in and out of it, reading datapads as they went, unable to waste any time walking that they could spend reading patient charts and calculating life-saving doses of Maker-knows-what.

When Atton first arrived, all the kolto tanks in the ICU were full. Each of them housed a miner, some still clad in their uniforms - the suit still fused to their skin in some cases. But there was one woman in the middle, clad only in the outfit-issued undergarments all miners were given, only she was wearing a set from a couple years back. Not too revealing, but revealing enough to expose the scars on her forearms, her weathered hands. A veteran, no doubt, though her face still seemed a bit too young for that to be the case, her sharp features framed by the black hair floating in the kolto fluid… or maybe it was brown? No, dark blonde-

Atton watched the woman from the corner of his peripheral vision as they walked the length of the hall, trying to glimpse at her silhouette from beyond the other busied medics that paid no attention to him or anything occurring beyond their data pads.

"Will they be okay in there?" Atton asked, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired woman in the center, even if his gaze wasn't exactly direct. Part of him almost felt embarrassed to look, bashful that he was even interested in who she might be if not a miner, but another part of him was simply too pained to look far enough in her direction to get a good enough look, his neck still stiff after the explosion.

"For the moment," his attendant admitted, "I'm still checking on them here and there, when I'm not looking after your sorry ass."

Atton paused, unsure if she was being serious or if this was her idea of a joke.

"I'm kidding," she said, though there was hardly a look of mirth on her face, "You only need to worry about yourself, hotshot. I'm not sure if anyone else will give a damn once you're dismissed."

"Dismissed?"

This time, she laughed, though more out of exhaustion than actual pleasure.

"Dismissed from medical leave," she confirmed, the laugh still pleasantly flavoring her voice even as it faded, "Once you're okayed to go back to work."

"Oh," Atton said dumbly, catching one last glance of the mystery woman in the ICU. "Right."

By the time Atton thought of speaking again, they were already back at his usual resting place, still void of any other patients, though Atton knew they were plenty.

"Any word on when I can at least start taking walks on my own?"

"As soon as your chart says so," she said, giving him a stern look though smiling despite it, "Though I have a feeling it will be soon, so don't worry."

She smiled wide enough that her eyes were barely slits, only Atton knew she wasn't smiling - not really.

"Sounds good," he said, attempting a smile in return, though knowing he failed despite the fake gesture.

"I'll be back tomorrow," the medic assured him from over her shoulder as she exited the room, the worry fast returning to her face as she approached the exit, "See you then."

"See you."

Yara. Her name is Yara. He wasn't sure why it mattered, or why he was so reluctant to say her name, to thank her. Likely because he didn't think he deserved to be alive, for one, and likely because a part of him felt that they would never see each other again.

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

3951 BBY, Dantooine Mission

It had been four years since Mission last stepped foot on Dantooine. As they descended the loading ramp, part of her was instantly transported back to that first time at Nevarra's side, eager as ever to be off Taris. But another part of Mission was hopelessly lost as she came face-to-face with the tall vegetation whistling around her, trying to make heads or tails of the place that resembled nothing of what she remembered.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Mission asked above the din of the ships' dying engine, her eyes squinting against the unyielding yellow-orange of the setting sun, "I thought this was supposed to be the main docking bay."

She was nearly yelling now as Zayne's piece of junk aircraft struggled to settle despite having already landed, the motors still running.

"That's what I thought," Zayne answered, coming up behind her, grabbing part of the landing module on the side of the ramp for support, struggling against the rush of air still whirring from the engine exhaust, his mop of hair obscuring his face entirely. "Why does it look so barren?"

Mission held up her right hand as a visor to better scan the horizon. This seemed to be the right place when they'd landed. From above, they could see the clearing set aside for the docking bay set not too far from a cluster of buildings, though it certainly all looked larger from the air, and the grass far less imposing from the top down.

"There," she said, pointing towards a large structure to their left, "I think that's one of the main settlements we saw before landing. I actually think we're outside the Jedi Temple, not beside it."

Mission recalled questioning the farmers here, residents that had claimed these rolling hills for millennia as they used it as their defense in what she remembered was a hard-boiled murder case - but her memory couldn't have been right about that, could it? It seemed so heavy in retrospect yet it was the memory that stuck. But even back then, the grass wasn't this tall. Sure, it was tall enough to hide the bulk of the property from outsiders, but it wasn't enough to dwarf the main dwelling entirely. The growth around them was certainly not intentional, and Mission felt strange as she further descended the ramp and walked into the grass in full, submerging herself as if in water.

"Hey Big Z, can you see anything?" she asked over her shoulder, sensing her long-time companion approach from behind, his familiar scent an anchor to both her past and present.

Zaalbar approached Mission with his usual lumbering stride, still a good head taller than the rest of them, though the grasses still shrouded his view in parts. He only nodded down at her after a moment, confirming her earlier report.

"Really? Just the one building, yeah?"

The more she stood on tiptoe, the more she recognized this specific valley, but the more the location registered the less it made sense. When they'd last been here, the main docking bay was adjacent to the Jedi Temple itself. The one they just landed in was more than several miles away, and in the middle of what had previously been open farmland and rolling hills. There was no other landing bay in sight when they landed. Whatever she had known before was gone entirely.

"I guess I'm surprised it's even still standing," Mission said softly, though she knew her voice wasn't audible over the still-dying engines. After a moment, she felt Big Z rest a hand on her shoulder, the sentiment translating regardless.

"I guess I didn't realize just how much damage Darth Malak really wrought on this place," Zayne muttered from nearby, still grasping the loading gear, though now it seemed to be out of an emotional need than a physical one.

Malak. In uttering his name alone, Mission was truly transported back in time. Even in their pursuit of her current whereabouts, Nevarra instantly became Revan in Mission's mind - though in memory only, not in spirit. Mission only ever knew the woman as Nevarra, insisting that she continue to call her such even long after their collective revelation. But the weight of Nevarra's past came back in full at the mention of Malak, once Revan's best friend and confidante, though Mission only ever knew him as a villain. It occurred to her now that Zayne had perhaps known the man too, being a Jedi and all, but also in the way he spoke his name, emphasizing the Darth moniker rather than the Malak end of it.

The engines were still sputtering to a halt when Asra appeared at the mouth of the ship, her eyes mere slits to sheild against the sharp winds whistling through the grasses in their direction.

"Not as formal as I expected," Asra said, the Togruta putting on airs as she forced a smile while descending the ramp. "Is that supposed to be our welcome party?"

Just beyond the field of grass was a dilapidated wall encircling an outdated console, and standing guard beside it and equally ancient was a rusted-silver protocol droid, growing copper at the hinges, twitching as it looked in their collective direction.

Asra and Mission locked eyes, shrugging in unison before they both waded through the shorter though still knee-high grasses over to the droid, casting wary glances about them as they went.

Zaalbar and Zayne weren't far behind. Once Asra and Mission cleared the grass and set foot on smooth stone, still cracked in places enough to let the weeds push through, the droid ambled toward them, eager for interaction.

"Greetings and good day, traveler. On behalf of the Khoonda settlement, I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

"Oh, is that all?" Mission said, chuckling darkly through her sarcasm, "Can you tell us what this Khoonda even is?"

"Gr-Greetings! Greetings and good day, traveler. On behalf of the Khoonda settlement, I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

Zayne and Zaalbar approached beside them, eyes questioning as the droid drawled on, twitching unnervingly as it went.

"Oh boy," Asra muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, "Is this one of those protocol droids that needs a specifically worded prompt in order to function or is this one just busted?"

"Greetings!"

"Busted, it looks like," Mission sighed, "Guess we should just head to the settlement we saw, right? Take our chances?"

"I am programmed to welcome you to Dantooine."

"Probably our best bet," Zayne replied, eyes already squinting against the horizon to find their directive again, "I remember this hunk of junk. Damn thing hardly worked then, and I doubt it works now. I'm honestly surprised it hasn't been scrapped for parts."

"You remember this thing?" Asra asked, her eyes scanning the droid from top to bottom as if searching for any kind of remarkable feature.

Zayne didn't respond at first. Instead he studied the ruined walls that surrounded this sorry excuse for a landing pad, as if he recognized where they'd been salvaged from, as if he knew every minute detail that had altered this planet in the last ten or so years since he'd last been here. Of course he does.

"Not sure if the others told you, but I don't just have Jedi friends. I used to be one, too. Well, sort of."

Asra watched him for a beat, something akin to pity painting her face as she mulled over a reply.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, her voice quiet, "Knowing what happened here and all."

"Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes locking with Mission even though he was answering Asra. Mission knew Zayne had formally trained on Taris, not Dantooine, but Taris had unfortunately met the same fate. Mission figured Zayne hadn't been back there yet, either.

"Don't worry about it, let's just keep moving."

"Random building it is, then," Asra resigned as they changed course, now faced with the taller grasses as they pushed onward.

"Any word from your friends?" Mission asked after a few quiet moments as she caught up with Zayne. A ghost of her old crush came rushing back as he glanced over his shoulder at her, a familiar warmth returning to his eyes as he quelled a smile.

"Not yet, though I expected the radio silence. They mentioned running into some trouble here after they'd landed and made camp, but nothing they couldn't handle."

"Trouble?" Mission echoed.

