#far and away my favorite weapon when in close quarters!

[thelaurenshippen]

unrelated, but I am putting a request in now that joel gets a flamethrower at some point

[moodymisty]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 soon

Author's Note: Hi... I finally finish this part. The last two are actually fairly close to being done, I was just really held up on this one. It's not my favorite, but I just had to get it done.

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships: Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 1376

Ever since the moment you met him, Lev has been your shadow whenever Ralkan isn’t around. 

Every time, not long after you leave your quarters, he seems to find you.

Whereas the Salamanders have rigid training regimens they must abide by every single day- though day is a bit of a loose term in the depths of space - it seems the Night Lords are largely left up to their own devices as you travel to their destination.

You suppose it makes sense, daily training wouldn’t do much for them other than entertainment; These Night Lords are clearly the best of the their genestock, brought aboard to show the Salamanders who they were working with.

Ralkan had been extremely displeased with you when you’d called this all a pissing contest. The much younger Salamander in your company at the time had snickered at your joke before getting quickly reprimanded and sulked his way back to the firing range.

But as much as he denied your comment and attempted to dissuade any ill will between the two legions as merely the occasion disagreement, you've heard from around the ship that attempts to keep things amicable however have largely failed. You’ve heard rumors of the Night Lords getting into fights with Salamanders, barking and goading confrontation like rowdy, feral street dogs.

Ever since Lev had an altercation with a Salamander- you don't even know if he was the first one to do so- it seems to have only gotten worse. And you still have at least another two weeks in travel before you reach your destination, with everyone trapped in here like fish in a barrel.

At least the Salamanders have weapons, the baseline humans aboard the ship have been forced to shuffle around and avoid eyesight of any Night Lords, and pray they don't stick out of the crowd.

Your conversations with the others aboard the ship might be brief, but you know that some have gone missing. As if the implications let out by Lev's cohorts at the time of your first meeting hadn't already queued you in on it.

Sitting at your desk in the midst of some monotonous work you glance to your left, leaning over to open a drawer and reveal the contents.

The centerpiece of them all is a Night Lord combat knife. The metal shines, but far less that you would expect it to. It's like it eats the very light that touches it. You kept it hidden, Emperor forbid Ralkan found it, but...

You didn't want to throw it away either.

You could hear the sound of the pipes thrumming as you looked up at Lev, and he looks down on you. A serf passed by behind him at a quick pace; Even quicker when Lev turned just slightly at the neck to watch them and make sure they moved along.

He'd found a moment in-between moments- the few seconds where Ralkan wasn't watching - to find you. Perhaps that should unsettle you. But he's given you the first real conversations you've had in awhile besides Ralkan, and you couldn't help but pause.

Ralkan is a safe embrace, Lev is a precarious drop; But you keep looking over the edge.

"You look tired," He said, looking down at you with lazy eyes. He always looks somewhat sleepy and unimpressed himself.

"I was going back to my quarters to sleep, until you stopped me." He grew a smirk that showed sharp, near overgrown canine teeth.

"Maybe you should tell that Salamander of yours to back off then."

You crossed your arms across your chest like a self-assuring hug and focused on the bat wings stretched across the chestplate of his armor.

"Do you know he always has eyes on you? Even when he isn't around? Even his brothers are watching you."

You assumed he's been having trouble getting a moment where it's just you; Many have, not just him. Ralkan has watched you so intently since Lev started sinking his talons into you, and despite finding comfort in him keeping the Night Lord with unknown intentions at bay, you also find yourself tugging away for just an inch of space.

Unfortunately, that space leads right into Lev.

"...His name is Ralkan."

You swallow a knot in your throat. As much as you knew you could talk to Ralkan, push back against some things he said, you had no idea where Lev's limits are; What words might make him decide you're more fun as toy he can break than one he's gentle with.

"Here."

Lev reached to his belt and pulled a knife from it, tossing it in the air gently to grab it by the blade tip and push it out towards you. You didn't touch it, leaning away and staring at it like it's diseased. It might as well be; You don't know what unsaid intentions you'd be accepting if you took it from him.

"I saw your Salamander gave you something," You assumed he was talking about a small trinket Ralkan had made at the forge for you, one of a few. The necklace that dangles around you neck at all times now was also from him.

A practice with things more delicate, he had said.

"Here's something of my own. Don't lose it."

You hadn't lost it, but it had taken some hiding to keep it out of Ralkan's sight. You knew that if he saw it, the rough and disgusting gift- much unlike Ralkan's delicate one - would be gone in an instant.

Perhaps you shouldn't care, it's from an astartes you barely know, but something about it just makes you want to keep it.

Your entire vision as been Ralkan over these past few months. Especially these recent weeks since Lev arrived. The sight of something, someone else is almost enthralling- no matter how dangerous. You've caught yourself looking at the knife multiple times now, remembering the way Lev's armoured fingers wrapped around sharp edge of the blade as he gave it to you, even once having to slam the drawer shut quickly just before Ralkan entered your room to take you somewhere.

He hasn't caught wind of the knife itself yet, but you have a feeling he knows you're hiding something. He's given you openings to say, but you've declined them all. You assume he knows Lev is somehow finding you and is hoping you'll tell him how, what rat holes he's using to get to you, and it frustrates him that you won't.

He probably thinks the astartes is threatening you to not tell him. Rather than that you don't want to.

You close the drawer, hearing the contents jingle around while sighing.

You'd curse even coming aboard the Flamewrought, but you can't deny the advantages of being here. Your work, the people you've met, though most of those people are gone; Ralkan is almost all that remains. You speak to some of his men at times, but the interaction is always brief and controlled.