"Rural political stuff, local drama, that sort of thing," Zayne said, shaking his head, not worried or at least trying to act like it, "I didn't get the details, but it sounded more like a nuisance than any real trouble. Or at least, I hope so."

Mission suddenly felt bad even asking, biting her tongue before she could say anything else.

Big Z rumbled beside her, a comforting growl she was used to hearing whenever she got too deep in her own thoughts.

"Thanks, buddy," she murmured, glancing at him as he paved through the grass making way for the rest of them, hoping Zayne didn't hear or catch on as he fell a few paces behind.

"You sure Orex is okay holding down the fort?" she heard Zayne ask Asra after a few quiet beats.

Through the grass, Mission saw the silhouette of Asra shrug in response, confident as ever.

"Orex can hold down anything, though I'm sure he's antsy to get off that ship if that's what you're asking."

"How long have you known him, anyway?" Zayne ventured, slowing down a bit now.

"Not long, though it feels like longer. Been working for him for about a year now, though Darek's been on longer."

"How long have you known Darek?"

"A while," was all Asra afforded this time, and though she shied away from any specifics she did nothing to hide the ghost of a smile as she spoke.

"Orex seems to know what he's doing for someone so removed from the Jedi. But what's Darek's story?"

Big Z slowed once he realized the others were dawdling, Zayne perhaps stalling out of fear for what the rest of his crew might be caught up in despite his show of bravery, though Mission was only guessing.

"Ex-Mandalorian, Neo Crusader."

"Ah," was all Zayne said, the weight of his knowing evident in his tone, now coming to a full stop as they approached the proper mouth to the valley. The large estate wasn't far off, but now there was a silhouette fast approaching them, the shadow of a bobbing head floating through parted grass as it drew nearer.

"So I'm guessing this is the welcome party?" Asra asked, not expecting an answer as the distance between them and their mysterious pursuer drew smaller.

A hand shot into the air, an awkward hello from a few yards ahead, and the neighborly part of Mission emerged unwittingly as she returned the gesture.

Within moments, the silhouette became a slight brunette human woman with tired eyes, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head, shiny enough to reflect the morning sun like a halo as if to make up for the clear exhaustion that painted her face.

"More visitors," the woman sighed, already exasperated as she approached, "You must be here to join the plunder of the old Jedi Enclave, like the rest of them. I'm afraid I can't just let you roam the grounds though, you'll have to speak with Administrator Adare, first."

Big Z looked at Mission, who looked at Asra and Zayne, all shrugging in turn.

"Not to be rude but...What are you talking about?" Zayne asked after exchanging glances with the others and awaiting a response, only to receive none.

"You're salvagers, right? Your ship looks banged up enough to be a part of that lot," the woman said, venturing a glance past them at the dock before looking both Asra and Mission from head to foot, as if with distaste, "But you look… different."

Asra and Mission exchanged glances, a heat rising in Mission's chest as words escaped her.

"Excuse me?" Asra asked, a sharpness rising in her voice Mission had not yet grown acquainted with but was instantly thankful for.

The woman shrank away slightly, raising her hands as if in apologetic surrender, though Mission still noticed the stranger's eyes scan both Mission's and Asra's lekku,as if it proved some unspoken point in her unintended backhanded comment.

Mumbling a half-hearted apology, the woman shook her head, a hand cradling her temple as if she'd been dealing with miscommunications like this all day. Or maybe all week.

"I'm sorry," she groaned, though she sounded more annoyed than anything. Mission only glared at her and rested her hand on her holster while they awaited the woman's further reply. "It's just that the only recent visitors we've had are salvagers. That, and a slew of mercenaries."

"I take it you don't get many visitors?" Zayne asked, crossing his arms.

"Not really, no. And when we do, they're usually-" she paused, unsure of how to continue as she looked about the four of them, eyeing Zaalbar last and longest.

Mission could feel the unspoken word trouble hang in the air between them, and knowing the woman would never finish her sentence, decided to speak up for her.

"Just show us the way, will you?" she said, her impatience clearer in her tone than she'd like. Glancing around, Asra nodded in agreement, looking towards the woman as she took another affirmative step forward, as if urging her reply. Big Z did the same, grumbling in the affirmative, though by the looks of it their mysterious greeter took it as some sort of threat. She took a step back, and after a moment simply nodded and braced herself before formally responding.

"Right this way."

Turning on a point, the woman parted the grass behind her and began walking, assuming an air of authority she'd yet to exude - and it was then that Mission also realized she'd never once introduced herself, not mentioning her name, her position, or where she stood in Dantooine's aftermath.

"So I guess we're off to see this Administrator, huh?" Asra asked hypothetically as she gained on Mission, each of them following in unison, though each of them remained a cautious step or two behind their mysterious greeter as she led them onward.

"Guess so," Mission answered, shrugging. Big Z followed, and last to move was Zayne, his gaze far off on the horizon still, as if he were lost in a thought that was far away from here. Not in distance - but in time, memory.

"You okay?" she asked, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder as he finally tore his eyes away from the distant hills to look in her general direction.

"I will be," he said after a beat, his gaze meeting hers as it did before, in silent knowing. He smiled despite the sadness clear in his eyes.

"Good," was all Mission could muster, still unsure of what to say. Zayne clapped her shoulder in kind, in quiet thanks, before followed the others, but Mission paused.

Glancing toward the hills Zayne had been watching, Mission saw that the sun had fully risen, a golden disc now hanging serenely over the hills. Just as it had been that first day off Taris with Nevarra, still raw from the destruction of her homeworld. Suddenly growing cold from an unseen chill, Mission wrapped her arms around herself, goosebumps rising along her skin despite the warmth emanating from the sun as she soaked the scene in.

The Jedi Temple is just over the ridge, she knew instantly, the fact taking hold as the view registered in her memory. Through the valley a ways, just past the river.

She could almost hear the trickling of the water as it flowed under the austere bridge that separated the rest of the valley from the sprawling grounds of the Jedi Temple. The birdsong that echoed over the grasses, the monolithic shadows of the brith lazing overhead like the occasional cloud-cover. Mission was bristling with too much teenage angst to admire the views then, and the planet was too ravaged for her to do so now. Sighing, she pressed onward, Zayne's head still barely visible in the tall grass before her.

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

3951 BBY, Dantooine Mical

The hilt was rough-hewn. Worn from use, yes, but the recklessness of its design was intentional. As if it were a hackneyed half-thought, a thrown-together weapon of little thought. But that was the idea. Make the opponent believe it was primitive. Have them grow accustomed to the single hilt, the lone blade erupting from the short end of the otherwise long stick. The weapon of a Jedi, but not one worth fearing... Only for the other end to reveal a longer blade - rougher around the edges, wilder, yet more precise in its execution - its energy crackling with untamed energy, bristling with chaos and ruin.

Exar Kun's lightsaber was a thing of genius. It was not just a lightsaber, but a puzzle. It was an illusion meant to lull his opponents into complacency, into believing they knew his fighting style, that they knew his traditional, if not unusual, Jedi weapon - an easily recognizable symbol of the Order and everything it stood for, only for it to transform before the final blow, before the second blade would surely cut through whatever defense his adversary had already choreographed in their mind's eye, rendering them helpless, if not dead in an instant.

And this is what made Kun's weapon so utterly and undeniably Sith in design. Subtle, subversive, serving a higher purpose. That, and it was dramatic as hell.

"It's no beauty, but it's also not as ugly as I imagined," Lonna Vash uttered from beside him, eyeing the contents of the parcel with distaste but respect, her gaze intent but critical, ever the Jedi. "But perhaps it is because of the history that comes with it. It's hard to believe that legends can alter memory so completely."

"And it's only been forty years, if we're counting back to the defeat of Exar Kun and not just the man at the height of his power. And that's the power of myth, isn't it?" Mical said reverently, his fingers spiriting over the hilt, housed in a bed of soft felt, "It didn't take long for Revan to don the mask and rise to prominence, for her visions to gain traction and near-mythic proportions, to become a symbol and more than a woman."

"Who knew that a repurposed Mandalorian mask would be the face of the Mandalorian's very enemy?" she smiled, not from any warmth to the memory but perhaps out of acknowledging the bitterness of the truth. "Still, a strange thought to consider."

Mical thought the hilt was beautiful in its simplicity, in its utter deception. The metalwork was unfinished in places, the veneer uneven in others. But the innerwork was intricate, precise enough to house a second crystal and harness its raw power unlike any other Jedi-crafted lightsaber in known history. It was the first double-blade known to modernity, though legend had it that Kun had fashioned this saber from an ancient Sith design. He knew not where, though he would love to find out. Perhaps the Sith that housed them now would have some idea…

Mical and Vash had taken to the rogue Sith's cargo area for the last couple of days while in hyperspace, seeing little of their host but much of his work. Master Vash spoke little of the man, only recounting sporadically recalled moments from distant years she spent with him as his first Jedi Master when he was a child. But the information she had seemed outdated if anything, and only relevant in the way the man's childhood interests clearly played a role in his adult present. Mical hadn't minded being locked in here for two days with little food since he had the man Master Vash called Aiden's work to sift through, piles of notes and unlocked datapads at his disposal, and nothing the likes of anything he'd ever seen before. Decades of Sith history rested demurely atop the messy-but-organized workspace begging to be perused, bits of information that were otherwise inaccessible to anyone not of the affiliation. But none of it dated beyond the Sith of Korriban lore - Ajunta Pall, Ludo Kresh. Mical knew they were not the first Sith. Nor were they the first to study, let alone worship, the Dark Side of the Force. It seemed their host knew this and was well aware of the fact, his research leaning towards not only ancient Sith but Sith origin as well, only to come up empty.

"My hilt was smoother, I'll say that," a voice came from over Mical's shoulder. He should have heard the door slide open, he should have felt the air pressure shift. But part of Mical knew this was the Sith's trick, his very intention to arrive unannounced, to see what his uninvited guests were doing unattended in his private quarters. "Though in my defense, I only ever had technical drawings to work from, never the real thing."

The man brushed a strand of dark hair from his sickly green eyes, piercing as they glittered over the now-exposed lightsaber hilt of Exar Kun, whose ghost had spoken to him in a vision. Mical glanced at Master Vash, as if for direction, wondering if they should perhaps cover the thing up lest it fall into the wrong hands. Vash said nothing.

Instead of reacting, the man ran a hand over his hair, long on top but cut short around the sides, before crossing his arms, watching both guests with a wary stare.

"Also, do call me Erebus. Aiden… no longer suits me."

Somehow Mical knew the man had not reached into his mind but must have simply overheard them in the past couple days, undoubtedly sick of hearing his abandoned name repeated - Aiden, Aiden, Aiden. Mical wanted to ask where Erebus had come from, and if there was an official tradition to Sith names, but instead found himself quiet as he simply shut the parcel closed so the famed saber was hidden out of sight again. As it was intended.

"Erebus," Vash said, as if tasting the name, testing it out. After a moment she nodded, "Erebus it is, then."

As much as Mical couldn't read the Sith, he also had a hard time getting a good impression of the Jedi. One moment she was critical, only to find her exceedingly agreeable the next. There seemed to be no rules to her logic, leaning conservative on some things but liberal in others, especially when it came to her former student.

Erebus nodded curtly, trying not to appear pleased with the approval, and sucked on his teeth, looking around the room as if it were all new to him.

"Perfect," he said quickly, crossing his arms, "Well, if you're interested, as I'm sure you are, we are set to arrive on Dantooine within the standard hour. I have some rations in the cupboard against the far wall if either of you are interested. Vintage Sith rations from Revan's empire - fun, I know. Not sure what the fare will be once we land or who will welcome us, if anyone. The landscape's changed, but I trust you two more more about it than I do."

Erebus looked around the room again, avoiding all eye contact, as he tried to peer at the container that now safely housed Exar Kun's lightsaber, trying his best not to appear interested or disappointed that it was being stored away from his prying eyes.

"You were supposed to meet up with your contacts here, yes?" Vash said, placing a gentle hand on Mical's shoulder. "Assuming they escaped Space City in time, we may run into them here if the Force wills it."

"I have a feeling we will, seeing how things have turned out so far," Erebus sighed, "Let's just hope my former Master doesn't catch up with us."

"Former?" Mical said before he even felt himself think it, instantly regretting speaking upon doing so. Erebus winced as if he felt the embarrassment second-hand.

"It's a guess, but seeing as I've been avoiding Ni-" Erebus almost uttered a name but stopped himself short, his eyes flashing as his gaze flitted from Mical to Vash with mild surprise before recovering, "Since I've avoiding reporting in lately, my Master might assume I've gone rogue. And since I've yet to make up my mind on that front, such an assumption might be correct enough to act upon."

Erebus flashed them a sardonic smile, meant to mask his fear with false bravado, though it was fooling no one.

"There's a radio over there," Erebus said, trying not to sound helpful despite everything he was doing to prove otherwise, "If you want to try and contact your - I don't know - your crew, your people. Whoever."

With a shrug he was gone again, the door that separated the cockpit from the cargo hold closing at his back with an audible whoosh this time. Mical and Vash exchanged glances before looking toward the far wall, noticing a small comms system hidden behind a series of paper notes tacked over it. Wanting to preserve the data, Mical gently tugged at the paper to reveal a panel underneath, his fingers enraptured by the feel of it, unsure he'd even seen paper up close before despite having read about it all his life. The comms system was strange, both outdated and futuristic at once.

"Have you seen this sort of ship before?" Master Vash asked as Mical paused over the control panel, his fingers touching the buttons but failing to press any of them after a minute of admiring the design of it all.

"It's a Star Forge vessel, isn't it?" he answered, trying to keep the awe from his voice. Vash only nodded, her eyes glittering over the panel as if she, too, was in wonderment, trying to soak it all in and make sense of it.

"I believe it is."

"You never saw one up close?"

Master Vash shook her head as she grimaced into a half-smile, meeting Mical's eyes for a brief moment before looking back to the panel, pressing a corner button that made the entire console light up. Unlike ships native to Republic space, these buttons were hexagonal, some diamond-shaped and others pointed, almost pyramidal, and each of them was a shade of white, cream or gold in color. One lone button in the corner was black as the space between stars, but the rest glittered like a sky in miniature

"It's so foreign," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Yet so familiar."

The panel was not unlike modern comms systems in its layout, though the design was so utterly different. Mical wondered what had come first, only knowing part of the history behind Revan's mysteriously instantaneous fleet, yet somehow he knew that this was the blueprint for everything that came after, that every facet of this ship was likely as much a relic as anything Erebus had tracked and collected in this very room. But just how old was the blueprint? Where did she find it and will it into being?

"How much of this did you see in your vision, exactly?" Mical asked, turning to Master Vash. "You said you saw Dantooine, but did you see the planet? The Jedi Temple? Something that would happen here?"

Vash was quiet at first, still admiring the panel as the lights blinked demurely, as if waiting to be pressed, asking for it almost.

"Bits and pieces," she said, "I saw the rolling hills, the ruined Temple. I saw you there, actually, poring over datapads in the remains of the library."

"And Erebus?"

Vash's mouth thinned into a line, her gaze now intent on the panel and nothing else.

"I saw the two of us training. It looked like the Temple ruins, but I can't be sure. I haven't been here since the attack."

"By a one Darth Malak?"

Vash nodded.

"Do you think there is hope for a man like him, for Erebus?"

"Hope?" Vash scoffed. "The Jedi have fallen because there was something flawed about us. Perhaps not in our intentions but in how we executed our beliefs. If anyone knows Jedi history and the intricacies of it, it's that man. And if he turned to the Dark Side before the Order fell to ruin, then I fear he may have had a good reason for doing so."

Vash looked over her shoulder at the empty door that separated them from Erebus, and Mical turned to look along with her even though all there was no man there, only metal. But in his mind's eye, Mical wondered what Aiden had looked like as a boy, as a Jedi, what his copied saber looked like, fashioned from the legend of Exar Kun, whose ghost haunted the galaxy still, just as Revan did though still more a woman than a spectre.

"I don't mean to say that I condone his affiliations or whatever he's done to sustain them," Vash corrected, turning her attention from the closed door to Erebus' myriad of notes and scribblings scattered about them, "But I can see why he did, is all."

"And what of his sister, the Exile?"

"I wish I could tell you," she said, her voice lilting, "And the fact that I cannot is unfortunately the reason why I fear we're all here."

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

3951, Peragus Mining Facility Atton

The medbay was quiet. Eerily quiet. All Atton could hear were the soft whirring sounds of the machine beside him, lulling him to sleep, as needle-thin tubes administered more pain killers and antibiotics. The last medic to do a sweep of his empty ward gave him the run-down about a half-hour ago but Atton was already fast forgetting every word the young Sullustan said, who looked over his shoulder after every other word as if someone were watching him, or as if whatever treatment Atton was receiving were clandestine. Both afraid of and eager for the solitude, Atton nodded impatiently as he spoke, only calm once he was alone again… just for the panic to take over.

With the medics around, he was a mess. But alone? He wasn't sure what was worse.

As predicted, his attendant from the past few days – Yara – had yet to return, the medic turn-over almost as staggering as the number of incoming patients in the medbay's ICU. Atton was still the only occupant in the well ward, not that he was exactly healthy, but the fact that he wasn't in critical condition seemed to be the determining factor in his placement. Still, he saw little of the others, only catching glimpses through the open door whenever a new medic would enter to administer another round of treatment or ask how he was doing, as if he were an afterthought.

What the hell is going on here?

But now, all Atton yearned for was sleep. He'd tried to glimpse the bottle the Sullustan pierced with the IV needle before hooking it up to Atton's arm – y'know, for future reference – but he wasn't so lucky, the aurabesh too small for him to read from a distance.

Damn, I'm getting old. At 32, Atton was feeling the weight of his reckless decisions more and more now, especially after working in the gas mines for the last year, and he figured his newly acquired injuries only depleted his life expectancy if anything.

Before he could lament his possible future, Atton began to drift off, his eyes drooping, senses dulling, though he still seemed to have a fuzzy view of the room he was in, as if his eyes were only half-closed. But he was quickly losing command of his limbs and all voluntary movement, his body fast becoming a cage. And while part of him liked it, another part of him felt suffocated, unsure of this prison, even if it meant he could at least rest for the moment. If all he had to look at was the empty wall for several hours, then so be it.

The room remained unchanged, though Atton did not know for how long. Dreams flitted in and out of his bouts of consciousness, though his corner of the medbay remained a constant, a background character almost, as his mind delved into the abstract.