“Where’s your Salamander now, little one?” 

You suddenly burst up from your chair, it sliding with a hideous squeal as you hit it with the back of your knees and nearly stumble over. Lev meanwhile stands in the doorway, watching before stepping inward. You take a step backward as his right hand reaches out to slam the door controls and shut it behind him.

“He left you all alone in here?” 

You hold your hands close to your chest as if trying to protect yourself, watching him stare at you with black eyes.

“These are my quarters, he doesn’t stay here.”

Lev scoffs and rolls his eyes. He steps closer, ignoring the way you step back to try and maintain the distance. Seeing him in the halls is one thing; There's a chance a Salamander could see you in distress and help you, or you could scream and try to run, but here you're far out of the way of everyone else by design, and with nowhere to even try fleeing to.

"I'm sure he would choose otherwise, had he the chance. He keeps a very close eye on you, you know. He'd be quite disappointed you left the door unlocked." You do know, quite well in fact, and reiterate as such.

"I'm... Well aware of how through his guardianship is."

He must find either you or the situation funny, and laughs.

"What then, does his Salamander duty and rigor prevent him from going any further? Or do you have someone else already, and he's forced to keep his hands to himself?" He laughs again, but it comes out like an indignant snort.

"A pity, I'm sure it makes him furious having to spend so much time protecting a little thing like you and not even get to enjoy it."

It's cold in this room, always is- the entire ship is chilled, recirculated air - and it makes you able to feel the noticeable heat radiating from his body and his armor as he approaches you.

He smiles, leaning in closer. You know you're out of space when your shoulderblades finally knock against the wall.

Closer again. You can feel his breath on your face, how his long hair tickles your skin. Even closer and his stubble rubs against your skin, burning it.

His lips press against yours and you whimper into his mouth, a noise that makes him moan. Your fear spurs him on and he presses his lips to yours harder, feeling when your hands grab the seams of his armour and either try to helplessly push him away, or at least hold on until he's finished with you. The scar across his upper lip scrapes against yours much like his stubble does- everything about him is rough and jagged. Only when your whimpers get louder and start turning into muffled cries does he finally pull away, his teeth raking over your bottom lip before he pulls them away with a soft ‘pop’.

His smile his bright, like he just found a brand new toy.

“You are soft,” 

He says, twisting his brother’s words from weeks earlier. He has this look in his eyes, bright with curiosity, like he’s enthralled by something so simple. You can feel your heart slamming against your chest as you stand in his shadow, tears wanting to prick at the corners of your eyes. You know you have something he wants, but while he's being gentle, the vast unknown behind his eyes his terrifying. But is that unknown better that suffocating?

Lev seems to think it is, one his his gauntlets gripping your clothing as gentle as the armour allows him.

"I can take you, I'll get you away from him and I can keep you safe, all to mys-"

"Get away from her."

Lev pulls back, turning to see Ralkan standing in the opening doorway. His hand rests on the handle of his chainsword ready to pull the trigger and rev it to life, and the look he's giving the Night Lord is nothing short of hellfire.

"It is one thing to be on our ship, but I thought I was quite firm in my orders to keep your disgusting hands off of her, and keep your distance."

The smile Lev had quickly fades into an unimpressed and angry sort of look, wrinkling his nose. He doesn't move away from you, instead just turning.

"You don't get to order me around. I'm no brother of yours."

That struck a nerve of Ralkan's, you can instantly tell. His shoulders squared and his hand flexes around the handle of his chainsword, just tight enough that you hear the engine start to kick on and the chain's teeth rattle as it threatens to spin to life.

“I am from Nocturne. I am well versed in slaying dragons, a rat like you should be nothing at all.”

Lev rolls his eyes, unimpressed by Ralkan's formality. He finally turns from trapping you against the wall to give the Salamander his full attention, allowing you to scurry off to the side.

But while Lev seems casual his hand rests close to his own blade, and despite the smirk on his face and casual lean he is just as prepared to fight as Ralkan is.

“Even if you do kill me Salamander, it doesn’t change that you’re just hoarding her all to yourself.”

The two and their energies make this room feel microscopic in size, as Ralkan shifts and evens his footing. Lev straightens up slightly, putting his hands closer to the weapons hanging from his hip.

You stand back trapped in here with them, with no chance of racing by without either one grabbing you for themselves.

You can only step back, and hope that it doesn’t escalate any further than this.

[mistydeyes]

𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽!

i’m currently not active atm but feel free to pursue my previous works <3

here's a short lil explanation as to where i am lol

click me for asks + requests :)

requests: closed atm!

pairings status: closed atm!

rules for requests - i love when you send things 💌

note - message me or comment on any one of my works if you want to be added to a tag list :)

I usually post on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays

izzie's fic recommendations - updated daily!

some things about me :)

the basics: 22, she/her, from the us :)

i'm a third year pharmacy student! also minoring in justice, law, and society

along with writing, i also intern at a retail pharmacy during the summer and a psychiatric hospital during the school year

so naturally my pharmacist series is my absolute favorite to write and research!