Atton never let himself dream. Even in his sleep, he was counting cards and power couplings, never sure of who might be watching, who might be looking for him. Revan's empire died not long after Malak took over, but he knew the others trained like him were still out there somewhere. One could never be too careful. But slipping into dreamlike oblivion was almost blissful now despite the chaos he knew that ravaged the rest of the station now, his mind both emptied but full at once. He dreamt of everything and nothing, his memory as thin as air, capturing nothing but wisps of memory, trails of thought that dissipated just as quickly. And then there was the droid.

It was an HK model. Not the kind seen on Peragus in any capacity. Especially considering a protocol droid was hardly needed here, if ever. It drifted about the room, as if floating, before suddenly appearing at Atton's face, its intelligence module mere inches from Atton's half-lidded eyes. He knew he was still dreaming, but part of this felt real – too real.

Atton tried to jerk awake, tried opening his eyes, but they only seemed to want to close further, the panic rising in his chest as the HK's amber eyes bore into his unblinkingly, saying nothing. He felt a metallic hand at his wrist, and then his elbow, and pluck. The IV the medic had inserted earlier was removed and replaced with something else, though Atton could not will his eyes to move enough to see what it was. The droid's cold fingers graced his wrist again, this time checking for a pulse, before finally pulling away and pausing, admiring its handiwork before gliding away.

And then… it paused, poised in the doorway, unmoving. Its silhouette stood still, swaying gently on its metal perch for what felt like eternity, becoming a fixture in the room just as anything else, before it swiftly turned on its heel and rushed towards Atton's bedside again, this time to shut his eyes closed, cold fingers flitting over his face as though Atton were a corpse. He shuddered and the HK was gone.

And then the nightmares started.

[thepancakedetective]

A Tragedy by Goro Akechi

Rated M for suggestive content. 

[Shadow Akechi smiles brightly under the heat of the stage lights illuminating him upon a lone pedestal. He is clothed in dull colored, loose-fitting, trousers. His russet cotton tunic is layered under a ratty, moth eaten, cloak. His sickeningly sweet voice is carried out to an empty auditorium upon speakers. A light beams onto a raven haired boy clad as a gentleman thief, exposing his hiding place behind an empty seat. The light is blinding and Akira can barely make out the shadow leaving his pedestal, looming closer with each silent step.]

Shadow Akechi: I can be anyone you want me to! Give me a role and I'll fall into it perfectly. I'll be good. I promise. A detective prince, perhaps?

[Akira's face is pale, there is a slight tremble in his fist, but he doesn't back down. Instead he shakes his head in disapproval.]

[The shadow's placid smile grows eerily wider. With teeth bared, he lets out a loud sigh and shakes his head deep in thought.]

Shadow Akechi: No no. Your eyes yearn for something more...yesss...A rival! Or maybe a rival and a lover?!

[His body shakes violently as he cackles loudly without mirth. His hands clutch tightly against his sides, nails digging painfully into his shoulders.]

Shadow Akechi: So fucking easy.

[Akira shakes his head again, closing the distance between the two in wide steps.]

Akira: No. That's not it.

[Akira reaches a hand out to the other.]

[Shadow Akechi recoils taking two step back. His next words are stilted in barely contained rage.]

Shadow Akechi: Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me.

Akira: This isnt you.

Shadow Akechi: Who the fuck are you to tell me who I am?!? Filthy attic trash like you wouldn't have a damn clue!

Akira: The Akechi I know wouldn’t waste his breath living as anyone's puppet. He wouldn't settle for a life less than his own!

Shadow Akechi: Shut up. SHUT UP. SHUT UUUPP!!

Akira: Let me help you.

[The Shadow's golden eyes glint with deranged mania. His psychotic grin falls into an ominously calm smile. He almost looks content if it wasn't for the far gone expression in his eyes.

Shadow Akechi: Okay then. Beg for it.

Akira: What?

[The Shadow closes in on the thief, cornering him against the back of a seat. His breath presses warmly against the other's ear.]

Shadow Akechi: You heard me. Get on your knees and grovel for me.

[Akira shows no signs of moving. He swallows thickly, and stands his ground, chest held high.]

Shadow Akechi: I see...you prefer to be the dominant one. I can help you with that.

[Shadow Akechi falls to his knees.]

Shadow Akechi: Happy now? Or perhaps...

[The Shadow's fingers trace up the inside of Akira's dark pants, not missing a beat to the other's shiver against his touch.]

Shadow Akechi: Just say the words. I'll please you beyond your expectations.

[The Shadow leans forward and presses his open mouth against the other's mid thigh, the fabric warm and damp as it clung unto the raven's skin. Akira lets out a soft moan, before catching himself alarmingly and moving far away from the brunet sizing him up with a predatory gaze. Shadow Akechi licks his lips before moving up onto his feet. He smirks.]

Shadow Akechi: Just a small taste of what I can offer you. Why do you hesitate when your desire throbs painfully, waiting to be set free?

[Akira shuffles slightly, adjusting his outfit.]

Akira: I'll stop hesitating once you start facing your true self.

[The Shadow looks bored. Lifeless. Devoid of any light.]

Shadow Akechi: There is no true self Akira. Only a bunch of masks we call upon to be us in the moment. Isn't that the fate of us Tricksters?

[The Shadow walks away dejectedly towards the stage. An array of porcelain masks, all holding the likeness of the brunet in various emotions, float in a blue haze surrounding him like shields. A violent gust breaks free as the Shadow is engulfed in hellfire, sending Akira toppling into a marble pillar with a painful crunch.]

Shadow Akechi: Prove it to me that my true self exists. Or die trying!

[Shadow Akechi launches himself towards Akira who jumps to his feet just in time. The masks surrounding the shadow break simultaneously with an ear splitting crack. Millions of white shards are sent flying like hail. From the center of the explosion, a decrepit porcelain brunete emerges, dark holes gape with ragged edges where his eyes should be.]

[Akira watches the powerful Shadow with sad eyes. His eyebrows furrow deeply. He sighs.]

Akira: What have you done to yourself Akechi...I swear, I will get you back. Even if I die trying. Because I fucking love you, you stupid piece of crap! All the good. And all the bad. When you get back to normal you and me are going to have a very long talk! Enough talking, it's Showtime! PERRSONAA!

[booklover41802]

Chapter 12 - When The Darkness Closes In

Happy Wednesday! Here’s the next chapter!

Description: Months after Under the Mountain, Feyre still longs for Rhys’s company despite the silence drawing out between them. Then, a note appears that signals Rhys’s arrival in Velaris. Rhys is facing his past and everything that accompanies it

Co-Written by @highladysith

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Feyre

Every morning for the last three weeks, Rhys had written me a note of words to transcribe onto a sheet of paper. And each day, I struggled with the formation of each and every letter. But I gave it my all because I wanted to prove to myself and Rhys that I was capable. Mostly, though, I wanted to send letters back to him.

I lowered and hoisted my mental shield as I picked up the piece of paper that had popped into existence in front of me. It was another task Rhys had ordered me to do while I practiced my letters. Looking at the sheet in my hands, I was able to recognize the basic phonemes of the words, but the overall word was incomprehensible. “You l..oo..k.” My brow furrowed as I tried to make out the next section. “Ab...sol..utely d-delicious today, Feyre.” I stared at the page, the compliment teasing me through the paper. Through the bond, I could have sworn faint laughter echoed across the strands. 

Excellent work, Feyre darling. You are progressing quickly in your studies. Rhys caressed the mental shield I had worked to create.

All of the hard work it had taken these past few weeks had been worth it for Rhys’s pride at my accomplishments. It would be better if you were here in Velaris to teach me. I practically shouted down the bond. It was a long shot, but perhaps I could convince him to come back. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed him until he was gone. His presence soothed the ache in my soul. When I was near him, I felt at peace, happy. I only wished we could be more than friends. What I wanted was impossible considering Rhys could hardly stand to be in my vicinity.

In response to my words, there was silence. I sighed, rolling my ink pen in between my fingers. My current residence seemed to contain myself to the library and my room while I poured endlessly over the books at the townhouse. The desk I was seated at now overlooked the city, giving a glimpse into the colorful lives of the residents of Velaris.

How much I wished I could be outside with them, laughing and having a good time, instead of scrawling word after word until my hand cramped too much to continue writing. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, Cassian chose this moment to come barging through the door. I turned in my seat to face the male before me. Powerful wings were pulled close together as he squeezed through the frame, practically stumbling in. “Are you going to clutch your paper all day, or are you ready to begin training?” Cassian nodded to the sheet of letters I had clenched tightly in my hands, as if I could will Rhys to Velaris if I just squeezed hard enough.

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson and I hastily set it down, smoothing out the rough edges. There. Now I didn’t look like an idiot for holding onto parchment with Rhys’s handwriting on it. With one hand I pushed myself up out of my chair and forced a grin to light up my eyes. “I just need to grab my leathers before we go.” My current outfit of a thick woolen sweater and leggings wasn’t suitable for sparring. 

Cassian’s lips pursed as he looked me up and down, searching for a hint that I was hiding something. He knew I was faking my cheerful mood but, thankfully, didn’t pursue it further. “Meet me in the foyer in five minutes, or else I’m leaving your ass here.” The hint of humor in his voice didn’t quite reach his eyes. I stood frozen in place with a smile fixed upon my face until he noiselessly shut the door behind him, the rustle of wings signaling his departure.