𝓶𝔀𝓲𝓲 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 - the full masterlist

don't know where to start? here's a few readers' favorites :) ❤️ - izzie’s favorites

💌 if you want to peek at all of my writings

S E R I E S

"your prescription is ready for pick-up" - 141 x pharmacist!reader

all of my works and our pharmacist reader

a panacea❤️ - 141 meets the cure to all their ailments

sick day visit - you prided yourself on never getting sick but the day has finally come. as you’re resting in your quarters, a certain group pays you a visit :)

fake hypochondriac ghost x reader (sequel to “a panacea”) - ghost goes to extreme lengths to see his favorite pharmacist

pain-killer fueled thoughts price x reader (sequel to “a panacea”) - price landed himself in the medic tent and his pain killers are making him tell the pharmacist his feelings.

keep your weapons hot and bodies hotter (18+) - stripper!141 x fem!reader (codename: Phoenix)❤️

hunk-o-mania 141 edition - feast your eyes on Delilah's Den's newest male dancers

playboy bunny phoenix edition - an unforeseen guest complicates the mission, now you have to get ready to act as the distraction on stage

the joys of civilian life - 141 x civilian!fem!reader

opposite occupations - while on leave, the boys each meet a civilian that makes their time deployed and defending their country worth it

family moments - 141 x fem!reader

little moments and little voices - precious moments you spend in your home with your husband and children :)

oh, darling, don’t you ever grow up - your husband leaves this world too early and now you have to pick up the pieces with your children

secrets and pointed fingers (requested!)❤️ - simon "ghost" riley

behind locked doors - when the 141 thinks you're the mole, they make sure to extract the information in whatever way possible

empty apologies and avoiding glances - when you return back to base, everything is far from normal

half empty glasses and unchanging perspectives - you try to run away from the trauma at the pub but with a glass in hand, simon finds you

O N E - S H O T S

odd hobbies - 141 x reader everyone has their own hobbies, yours are just unique to 141’s perspective

butterfly effect - 141 x fem!reader they say "a butterfly flaps its wings in the amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of europe." what once was a silly quote now has implications as one action leads to your death.

opposite of a meet cute❤️ - 141 x civilian!reader most people have a cute story as to how they met their significant other but yours is a little more eccentric

V I S U A L S + R A N D O M

random things in pockets and bags❤️ SERIES - what does the 141 carry on them when they’re on leave?

pt i- kyle “gaz” garrick

pt ii - simon "ghost" riley

pt iii - johnny "soap" mactavish

pt iv - john price

E X P L A I N S my series of explaining the various timeline's of the games and characters

simon "ghost" riley's backstory

which modern warfare game should i play first?

some writings from the inbox

medication mixup - the medic unknowingly prescribing you a penicillin has disastrous results due to your allergy

141’s dossier - see what the dossiers laswell gets at the end of mw 2019 looks like! + template

ghost’s doppelgänger - how does the 141 and los vaqueros react to you joining the team? their reactions are even better when you share an uncanny resemblance with ghost

running mascara - 141 x fem!reader harsh words are said and you try your best to run away from the cause. however, everyone needs to face the issue eventually and now the 141 is left to pick up the pieces. initially part of my 1k celebration but i added a sequel as it was highly requested! PART I and PART II

mw2 x reader - my ongoing series of pairing y'all up and writing a short lil blurb about how you met and your relationship

izzie’s 1K celebration! - closed now :) but feel free to look and see some of the prompts + how i answered them

𝓪𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓼

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Calling Out For Her

Cassandra Dimitrescu x She/Her Reader

A/N: Cassandra is my favorite I just love that girl. I thought it was real neat that Lady D could just call out for her and she’d appear so that inspired this. Some typical resident evil violence and language in here and Cassandra isn’t exactly nice at first, but she figures out how to be personable...kinda. Thanks for reading! Word Count: 6,158

(Y/n) was exceptionally careful. If tasked to understand what had allowed her to survive in the castle for so long, she would say it was because she was so careful, meticulous, with her work. All she had to do was follow a certain set of rules.

A polite tone brimming with reverence, ‘Yes Lady Dimitrescu’ or, ‘yes ladies Bela, Cassandra and Daniela’. Never a no, even if warranted, unless you want your eyes level with your toes and cool air meeting your stump of a neck. Always serve with a curtsy, never meet their eyes, never ask questions, keep your head down and clean, clean, clean like your life depends on it because like with everything else, it does.

The bottom line was that (Y/n) knew how to survive in the castle of Dimitrescu. It took tact, forward thinking, and a bit of luck. But today, after a very respectable nine months of service, (Y/n)’s luck had apparently run out. She had royally fucked up.

“Oh, fuck me—!“ (Y/n) hissed, followed by a sharp gasp as her grip slipped because of the dip of the chandelier.

She had no one to blame but herself. She had been assigned to clean the banisters and chandeliers of the foyer and had leaned out just a little too far with her duster. Thus, her scramble for purchase on the confounding light fixture to save her from cracking her skull on the marble floor below.

“H...help!” (Y/n) called, barely above her usual speaking tone. She dared not speak louder for fear of alerting any of the bloodthirsty daughters of her predicament. She could only hope one of her fellow maids was working nearby.

“No, nonono—“ the words left (Y/n)’s  mouth faster than her lips could move. One of the metal weldings that held up the chandelier was creaking and becoming dangerously loose as time ticked by.

“Help!” (Y/n) called a little louder, the desperation bleeding into her tone as her fingers dug painfully into the decorative, jewel encrusted rim of the chandelier.

Yet still not a sound besides the creak of old metal giving way. Nine months of service to the Lady of the Castle and this was never how (Y/n) imagined she’d go. It wasn’t uncommon for some maids to take their life by their own hand, but (Y/n) wanted to keep fighting—!

“Ah!” (Y/n) cried sharply. The chandelier’s tether frayed a bit further, causing it to drop a few inches. She was fully panicking now, arms aching and chest heaving as she dangled. She made the mistake of looking at the cold, hard floor below and that only made her heart beat faster. She didn’t want to go out like this!

The chandelier fell another inch, stinging (Y/n)’s fingers. She was gripping so hard she was sure her fingers must have been bleeding. She needed someone, anyone to come and somehow in her panicked state, she thought of her Lady. If her Lady needed something done and done fast, all she had to do was call out her name and she would be there in an instant. Somehow in (Y/n)’s desperate mind, she thought that calling upon the most ruthless of the Dimitrescu Family was her best course of action.

“Cassandra!” (Y/n) yelled, closing her eyes tightly and fighting to maintain her precarious grip.

For a few seconds, there was just the creaking the chandelier and (Y/n) didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated by the silence. Before she could resign herself to her fate, a faint buzzing could be heard below, growing in intensity until (Y/n) could see the swarm of blowflies collecting below her until they completely formed the middle Dimitrescu daughter. She looked up at (Y/n) with a sneer on her blood stained lips.

“Well, well, well. I must say that this is a first for me.” Cassandra hummed, a fist over her hip as she craned her head up, twisting this way and that to really get a good look. Yes, a maid hanging from a chandelier must have been a novelty to the monstrous woman indeed.

“Just how did you get into this predicament little mouse? Perhaps you are more of a monkey, hmm?” Cassandra giggled sadistically before idly licking the blood from her lips, smearing it around more than anything.

“I leaned too far over the banister while I was dusting.” (Y/n) explained through clenched teeth, trying to maintain her aching grip.

“Mmm, how clumsy of you.” Cassandra laughed again, moving her arms to rest across her chest, she propped her chin up in her gloved hand as she regarded (Y/n) with glee. “You know, I was going to skin you alive. You had called me away from cellar time after all, new arrivals are always the most fun to break. Not to mention that you, some lowly maid, think that I, a noblewoman of the House, am at your beck and call. Yes, I was going to kill you myself but now I’m curious,” Cassandra’s smirk widened to a full blown maniacal grin, “what will give out first? Your arms, or the chandelier?”

“Lady Cassandra, please!” (Y/n) wasn’t sure where she thought pleading would get her, but people will do all kinds of things they wouldn’t normally do under duress. Including begging a known sadistic killer to save them from certain death.

“Oh, she remembers her manners!” Cassandra mocked, “Do me a favor and just fall already. I fear I might be developing a crick in my neck.”

(Y/n) could feel the heat of incoming tears sting her eyes as she dangled several feet above her one woman audience. Well, no one could say she didn’t try. She started mumbling a little prayer for herself that turned into a yelp as the chandelier fell another half a foot, a much larger drop than the occasional two to three inches. The sudden gravity shift yanked (Y/n)’s hands clean off the chandelier, slicing her skin terribly as she tried to grab back on. She missed, she was falling.

(Y/n) couldn’t even scream, she just closed her eyes as tightly as she could and waited to meet the ground... speaking of which, shouldn’t she have hit it already?

(Y/n) peeled open an eye and slowly allowed herself to finally take in the buzzing that was surrounding her. Blowflies. She peered down past the swarm to see Cassandra, half formed with her arms outstretched, ready to receive her. (Y/n) could only stare, mouth slightly agape, as she was settled in Cassandra’s arms, watching the blowflies that had carried her mesh back into Cassandra’s legs.

“Why so surprised?” Cassandra asked with a mock sweetness that made (Y/n) shiver, “I simply couldn’t let you die just yet. No, I think I’d like to play with you just a little while longer.”

Cassandra happened to glance at the bloody hands clutched tightly to the maid’s chest and hummed. Adjusting her strong hold on the paralyzed maiden, she clutched the outermost wrist tightly and pulled it to her bloodied lips for a sample.

“Mm,” Cassandra appraised, passing her tongue over the cuts again, “yes, I think I’ll enjoy taking my time with you.” She cackled before unceremoniously dropping (Y/n) to the floor at a much safer, but still painful height.

“Go patch yourself up, my prey. You’re dismissed.” She said and then, she dispersed into a swarm of blowflies and was gone, her laughter bouncing off of the high ceilings.

(Y/n) sat on the floor dumbstruck, before finally getting up on shaky legs. She made her way to the maid’s quarters and upon seeing that it was empty, she allowed herself to cry as she cleaned and dressed her fingers. Lady Cassandra had saved her, saved her for a worse fate by her own hand no doubt. All she could do was wait.

***

Cassandra was a menace.

After the chandelier incident, (Y/n) found herself assigned to areas of the castle that Cassandra was known to frequent. There was never a minute’s rest when the middle child was free from her mother and sisters and even if Cassandra was occupied, (Y/n) often found herself nipped by the occasional stray blowfly as she did her work. There was no question in her mind where they had come from.

Yes, having caught Lady Cassandra’s eye had created a lot of extra work for the poor girl with extra antagonism. She’d poke and prod and pull, jostling (Y/n) around while she tried to stay on task. She would drag bloodied bodies through the carpeted halls (Y/n) had just cleaned and laugh as the poor maid went to restock her cleaning supplies. Cassandra would even demand (Y/n) drop everything to run her baths when she had grow tired of running around with blood smeared all over her like a toddler left alone with finger paints. She’d smugly present her bloodied face to (Y/n), silently demanding she wipe it clean for her and when she was satisfied, she would lean back in her tub and order (Y/n) to clean the bloodied weapons she’d drop dangerously close to her feet.  