The second the lock had clicked into place, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. The facade I kept up night and day that I was moving on over Rhys was a lie. Each morning I woke up, I prayed Mor would tell me the news that he was back for good and never leaving again. It was pathetic that I still held out hope, but the letters had rejuvenated me into a newfound belief he would arrive any day. 

For a moment I searched around the room for the leathers I had stuffed somewhere, before noticing the bunch of clothes at the bottom of my armoire. With a few quick steps, I stood before the looming wardrobe that threatened to swallow me whole. I shoved aside my thoughts and reached inside to grab the clothing. I shrugged off my garments and slipped into my leathers. When I looked in the mirror-dark circles aside-it was almost believable I was healing from my past.

Almost.

I took a breath and swept out the door to find Cassian.

*****

Rhys

I seated myself before the mortal queens, scanning their faces for any sign of treachery. The mortal queens were once again present in Hewn City, but this time, there was an air of hesitancy that hovered over the table. Did they see through the bargain I had laid out for them? Or had the King of Hybern got to them?

The crone spoke first, as per usual. With her pursed lips, it was obvious there was discontent she intended to speak in her throaty voice. “High Lord, I believe we have come to a decision regarding your generous… offer.” As one, they all glanced at each other with nervous expressions adorning their faces like fine jewelry. I brought my fingertips together, attempting to decipher the plot that was forming before my eyes. “We decline your promises. We have no reason to trust you other than your word and your reputation precedes you. While we may be mortal, it does not bode well for you to throw up a veil around our heads. Unless you have something else you’d like to offer us.” Her crooked smirk was embedded with smug satisfaction, knowing that she held me in the palm of her hand. 

I had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come to this. Earlier in the day, I had borrowed the Veritas from Keir when he was distracted by his duties with his legion of Darkbringers. Though I hated to come to this point, I would show them Velaris, where the shreds of my heart remained. The truth would be undeniable. I needed their half of the book of breathings before anyone else retrieved it. The cauldron could not fall into the hands of Hybern.

Dropping my lips into a sinuous grin, I motioned to the cloaked figure against the wall. The cloak of the fae dropped, revealing golden hair, and cold brown eyes. “Not to worry, your fears are understandable. I have brought the Veritas to this meeting to show you my true intentions. What has the King of Hybern offered you to show his promises are genuine?” The Queens shifted uncomfortably in their chairs as I rubbed my clammy hands against the fabric of my pants. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest as I contemplated what I was doing. Was this the right thing to do? Would the potential fallout be worth the effects of revealing Velaris? Would Feyre be protected if the queens turned on me? 

I shrugged my thoughts out of the way as Mor approached with the Veritas. The orb was a well known talisman of the world, only to be wielded by Mor’s family. Mor approached with a frigid expression on her face as she surveyed the queens. The crone eyed Mor with distaste while the others murmured in awe at the ancient artifact in their midst.

“You know what this is and the words I speak will be true. This is the embodiment of truth.” Her voice rang out in a commanding tone, ordering the Queens to pay attention to her, not the other way around. A queen without a throne. She set the Veritas down, harnessing the magic within. “Truth is not something easily given, it is something that has to be earned by those who deserve it. While I do not think any of you are worthy of truth, my High Lord believes in you and I bow to him. Tell me, are you worthy, or will you build your empire on the blood of others?”

The crone’s teeth clacked together as she narrowed her eyes, clenching the armrests of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. “Who are you to judge us and determine our fates? The girl who soiled herself with a lowly Illyrian has no right to order us around.” The youngest queen with the lioness soul betrayed no emotion, yet the one with the black eyes appeared wary at the power gathering like storm clouds within Mor’s eyes.

While the crone gave a slow, wide grin, Mor cocked her head in quiet contemplation. If Azriel or Cassian had been here, the Queens would have been dead by now. Mor, however, had more self restraint and reeled her power back in, leaving her a blank slate. “What you think of me doesn’t determine my worth. I know my value and I respect myself enough to not care what you think. I have lived far longer than you ever will and yet I value the lives of innocents, unlike you. I only asked to protect what I love. Will you betray us, or can you be trusted with what lies within the Veritas?”

The black eyed Queen with the cunning edge eagerly blurted out, “We trusted you to come here, can’t you trust us with your secret? It’s only fair that you offer us the same level of respect.”

Mor scoffed under her breath and I was inclined to agree with her. These mortals had no idea what the word respect meant, not as the weight of their crowns had warped their perspectives. But I had to get the book no matter how many times they insulted me or my family. I curtly inclined my head. “Show them the Veritas, Mor.” I despised myself for even revealing Velaris, but this was out of control. There was nothing else I could use to convince them of my intentions.

With a side glance at me, I could sense the rage trembling inside of Mor. This whole mountain would come crashing down if Mor unleashed herself upon the fools seated before us. I sent out a wisp of power to soothe her raging mind. Later on, I would take her to the cabin to allow herself to find her peace. “As you wish, High Lord.” Mor shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

The orb began to glow misty white, swirling clouds within whirling and churning. “Truth is my life, truth cannot be hidden. It is the one constant in this world. Because no matter how deceit creeps in,” her eyes landed on each Queen. “The truth will come out eventually and liars face their punishment.”

The Veritas began to clear and Velaris slowly came into view. My chest tightened as I realized how much I missed the city more than anything. I swallowed the lump in my throat and outloud I said, “This is the city of my heart. Velaris. The place where everyone finds their home and no one is shut out. The place of dreamers and artists and musicians. For hundreds of years, my forefathers protected the secret with their life, but I offer it to you as a gift and show of goodwill.” The gleaming jewel rooftops were shadowed by a figure with wings. Az. He was the one who allowed this to happen. Many creatures in the street cheerily waved up to him, not at all fazed by who he was, only that he was a figure they saw on a daily basis. He changed direction and the Rainbow of Velaris appeared. The Queens leaned forward in awe at what they saw.

Fae of all different species laughing, dancing, and creating. Freedom without the chains of a crown. As Az neared the edges of the city, a figure turned, revealing large blue-gray eyes. Her mouth opened up into a wide smile as she saw Az. Feyre. Feyre was in the Veritas. Before I had a chance to get a good look at her, the orb was once again silent.

The crone looked up at us with her mouth hanging open. “So it seems you are not the stone-cold male everyone says you are. Thank you for entrusting us with the secret.”

Despite the truth of their words, I sensed something underneath it all. Greed. They would sell this information to the highest bidder for what they wanted. In their case, the information would go to the King of Hybern. “Do we have a deal then? The book of breathings in exchange for my honesty?” 

The queen with the black dress and downturned lips focused her attention on me. “Perhaps. Our answer will arrive shortly.”

With that, they turned sharply to leave, motioning their guards forward so they could winnow back to the Mortal Lands. Unexpectedly, Mor moved forward and tightly grasped onto the queen with the golden hair, her eyes beseeching them to relinquish their treasure. “Please. If you do not give us the book, it will fall into the hands of Hybern. And if Hybern has the book, the world will be destroyed.”

She shook Mor off with a haughty smile. “Maybe the world needs to be remade with a proper vision in mind.” She nodded to the crone, signaling she was done with the conversation.

My gaze landed on the crone, and her blank face. The secret she was guarding was hidden within the depths of her mind. If only I could search it without threatening to destroy the precarious alliance we had created. 

As a last ditch effort, Mor also pleaded her case with the eldest. “You really think the king will let you keep your crowns if he’s in power?” Laughter escaped her lips, cold and calculating. “This is your chance to ensure your people survive.”

It was clear the crone’s patience had run out, as she snarled, “No. You will never have it.” Then, the Queens promptly winnowed away without so much as a goodbye.

“NO!” Mor shrieked, lunging across the table for the eldest. They vanished just as her fingers brushed her silken gown.

I put my head in my hands as I slumped back against my chair. What were we going to do now? The entirety of Velaris was now in danger because of my actions. Feyre was bound to be hunted for, now that the Queens knew of her existence. For the first time in a long time, I felt the stinging prick of tears sprout up.

“Wait, Rhys!” I lifted my heavy head up to look at her shocked face. Standing near the chair where the golden-haired queen was seated, Mor reached down and grabbed half of the book of breathings. 

Hope was not yet lost.

*****

Feyre

“Again!” Cassian commanded as he held up the gloves for me to hit. The soft padding protected his hands from the force of my fists. I did as he ordered, channeling all of my anger and rage into striking the pads. Again and again and again I pounded against them, the leathers I wore seamlessly shifting my movements. “Good, your form is excellent.”

“I didn’t ask,” I broke out in between my heaving breaths. Sweat beaded against my brow with the exertion of the exercise. 

He chuckled as he continued to bear the weight of my emotions. The training grounds just outside of Velaris were far enough away from the city, just in case my power flared up. I had yet to learn how to control it. It felt like a whirlpool, the further I went in, the more I got sucked in. It was an uncontrollable beast with no one to call its master. Training with Cassian took the edge off it, distracting me from the pressure that was steadily building up. Amren taught me some control, but most days she was busy holed up in her apartment doing cauldron knows what. 

From the sidelines, sunning his wings in the grass, was Azriel. He watched us with a calm expression, occasionally shouting out encouragement. For a moment I glanced at him, taking my eyes off Cassian. He took his chance and swept my legs out from under me. The world spun as I landed on my ass. Hard. “You’re distracted today,” Cassian said, as he offered a hand to help me up. “Do you want to take a break?”