Cassandra was insufferable, yet, (Y/n) couldn’t help but think positively because it could have easily been much worse. For as taxing as dealing with Cassandra could be, she had never hurt her, not really anyway. Not like the poor maid who went to clean the armory and left with one less arm than she went in with. The occasional bite of a blowfly stung and the shoves and pinches could be bruising, but at least she still had all her limbs, no broken bones or sickle scars puckering her skin.

(Y/n) sighed to herself as she polished the same battle axe for the third time that week. She was the only maid allowed to clean the armory anymore after Bianca lost her arm. Lady Cassandra had said that only (Y/n) knew how to clean her toys with proper care and could make them twice as shiny and sharp. A few of the other maids would darkly joke with (Y/n) in the serving quarters about the middle Dimitrescu having a crush on her, but (Y/n) would simply dismiss their gossip and continue her work without complaint. Such rumors could be dangerous after all.

As (Y/n) heaved the axe back into its place on the wall, she heard the thrum of quick light feet running across the carpeted hall just outside. She frowned to herself, but kept working. Assuming it was just just another poor girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. However the door the the armory clicked open, and the slightly out of breath maid (Y/n) recognized as Moiara peaked in, flushed from all her running no doubt.

“Lady Dimitrescu is ordering all of the maids back to their quarters immediately.” The girl urgently informed.

“Whatever for?” (Y/n) asked, brows furrowed in concern. It was a most unusual order.

“Apparently a pack of Moroaica have escaped the cellar and are currently roaming the castle. The Lady’s daughters are hunting them down, but it could take some time to clear everything up. Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t wish to lose more workers than she can replace.” Moiara explained, albeit the last line came out a touch bitterly.

“I understand, I’ll make my way now. Be safe.”

“Thank you.” Moiara nodded before darting off again.

(Y/n) cautiously made her way to the door and peered down both ends of the hallway. Noting that it was clear, she left the doorway and shut the armory door before quickly walking in the direction of the maid’s quarters. It was quite a walk and (Y/n)’s heart went out to Moiara and the rest of the girls who were still scattered further within the castle’s walls.

The halls were eerily quiet and empty, not unusual, but with the added threat lurking, well, it made it a tad more unsettling. It was laughable really, for (Y/n) to be afraid now. The threat of death loomed over her head constantly and only now she was concerned?

(Y/n) chuckled despite herself as she rounded another bend, hardly checking her surroundings as she crossed the third hallway and then the fourth.

“Oh!” (Y/n) tripped on a raised wrinkle in the rug, her hand automatically grasped the curtain beside her to steady herself. She was lucky it didn’t rip or surely the Lady of the House would have her head, never mind the Moroaica.

As she made to steady herself on her own two feet again, the curtain she had grasped twisted harshly and was ripped from her surprised and slackened grip. (Y/n) felt her blood run cold and her feet turn to lead as the ‘curtain’ reached out for her, revealing rotten, gnarled fingers that snapped (Y/n)’s bicep in a firm squeeze. As it completed its turn, (Y/n) saw scraggly, yellowed teeth lunge for her neck.

She attempted to keep the stray Moroaica at bay. The whole interaction, frightening and life threatening as it was, was a near silent struggle. It was as if (Y/n) had lost her voice completely. All that came from her were stuttering gasps as the creature snarled and snapped at her.

It wrestled her to the floor and clawed at her clothes and skin, drawing the blood that it seemed to desperately crave. (Y/n) struggled and kicked at the creature but it was unrelenting and finally something happened that helped (Y/n) find her voice, she screamed.

The Moroaica clawed at her ribs, tearing fabric, skin and muscle alike. (Y/n)’s fighting grew weaker the more the monster dug at her and her mouth was still parted from her pained screams but they were now near silent croaks as the pain and blood loss threatened her consciousness. Seemingly noticing her weakened state, the Moroaica neared its yellowing teeth to her exposed flesh and—

“Oo, look Bela! I found another one~!”

(Y/n) reflexively closed her eyes and felt something hot and wet splatter across her face. She heard a squelching noise and felt dead weight fall against her body as Daniela’s giggles filled the hall.

“You shouldn’t be having so much fun.” Bela grumbled at her sister. “I knew mother should have sent you to your room. It would have been a more fitting punishment.”

“Okay, so maybe I forgot to lock the cellar, but you can’t say you aren’t having a good time as well.” Daniela said, grinning when Bela rolled her eyes, a small shadow of a smile forming on the eldest sister’s lips.

“Aw, look,” Daniela grunted, kicking at the dead Moroaica until its corpse rolled off of (Y/n), “well, let’s not let her go to waste. Her blood still smells good.”

“Wait, Daniela,” Bela said, holding her younger sister’s shoulder as she peered down at the bloodied maid her breaths coming raggedly as she fought to open her eyes. Bela sniffed and winced, shooting her sister a look.

“Daniela, take a closer look.”

“Ugh, fine,” the youngest groaned and leaned forward, “I don’t see why...” Daniela paused, her back went rigid. She just stared at (Y/n) for a few moments before finally turning to her sister, lips pursed.

“Cass is literally going to kill me.”

“You think?” Bela said, almost with complete disinterest.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Help me! If she dies, I die!” Daniela hissed, couching beside (Y/n) to assess the damage.

“I don’t know, I think I would kind of like to see Cassandra hunt you for sport.” Bela smirked.

“Bela!”

“Alright, alright.” Bela sighed, couching at (Y/n)’s other side.

The last thing the maid could make out before succumbing to unconsciousness was a dull, muffled buzzing and a feeling of weightlessness.

***

When (Y/n) awoke, she immediately noted that her throat was drier than a desert wind; her stomach and ribs also burned and itched like nothing she had ever experienced. She gingerly touched her stomach and found it covered in bandages. Her head ached so she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a few moments.

With great effort she hoisted herself into a sitting position and had to do a double take of her surroundings. This was not the maid’s quarters and given the amount of time she had been spending in here lately, she was quick to realize she was in Lady Cassandra’s room, in her bed. Before (Y/n) could really let it all sink in, the door was yanked open.

Cassandra stalked in, shutting the door tightly behind her before standing over (Y/n) with a fire blazing in her golden eyes. A blowfly (Y/n) had initially failed to notice crawled down the bedpost before meshing back into Cassandra’s body. Apparently she had been being watched.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Cassandra gritted out, gripping the bedpost so hard (Y/n) was afraid it would splinter.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) questioned, still feeling numb and achy and not at all ready for such aggressive energy.

“Glad to know you still remember.”Cassandra said mockingly before her voice became low and serious again, “You were in trouble, why didn’t you call for me?”

“I don’t...” (Y/n) winced and held her head, it felt like she was on a boat in rocky waters.

Cassandra took notice and with surprising gentleness, lowered (Y/n) to rest fully against the bed once more. She even offered (Y/n) water and helped her drink. Then she checked her temperature, the cool touch of her skin felt wonderful against (Y/n)’s aching head.

“What happened?” (Y/n) murmured, whining when Cassandra went to remove her hand. A bit hesitantly, she put it back. A small, prideful smile curved at her lips when (Y/n) relaxed against her touch.

“Don’t you remember?” Cassandra scoffed, “I swear, you humans are so unbelievably fragile. You were attacked by a Moroaica that strayed from its pack. Bela and the idiot who caused the whole mess found you. I did some sucking up to mother and we fixed you up with a little herbal remedy,” Cassandra frowned her voice becoming a tad accusatory, “Yet you still slept for a long time.”

“I’m sorry to have been an inconvenience Lady Cassandra.” (Y/n) spoke up after trying to absorb all that Cassandra had told her. Surely it would have taken more than a, ‘little herbal remedy’ to fix what had happened to her.

(Y/n) scrunched her eyes shut when Cassandra suddenly growled and pinched the maid’s nose.

“I’m glad you realize it. Do you know how infuriating it is to watch another maid handle my weaponry all wrong? To not make my room the way that I like it? Ugh, I’d have killed them all if mother let me.” She let go of (Y/n)’s nose, swiping the side of her index finger playfully over the bridge a couple times before re-settling her hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“That’s why, when you’re all better, you are going to have to train one of those imbeciles how to do it right.”

“I can do it myself, Lady Cassandra. I can get back to work tomorrow I’m sure of it.” (Y/n) nearly pleaded. She was sure any girl she trained would end up killed anyway. There were too many little things that could set Cassandra off to count.

“There is no more cleaning for you. You’re retired.”

“Retired?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but gawk up at Cassandra. The notion was wholly unbelievable. No one retired from serving the Dimitrescus’ unless you counted dying as a form of retirement.

“Yes.” Cassandra said with near vicious finality.

“Lady Cassandra, my parents count on the lei I send them from my job here, please reconsider. There is no work for me back at the village and I’d just be another mouth my family cannot afford to feed.” (Y/n) beseeched, her body quaked with fever.

“Calm yourself.” Cassandra spoke as if attempting to be soft, but was still very on edge. “Your family will still receive money. You aren’t going back to the village.”

“I’m not?” (Y/n)’s brows drew together with further confusion, “but, then what will be my purpose if I’m not to work?”

“Does it really matter?” Cassandra flustered, a buzzing sound filled the space between them, “Your family is getting money and you don’t have to do anything for it, be grateful!” Cassandra pinched (Y/n)’s cheek a bit harshly before standing and stalking away. The buzzing following her as she tore the door open once more.

“I’ll be back with lunch.” The Dimitrescu grumbled before closing the door behind her once more.

“What is going on?” (Y/n) whispered to herself in disbelief before resting her head fully back against the pillow. She caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head just in time to watch a blowfly crawl back into the dark canopy of the bed.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Suddenly, she had all this free time on her hands and would for a long time apparently. It was nice when she was still recovering, but now that she had healed, she felt antsy.

Cassandra had handpicked a trembling maid for (Y/n) to train, but even those sessions did not last long as the poor girl, Anca was her name, was still expected to complete other chores. Something that did help to pass the time however was Cassandra herself, strangely enough. She was always the one to bring (Y/n) meals unless she was busy with some task her mother had given her, also giving (Y/n) little gifts and talking to her throughout each day. Sometimes the ‘gifts’ were gruesome and the talks seemed more like interrogations, but the effort in which Cassandra put into every interaction left (Y/n) intrigued with, and appreciative of the middle child.

Now wasn’t one of those times unfortunately, and (Y/n) found herself pacing the floor of her room, yes, one of her very own. Given to her by Cassandra right across the hall from her own. Now that she was well enough to do more on her own, she had been moved there about three weeks ago to have her own space. Another thing that was unheard of coming from the middle Dimitrescu. (Y/n) paused by the window to look out upon the snowy ground below.

“Miss (Y/n)?” A knock on the door, “May I speak with you?”

“Anca,” (Y/n) paused her paces, that was strange. There had been no plans for a lesson tonight. Nevertheless, (Y/n) was happy for the company. Ever since Cassandra had removed her from service, the other maids had avoided (Y/n) like a plague “please come in.”

The nervous little maid came in, closing the door tightly behind her, shoulders stiff as she slowly approached and took a seat in the chair (Y/n) offered to her.