I ignored his offer and shakily crawled to a standing position. Dirt coated my arms where I had fallen on the ground. I gently brushed it off, pretending not to notice how my arms were inflamed from training. But I needed the distraction of training to take my thoughts off Rhys. “No. Let’s go again, I can handle it.” I planted my feet against the ground and drew back my fists, thinking of all the places within myself that I could draw anger from. 

Hesitantly, Cassian raised his hands, allowing me to continue punching against him. “If you need to stop, let me kno-”

“I don’t need to talk about my feelings, Cassian. I’m okay.” Yet even as I said that, I felt the lump in my throat rise up. If I didn’t continue, I would break. I slammed my fist against his right hand, checking and rechecking my form to make sure it was perfect. This was the only distraction I had. I couldn’t paint without thinking of Under the Mountain. I couldn’t talk with Rhys, the only person in Velaris who understood what I had gone through. My emotions were like a dam, building up until, one day, it would burst. 

Rhys. I missed him desperately. Just once I’d like to see him, talk with him, laugh with him. But I couldn’t because he chose to detach himself from me. Had I done something wrong? Was there something with me? Was I too broken to love? I didn’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to be around me, either. After all, who could ever love someone with thorns. 

Flames escaped out of my fists as I pounded against Cassian’s hands until I had burned away the padding protecting him, and I was hitting his bare skin. Tears fell from my eyes, blurring my vision until Cassian and Azriel were only hazy figures. Still, I continued to push forward with my limbs knowing that if I stopped the dam would burst. Too lost in my haze of emotions, I hadn’t even realized what I had done until Azriel broke through the stream of rage and sadness by sending his shadows to halt my hands from further burning Cassian. Only then did I see the red welts that Cassian had taken upon himself without uttering a single cry of pain. 

I stumbled forward, inspecting the damage of his hands. Livid reddish marks inflamed the entirety of his palms. Faint peeling of blisters showed the raw skin underneath. Cassian had likely had worse injuries before, but the sheer amount of guilt I felt for inflicting this upon my friend was overwhelming.  “I’m so sorry, Cassian. I’m so sorry.” Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I carefully unlocked a single stream of water to flow from myself to Cassian. The wobbly line of liquid encased the bright red marks, soothing the hurt. He winced, once, as I warped the water to heal my mistakes. 

“It’s alright, Feyre. It’s nothing I can’t handle. You should have seen me during the war after a battle. I was a bloody mess.” The left side of his mouth curved into a smirk as he tried for a light-hearted joke. 

Azriel scoffed from the side at Cassian’s words. “If you hadn’t been such a hot-heated prick, you wouldn’t have suffered so many injuries.”

I had to forcibly hold Cassian’s hands still as he tried to turn towards Az before he broke my concentration. Forced to be one place, Cassian wacked Azriel with his wing. The loud thwack drew a chuckle from the elegant male. “I managed just fine, it’s all in the past now anyways.”

“You say that, but every time you get drunk you brag about your accomplishments and how you single-handedly won the battles for your legion.”

Cassian squawked in outrage. I shut my eyes, tuning them out and drawing forth the image of the Sidra’s waves crashing against the shore. The smooth ebb and flow of the water, twisting and turning in perfect unison. The frothy foam bubbling forth against the overwhelming mass of waves. The water in my hands widened ever so slightly as I poured all of my focus into healing his hands. When I opened my eyes again, smooth skin and Cassian’s dumbstruck face greeted me. 

“How did you know how to do that? I thought you hadn’t trained with your powers yet.”

I dropped his hands and crossed my arms across my chest, feigning offense. His guess wasn’t totally wrong, but I had the basics down. It was enough to perform the most practical actions. And I practiced making water animals in the privacy of my bathtub, not that either one needed to know that. “I suppose there’s more to me than what’s on the surface.”

Cassian’s hand reached out and ruffled my hair, tousling the careful braid I had done this morning in the dark. I quickly stepped back out of his range, narrowing my eyes in reproach. “Do you know how long it took me to get this to look halfway decent?”

In a mock apology, Cassian lifted his hands to heart, his brows scrunched together. “I’m so terribly sorry for ruining your hair, precocious faerie.” 

As I opened my mouth to respond, a dark wave of power suddenly flooded the city. Soothing tendrils of darkness snaked across the streets, raveling all the way out to our little outcrop on the outskirts of Velaris. The two males next to me immediately went slack-jawed, an iciness creeping over their features. They smoothly moved to block me from view, as if whatever was approaching was somehow dangerous. A boom of wings against the quiet of the city sent a cold clutch of fear to encircle my heart. 

“Stay behind us, Feyre. We’ll deal with this,” Azriel bit out in between clenched teeth.

What was here? The answer to my question became visible seconds later as a sheet of paper with Rhys’s elegant handwriting appeared on the ground in front of me. 

Meet me in the House of Wind in five minutes. 

Rhys. Rhys was here and he wanted to see me. Against my better judgement, I felt a smile creeping up over my face. Cassian snatched the paper out of my hands, scowling. “That bastard,” he growled, brows furrowed in indignation. “He thinks he can summon you like a dog anytime he wants.” 

I put a hand on Cassian’s arm to try and stamp out the fiery rage building in his hazel eyes. “It’s alright, Cass. I’ll meet with him to see what he wants.”

“Be careful,” Az said in a soft voice.

I nodded, turning to make my way towards the House of Wind to find Rhys.

*********

Rhys

The book of breathings was a smooth band of leather against my hands. The pages were warped from time, as if the magic of it only extended to the ink. A small, whispering voice rose above the silence of the room, begging and pleading us into madness. I was transfixed from the power that emanated off of the leather binding. With a revenant hand, I carefully moved a finger down its spine in awe. 

Mor plucked the book out of my hands, snapping me out of my reverie. “I’ll take this back to Velaris and you can return the Veritas to its original place.” Heels clicking against the floor, Mor spun around and made to exit the door. Just as she was about to cross the threshold of the frame, I stopped her in her tracks with a gentle hand. 

“I’ll take it back to Velaris. I’m going back. It’s too dangerous to leave unguarded now that the queens know of its existence.” 

Mor’s red mouth puckered in distaste. “You’ll return now, after months of your brothers begging you to return, will you? Or will you run from your past the moment the city is in sight?”

She was right, I had been a coward hiding from what I had done and I hadn’t wanted to face the future. But I was done hiding. I was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, there was nothing that would stop me from going to the woman I loved. I gave Mor a smirk, dropping my hand from her golden skin. “I’m not running from the past, the past should run from me.”

I took the book back from her hands and winnowed back to Velaris. 

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

The moment I popped back into Velaris, I felt a wave of comfort stitch the hole in my heart back together. The sea salt air and familiar furnishings of the townhouse were a welcome sight. Now, where was Feyre? I sent out tendrils of power to scour the city for the one whom I loved more than anything. Within moments I found her outside the city with Cass and Az. 

I opened up the end table near the overstuffed couch and drew out a piece of paper along with a pen. I scribbled out a note for Feyre and sent it off for her to find. I prayed to the mother that she would answer my call and she didn’t despise my very existence for being silent for months. Now, to wait. Carefully, I set down the book of breathings down on the coffee table, trying to ignore its maddening words. I took up a position near the ornate fireplace, leaning against the frame, trying to appear causal and calm. 

The seconds seemed to tick by as I stared into the cold ashes of a fire long since extinguished. I didn’t bother trying to light a new one, too distracted by the thought I would get to see Feyre again. I didn’t know if she hated me, if she loved me, or if she merely tolerated my existence. What if I ruined this relationship just like I destroyed everything I touched? Everything I loved had the tendency to be taken from me in a brutal manner. But this time, if this failed, it would be my own fault. 

When the scent of pear and lilac tickled my nose, my head snapped up, a dog eager for the return of its master. Feyre. Feyre was here and she wanted to see me. Perhaps she didn’t hate me after all. 

When she hesitantly stepped into the room, eyeing me as if I would disappear within a moment. “Rhys,” she breathed, wide blue-gray eyes filled with shock. Did she expect me to vanish after I called her here?

“Hello, Feyre darling,” I purred, pushing myself off the fireplace and making my way over to where she stood. Her breathing stilled as I neared. When I came close enough to see each individual freckle on her face, I raised a gentle hand and tucked a strand of long, golden-brown hair behind her ear. My hand continued down, moving through her silken hair until I rested my palm on her soft shoulder. She swallowed, never taking her eyes off my face. 

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re finally here.” 

Reluctantly, I moved my hand off her arm. “I am the High Lord, I couldn’t stay away from my city for too long. I had to protect my investment,” I said, ever the businessman. It was a stupid thing to say. Feyre made me lose all my sense until I was a blubbering fool. I had spent too long Under the Mountain to know how to treat a lady. 

She quirked a brow at my words, lips sagging in disappointment. “Was that the only reason you came back?”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest. This was it, this was my chance to make up for the last few months. I took a half step forward, our chests touching. “No,” I breathed. “It wasn’t the only reason.” 

Her face wiped clean from emotion, but a faint flicker of surprise darted across her lovely eyes. “What was the other reason,” she whispered back in equal quiet. Her hand twitched imperceptibly at her side as if she desperately wanted to reach out for me, to touch me as I wanted to do to her. 