“Are you alright? You’re shaking.” (Y/n) frowned, reaching out to comfort her only to watch Anca shrink away from her hand.

“Lady Cassandra,” she spoke, looking wildly around the room, “she will kill me I’m sure of it. What game are you playing?”

“Game? I’m playing no game.” (Y/n) tried to assure. “Has she said anything to you? I promise I’m covering every base I can—”

“You aren’t doing enough!” She screeched, startling the other. “I’ve seen the way she treats you. The privileges you’ve gained. This is all a set up! You were in my shoes not long ago, have you really lost your humanity so quickly?”

“Anca, please, calm yourself. I’m not working against you, I swear.” (Y/n) tried to explain. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help you. How can I help you?”

“How?” Anca mumbled, rubbing at her dark rimmed eyes. “It’s all because of you that I’m in this mess to begin with!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Anca.”

“No, I really don’t think you are.” Anca sniffed, rising from her chair. “But maybe there is something you can do to help me. I’m already dead, but I want to hurt Lady Cassandra before I go and I think I can do just that,” she pulled a knife from her apron, “if I take you down with me!”

“Anca!” (Y/n) screamed, stumbling away just before the knife could strike her.

“Just hold still! I’ll do it fast, please!” Anca cried as she swiped at her again. “Let me just have this one thing! This one last fuck you to this hell hole!”

“Stop! You’re making a mistake!” (Y/n) tried again, wrestling with Anca for the knife.

The scuffle went on for minutes before (Y/n) was thrown to the back wall, the knife missed her head just barely and sunk into the wood behind her. As Anca struggled to hold her in place and wedge the knife free, (Y/n) called out for her without even realizing it until the blood drained from Anca’s face.

“Cassandra!”

“No, shut up! Shut up you bitch!” Anca squealed, rocking the knife more vigorously.

“Cass—“ (Y/n) tried to call out again, this time fully aware of what she was doing, only to be head-butted by Anca in a desperate attempt to quiet her while she continued to work at the knife.

It was too late for that however, as proven by angry buzzing sounds roaring through the hallway and sliding under the door before forming right at Anca’s back, a cold hand joined Anca’s over the knife and grasped her so hard, (Y/n) could hear the maid’s fingers crack.

“You want this knife, do you?” Cassandra sneered, “Please, allow me.”

Cassandra tugged the knife from the wall like it had been warm butter, Anca’s hand still clenched in her own. She used her other arm to pull Anca off of (Y/n) with a rough tug and hardly took more than a few steps away before plunging the knife deep into the girl’s chest.

“There you go. You’re welcome you miserable little wretch.” Cassandra raked the knife downward, slicing Anca’s flesh all the way down to the hip as the poor girl screamed. “That will teach you to touch what doesn’t belong to you!”

(Y/n) could only watch, wide-eyed and trembling as Cassandra dissolved into her swarm, allowing Anca to fall to the floor before hundreds of little mouths began working at her flesh until the screaming ceased and all that was discernible was a frozen expression of agony on Anca’s face.

The blowflies came back together after a few more moments of feeding and Cassandra reformed, crouched beside (Y/n). (Y/n) didn’t even realize she had sunk to the floor during the gruesome attack.

Cassandra raised a blood covered hand to (Y/n)’s cheek, turning the face in her grasp, she assessed the damage, buzzing all the while. Somehow the sound felt, calming, reassuring. (Y/n) didn’t even flinch away from her touches and instead found herself leaning into them.

“Just look at what that thing did to you,” Cassandra hissed as she watched the blood leak from (Y/n)’s nose, “I should have killed her even slower.”

(Y/n) sniffled, leaning her head on Cassandra’s shoulder, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll always come to you if you call for me,” Cassandra sighed and pulled (Y/n) into her lap. She smelled almost overwhelmingly of blood, but (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to care. “No one has ever called for me like you have before. No one that wasn’t my mother or sisters anyway,” Cassandra bit her lip, “I... at first, I was enraged that you called for me that first time, but the more I thought about it... Ugh! You made me feel all gross and buzzy inside. I’m just so used to humans fearing me, associating me with death. Never have I been called by one expecting to be saved from it.”

“Is that why you helped me after that Moroaica had attacked me?” (Y/n) asked, her voice still muffled by Cassandra’s shoulder. She didn’t really want to catch sight of Anca’s remains again while in the arms of her killer.

“Yes. I’m still mad at you for that.” Cassandra growled, “Why didn’t you call for me that time? I thought we had an understanding.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) chuckled despite everything, “But I think understandings are usually met through open communication. I’m sorry I didn’t interpret your bug bites and general antagonisms as anything but blatant harassment.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra snarled, reminding (Y/n) just how frightening she could be.

“I, I’m sorry Lady Cassandra. I forget myself.” (Y/n) stammered before gasping as Cassandra effortlessly rose to her feet with (Y/n) still in her arms.

“You must be awfully tired to be so mouthy. I can’t imagine you’ll want to sleep with a corpse on your rug so you’ll just have to sleep in my room until the maids clean this mess up. I suppose I’ll need to fix your nose too. So fragile, my prey is.” Cassandra sighed, clearly feeling inconvenienced by the whole situation. Though she carefully maneuvered out of the doorway so (Y/n) wouldn’t bump against it as they made the short trip across the hall to her room.

“You treat me quite well for being prey.” (Y/n) tested with caution. “You protect me, but why? Is it all so you can end me yourself at your own leisure?”

“Oh wow Cass, you really know how to make a maiden feel special.”

“I knew she was full of it, Bela! I bet they haven’t so much as kissed yet!”