I had less self control and took her face in both my hands, my thumb brushing down her pale skin. “You. I came back for you. I stayed away for months because I was afraid you hated me for what I had done. And then, it was embarrassment at my actions. But I’m done hiding from my mistakes. I want you and I cannot deny my feelings for you any longer.” 

Her hands moved from their place at her side and she put her arms around my waist. “Then you’re an even bigger prick than that I thought, because I have missed you more than anything.” Her eyes darted to my lips while she bit her own. After a moment’s hesitation, she surged forward and pressed a light kiss against my mouth. 

Mother save me, this woman was going to destroy me. I pulled her even closer until there wasn’t an inch of air between us. We were both breathing heavy from what she had done. Should I tell her about my suspicions that we were mates? “Feyre, I have something to tell you,” I began. But before I could continue, screams erupted from the city beyond. From the bond that connected me to my brothers, I heard them confirm that Hybern was flying towards us with a legion. No, not now of all times. 

Feyre took a step back out of my grasp, confused. “What’s happening?” I grimly looked towards the black mass that was slowly moving towards my city, the city where my love resided. “We’re under attack.” 

Tags: @mademoisellenimbob, @webcraft4eveh, @akb12348, @ishouldreallybeasleepbynow, @sapphic-beauty

If you’re still here on this two year journey, I would like to say thank you for supporting my work. It’s you who keeps me going for this fic. I appreciate each and every single one of you :)

[morbidcorvids]

Eri going out for trick or treating with Hizashi and then a villain attack happens. Hizashi could only do was keep Eri safe since he didn't have his speaker. Then gets nabbed by the villain who has a spider quirk and tangles him up in his web while Eri is safe somewhere.

Prompt #1! I had so much fun writing this! Hope you liked it! This would also be publised on AO3.

Quick note: I am still taking prompts!

Title: Halloween Fright

It was probably the 20th picture he had taken that night, but he couldn’t help it - Eri just looked so darn cute in that cat costume. It was mostly a black onesie with paws, and of course the headband with cat ears, but Eri loved it the minute she wore it. Of course, Shouta was the one to suggest the costume when they went out looking for costumes a week ago. 

Even when he tried to hide it, Hizashi noticed how downhearted Shouta was when he learned he had to patrol during Halloween night. 

Shouta promised he would join them later in the evening, but Hizashi knew how unpredictable the night could be, especially on a night like this. 

For now it was only Hizashi in his custom made pirate costume and Eri as a black cat. They calmly passed by a busy street filled with an array of stores, where candy was being given. It was the first time Eri was officially celebrating Halloween, and learning that you could get candy for free opened a new dimension for her.  

As they kept walking, Hizashi didn’t expect to find Shouta’s mentee, Shinsou, among the crowd. Hizashi approached him, greeting him in his usual Present Mic style, and Shinsou explained to him how he usually volunteered in the near orphanage during Halloween. Given how late it was, Hizashi suggested he joined them, since being alone at night can be dangerous. He knew the boy was more than capable of taking care of himself, but he couldn’t help his hero heart to keep him close. 

Everything was peaceful and calm, and that in itself should have been the first sign that something was bound to happen. 

The trio stopped by Shouta’s favorite cat café,  where they were given out free candies and showing the cats in adorable outfits. Hizashi hadn't even stepped foot inside the café, when suddenly one of the parked cars flipped over and crashed into another car. 

Hizashi immediately covered Eri, making sure the little girl was protected not only from the crash, but also the chaos of people running and screaming that surrounded them. Hizashi hated the scene - parents running and carrying their kids to safety. Who could be so heartless to attack in a place filled with families? 

A dark figure loomed around the street - almost as if it was searching for prey. Hizashi couldn’t see clearly, but it looked like the person in question could change his arms and legs into long stick ones. They were a total of eight of them, and while they looked thin, its sharp blades at the end crushed the concrete as it walked. Hizashi’s head was spiraling as he thought of what the criminal might be resembling, but he knew it was mostly denial that he couldn’t outright say it.

They were like daddy long legs. They were like spiders. 

Hizashi gulped. This was not the right time to be an arachnophobe. 

He cursed himself for leaving his headphones and directional speakers, questioning what kind of hero would leave so unprepared like him. There was no time for these thoughts, though, because his number one priority was keeping Eri safe. 

He noticed through his peripheral vision Shinsou wrapping his binding cloth, and his heart instinctively sank. He knew how capable Shinsou was as a future hero, but being the only pro-hero in the place, he felt the need to protect him as well. 

“Shinsou!” Hizashi yelled, startling the purple-haired boy. Shinsou looked back at him, clutching his binding scarf tightly. 

“I need you to take Eri somewhere safe, and when you can, call for help!” 

Hizashi gently pushed Eri towards Shinsou, with the teen opening his arms to embrace her. Her eyes were wide in fear, but after living with her dad Aizawa for so long, she’s learned to calm down and think of her safety first. She just wished Aizawa was here with her at the moment. She grasped onto Shinsou’s shirt, hiding her face. If Present Mic trusted the boy, then she would also trust him. 

“But teacher, you don’t have your hero gear!” Shinsou shouted as Hizashi ran away from them. Hizashi turned around to look back at Shinsou, keeping a wide smile. Don’t scare them any further with your own pathetic fears, Hizashi. 

“I’ll be okay, little listener. Just go get help, okay?” Hizashi stated, placing a thumbs up. He wanted to assure the teen that everything was under control.

The only problem was that it wasn’t. 

As soon as he finished his uttering his sentence, he felt something grabbing his ankles and yanking him away from the kids. He heard Shinsou yell his name, but he was soon covered in sticky silk that left no part of his body uncovered except for his nose. He tried to free himself from the webbing, but it felt like the more he resisted the stronger it got. His fingers were probably bruised over the pressure of the silk, but that didn’t stop him from stretching them as much as he could. He figured that freedom was hopeless, and just hoped Shinsou and Eri got away, but those fears were soon overshadowed by new ones. 

The fear for his life. 

And the terrible, irrational fear he has for spiders. 

He heard the muffle crawling of the criminal approaching him, and he began frantically moving around - trying anything to set himself free. He didn’t know the villain’s intentions, but capturing Hizashi like if he was prey could only mean bad news. He was the desperate insect that knew his inevitable fate was coming. 

He could use his voice, but that might bring the consequence of destroying everything around him, and he didn’t know how many people were still inside buildings or in close proximity. He also wasn’t sure if Shinsou and Eri were nearby, and hurting them was the least thing he wanted to do. The blood-curdling sound of those spider legs grew closer, Hizashi’s breathing became erratic and all he could was gasp for air. 

The crawling suddenly stopped, instead filled by a screeching scraping sound that made Hizashi’s body shudder. He heard something being thrown into nearby cars, sizzling sounds, and shouts all blended into a terrifying mix. He felt someone above him maneuvering over the sticky webs, and then heard something faint that sounded like-

Cutting! Someone was cutting the web! Hizashi has never felt more relieved over a sound than now.  

“Stay calm and still!” Hizashi heard a muffled voice order - and for someone as restless as he was, Hizashi stayed perfectly still. He had no idea who talked to him, only that voice sounded like a female. 

“Are you ready, Eraser?” The voice asked, sounding clearer than last time. Wait, Eraserhead was here-

Hizashi couldn’t even process his thoughts before a final snap released him from his binds. He freaked out when he didn’t feel the ground, and before he could grab onto the spider’s silk - gravity pulled down his body. . 

Instead of meeting the concrete floor, he felt the force of arms sustaining him. He opened his eyes carefully, meeting a pair of familiar ones. He gaped at Shouta for who knows how long, but that didn’t matter to him. 

Shouta was carrying him - bridal style. 

If he wasn’t frightened to death, he probably would have blushed...to death. 

“That was an ugly quirk,” Shouta commented, with his usual deadpanned tone. Though, for someone who’s known him for many years as Hizashi, he knew Shouta was joking to comfort him. Shouta was probably one of the few people that knew of his phobia for spiders.  

Hizashi smiled softly, punching Shouta lightly on his shoulders. 

“I’m glad my favorite hero got to save me,” Hizashi responded, “and on Halloween night!” 

Shouta rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, Eri needs to finish trick-or-treating.” 

Shouta helped Hizashi back on the ground, and went to pick up the pirate hat that Hizashi dropped when he was grabbed by the villain. He placed it on his head, and glanced back at Hizashi, with the hint of a smile on his face. 

“Follow me.”

Hizashi chuckled, and performed a dramatic salute. 

“Ay, ay, Captain!”

Fin.

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter 1

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers

Warnings: Angst, Bucky is a dick. darker themes may be discussed in future chapters, as always warnings will be provided

A/N: Oh man, Chapter one! Super nervous. Please be gentle on me! Kind of an AU, I’m picking and choosing who’s still around and completely ignoring Thanos’ existence (...for now?)

You never expected Steve to call you. To cash in that favor you said you owed him a thousand times over. For you there was no hesitation, Cap needed your help and you’d do whatever it took.

When you met him in Upstate, New York he explained everything. The Avengers—or what’s left of them, needed more bodies. HYDRA was back, thinking the world was at a weak point. Knowing far too well what they were capable of, you didn’t hesitate to help in any way you could.

Now, weeks later, you’ve settled in on the compound and your ready to start training. Steve thought it best to get you back into the swing of things slowly, rather than dropping you in on a mission you weren’t physically or mentally prepared for. You agreed.

The rapid beeping of an alarm fills your ears. You let out an audible groan before propping yourself up on your elbows, and quickly look at the time.

5:15 AM.

You say a silent prayer to yourself, hoping your body can learn to readjust to these early morning.

A small electronic tone echoes throughout the room. “Good Morning, Miss Monroe.” FRIDAY says kindly.

“G’Morning.” You yawn.

“Captain Rogers is waiting for you in the East courtyard. He’d like you to put on the clothes he left with you yesterday.”

You nod, “Thank you, tell him I’ll be right there.”

You glance at the clothes laid out on your dresser. This is the outfit Cap had referred to as the ‘standard issue’ for recruits. Black tactical pants, boots, and a dark gray t-shirt.

Once you were dressed you threw your hair up in a pony tail and stared in the mirror. It had been years since you had been referred to as a recruit, and now that’s exactly what you were.

Nonetheless, you were grateful for the opportunity, and determined to make the best of it. Steve has become such a close friend of yours over the last few years and you trusted him with your life. He’d never put you through something he know you couldn’t handle.

Down several sets of stairs and corridors, you made it to the East wing and push through the double doors leading to the courtyard.

There he was, Captain America in all his glory. He was already in a conversation with someone when you approached him, which you thought was odd considering it was 5:30 in the morning.

“Hey, Ella.” He said softly, embracing you in a tight hug. “You ready?”

You nod quickly, “Nervous, but ready. Definitely ready.”

A smile settles on his lips, as it does yours before there’s a throat clear next to you. “Oh right, my fault. Ella this is—“

You cut him off, “Sergeant Barnes, right?”

The man looks at you almost impressed. “You know me?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No, but I make an effort to get familiar with who I might be working with. In this case it just happened to pay off.” You smile.

James Buchanan Barnes was one of the first people you read up on when you moved in. You’d heard of him. HYDRA’s very own Winter Soldier; the assassin you’d been forced to study in your old life.

His eyes don’t leave yours, not until Steve slaps his shoulder. “Bucky here is my oldest friend, I’ve asked him to help train you.”

Your smile falters for a moment, “Oh, my mistake, I thought I’d be training with you, Cap.”

Bucky scoffed quietly. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He says staring into your eyes.

You smile shyly, embarrassed by your comment.

Steve smiled, “I wish, but trust me. You and Buck here will make a much better team. Besides he’d actually have time for you, these days I’m a little too cut and run for anybody.”

You nod, understanding of course. “Thank you again, Steve. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

He chuckles, “I know you won’t. I’m still so grateful for your help, Ella. You’re really saving us here.”

“If I could interrupt,” Bucky says, obviously irritated, “Steve you brought me here to train her, so I think I should start doing that.”

Steve nods, “Right, right. Good luck, you’re going to do great.” He leans down to hug you. You’re so small in his arms it almost laughable.

“Like riding a bike...” you say. Hoping he can’t hear the false confidence in your voice.

“Let’s go, Recruit.” Bucky spoke sternly. Steve smiled at you softly, before nodding you off as a signal to follow his friend.

He walked a few paces ahead of you the entire time you made your way to the training facility. The walk is quiet, the sound of crunching leaves and wind being your only companions...and it was getting on your damn nerves.

“How do you know Steve again?” Bucky says suddenly, shaking you from you mood.

His tone spooks you, “Uh it’s—it’s kind of a long story.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I can give you the cliff notes if you’d like.” You joke, a small laugh escaping your lips.

“What?” He asks confused.

Right. Age gap. You remind yourself.

You clear your throat, “N-nothing,” you stutter, “Long story short is he saved my life...in more ways than one.” You murmur, keeping you eyes locked on your feet as you walk. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky nodded, “You two seemed close is all. I thought I knew all Steve’s...friends. But I guess you slipped his mind.” While it wasn’t clear what he was insinuating, you were sure it was meant to be insulting.

You decide to again, ignore it. Maybe he’s cranky because of the early morning, or maybe because he’s training someone he doesn’t know.

You decide to attempt to make small talk as a way to clear the air of any tension. “Thanks for doing this, Bucky. I haven’t been in the field since—“

“Sergeant Barnes.” He interrupts.

You look at him confused. “Sorry?”

He stopped in his tracks, “My name, to you, is Sergeant.”

The way he said ‘you’, made you eerily uncomfortable. You feel your stomach knot up instantly, “Right, sorry.” You say flatly. “Thanks all the same.”

He continued walking down the hill to a large field next to the training center, to your right you can see the sunrise over the lakes. A smiles lands on your lips as you take in the colors dancing over the calm waters.

Bucky’s watching you, taking in your every feature. He see the way your eyes dance watching the slowly rising sun. He sees the dimples next to your smile, and the way your lips curve at sight of something so peaceful.

But as soon as those thoughts enter his mind, he pushes them out.

“I’m doing it for Steve. For some reason, he’s made you his charity case of the month and now I got caught up in it somehow.” He spoke, refusing to look in your direction.

You turn away from the lake to face him, “Excuse me? Charity case?”

“You heard me.” Sergeant Barnes said flatly.

You scoff, “I’m not sure what you were told Sergeant, but I’m here as a favor to Steve. I’m not here to be insulted.”

Bucky turns to look at you. For the first time, you notice his eyes. They’re a beautiful cerulean blue and right now they are looking at you with absolute despise.

“Get this straight Cadet,” he said walking close to you. “We’re not going to be friends. This is my job, and training you is my current assignment. I’m going to that to the best of my ability and that’s it.”

You physically wince at his words. Your feelings were hurt instantly, and you didn’t know why. You’ve no reason to give two shits about what Sergeant Barnes thinks about you.

But you do. His disdain for you leaves you with a pit in your stomach.

Bucky knew it too, he knew his words cut you deep. Keeping you at arms length was going to be a necessity, though. He was going to try and tone it down, but as far as he was concerned—you just made his job a whole lot harder.

You watch Bucky with a blank stare, waiting too see if he’ll apologize or attempt to explain himself. Instead, he walks past you

“Warm up, start with laps. 15 around the field.” He ordered.

Your eyes widened. “Since when are 15 laps a warm up? This field is nearly half a mile around!”

“And?” He asked sarcastically.

You could tell he wasn’t going to budge, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you complain. “Fine.”

You sat down quickly stretching your legs out in front of you, bending from one side to the other.

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

You looked up at him to see him staring at you as you bend. “Stretching? If you’re going to make me run 15 laps at 6 am, then I think I shou—“

“You think you’re going to have time to stretch when you’re running though a mine field? Or when someone’s got a gun to your head?” He squats down so his eye level is with yours.

“Answer me, Cadet.” His face was inches from yours, his warm breath tickling your nose.

You swallowed hard. “N-no. I suppose I won’t.”

He backs away from you slowly standing once again, his tall frame looming over you. You hopped to your feet as quickly as you could, determined to prove something of yourself today.

“I want those laps and I want them now. Understood?” He questioned.

“Yes.” You couldn’t help the attitude in your tone.

“Yes what?” He asked, a glimmer of mischief in is eyes.

It took you a moment to realize what he was asking you. “Yes, Sir.” You reply quickly, turning on your heel and running to the edge of the field.

By the 10th lap, your lungs were on fire. By the 13th your legs were rubber. When you rounded the corner to start your 15th lap, you spotted him. He was watching you again, probably silently judging you.

“Asshole.” You whisper to yourself.

Your mind won’t shut up while you run. How could Steve think you and this guy would make a good team? You’re complete opposites, and his attitude fucking sucks.

Bucky walked over to you, meeting you once the last lap had completed. Immediately you fell to your knees in front of him, legs giving out on you completely.

“Let me guess, more stretching?” He teases, a half smile settling on his lips.

You cough a bit, your lungs desperate for all the oxygen they can take. “Oh look at that, he’s got a sense of humor.” You wheeze.

Bucky looked down at you, “Get up, Cadet.” He says.

You look up at him, “I’m sorry, my legs don’t feel like working right now. Please leave a message after the tone. Beeeeeeeep.” You jest.

For a second you think he’s going to laugh. The small crinkles by his eyes showing themselves, but as soon as they come they disappear.

“Laziness is something I won’t tolerate. Get up, that’s an order.” He scolds.

Pushing yourself off the ground with your palms you stand at attention. Not believing what he’s insinuating. “Lazy? Did you see what the hell you just made me do?” You ask, your voice shaking.

Bucky scoffs, “You think that was something to be proud of? It took you nearly an hour to do that.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Sergeant Barnes this is my first day back on active duty in a very long time,” you rest your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry my stamina isn’t to your satisfaction.”

Bucky watched your mouth move, taking in the way your lips formed around each syllable that left them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the way you defended yourself. It was honorable.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of spoiled life you came from, or if you’re just proud of being mediocre. But—“

He saw the look in your eyes change while he spoke, and he regretted every word.

“Stop apologizing.” Bucky says quietly. “Just do better.”

All you can do is nod as your heart sinks and the tears sting your eyes. You’re pissed off that you’re wasting tears on this asshole.

You stand and try to remind yourself that his opinion doesn’t matter to you, nor does it define you.

No matter how much you think it does.

Chapter Two: Distance