(Y/n) felt Cassandra’s grip on her tighten as the mocking voices of her sisters closed in on them before Cassandra could slink into her room.

“Shut the hell up and mind your own business!” Cassandra fumed, crossing the threshold into her room before kicking the door shut, making a thunderous slam reverberate off of the castle walls.

Bela and Daniela merely giggled, seeping through the cracks of the doors before reforming over their sister’s bed, nearly falling on top of each other as Cassandra sped past them to take (Y/n) into her en-suite bathroom.

She placed (Y/n) on top on the counter and tweaked her nose without warning, making (Y/n) yelp in pain.

“Quiet prey, I needed to set your nose back into place is all,” Cassandra wrinkled her nose as more blood oozed from the abused cartilage, “damn, why must you smell so enticing.”

(Y/n) couldn’t find any words, both because her nose stung like hell and she was still stuck on what Daniela and Bela were taunting Cassandra about, so she just managed a small shrug.

Cassandra hardly seemed to mind her lack of verbal response. She was too busy grinding her teeth as her sisters continued to whisper and laugh in the bedroom. Cassandra quickly wiped and stuffed (Y/n)’s nose, nearly hissing at her to remain still before going back to deal with her unruly siblings, licking the stray blood from her fingers as she went.

(Y/n) tried to give her some privacy, she really did, but it was hard not to listen in when they were speaking so loudly, and about herself no less.

“You two get out of my room, now!” Cassandra commanded.

“Why? It’s not like anything unseemly is going to be happening in here. Right, Daniela?” Bela giggled while Daniela downright cackled with glee.

“Get. Out. Now!” Cassandra bellowed.

“Oh no Cassie,” Daniela waggled a finger, snatching it back before Cassandra could bite it, “you spend weeks pretending to have gone all the way with dear (Y/n) over there like some casanova and now we find out she doesn’t even know you like her?”

“What’s the matter Cassandra? It isn’t like you to be so chaste.” Bela said with a smirk.

“She must really like this one to be taking her time like this.” Daniela hypothesized with a bloodstained grin.

“Leave you idiots!” Cassandra nearly screamed, “She can probably hear everything you’re spewing! I’ll throw you out in the cold, don’t think I won’t!”

“Geez Cass, no need to be so hostile,” Bela shivered at the thought.

“Yeah, you take your well deserved teasings or we’ll tell mother you are not playing fair.” Daniela added with a pout.

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose shutting her eyes tightly before releasing her nose with a growl and snapping her gaze back to her sisters.

“What do you want?” She grumbled.

“Oo! I want the best bits of your next hunt!” Daniela immediately proclaimed.

“I want to watch you flounder about whilst you try to explain your affections to the maiden.” Bela had said after a moment of consideration.

“Oh! That sounds fun. I retract my previous statement. I want what Bela’s having.” Daniela wiggled.

“I hate you both.” Cassandra huffed before stalking back to the bathroom, her giggling sister’s on her heels. (Y/n) quickly shot her gaze down at her swinging feet, suddenly more interested in the patterns of the floor below.

It didn’t take long for Cassandra to grab (Y/n)’s jaw and pull her face upward to meet her golden eyes.

“Listen prey,” Cassandra swallowed and blinked, her eyes darting all around (Y/n)’s face, “I...”

“Come on, Cassandra. It’s not that difficult.” Bela cooed, egging her sister on.

“I could tell her for you. That would be fun.” Daniela suggested, shrinking back just a bit at the look Cassandra shot her over her shoulder.

“Prey, (Y/n), I... Why is this so hard!” She stomped her foot and her nails bit into (Y/n)’s skin a bit too harshly, “I like you a lot and that’s why I’ve been helping you. I want you to like me too. Do you? Be honest.” She asked with a bit of hostility.

Did (Y/n) like Cassandra? Either way, it seemed like a death sentence to say no. Cassandra seemed to notice (Y/n)’s trepidation and quickly added,

“You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you, just tell me the truth. If the answer is not to my liking then I guess I’ll simply have to try harder.” She said as if the words physically hurt her to say.

(Y/n) thought back on all of her interactions with Cassandra in a new light. Actually being caught as she fell, the schoolyard boy with a crush behavior (which honestly didn’t give the her any points but did make sense for how the murderous woman might try to show affection), most promising was how she brought (Y/n) back to health and continued to send money to her struggling family despite not working. Then of course she had saved her from Anca’s knife, wasting no time in cutting her down and checking (Y/n) over with care.

(Y/n) gave Cassandra a small smile that steadily grew a bit wider as golden eyes traced the movement and a hopeful sounding buzz began warbling in the back of her throat. Even the sisters standing behind her buzzed in unison, seemingly feeling their sister’s hope and growing excitement.

“Lady Cassandra, I like you too—Eep!”

Cassandra’s face dove into (Y/n)’s neck as her strong arms wrapped around (Y/n) to hold her still as she nuzzled and buzzed to her heart’s content. Bela and Daniela dissolved into their swarms and were haphazardly flying around them in celebration.

Cassandra gave (Y/n)’s neck a playful nip, much softer than a blowfly, before standing back to her full height and throwing (Y/n) over her shoulder.

“Lady Cassandra?” (Y/n) tried, wiggling a bit in the sudden new hold.

“Shhh, I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks.” Cassandra said, craning her neck to look up at her sisters still buzzing above them, “Buzz off.” She told them. The clouds of flies let out a bout of disembodied laughter before slipping back under the door, feeling that they had given their sister enough grief for one night.

Once Cassandra was sure they were gone, she tossed (Y/n) on to the bed and climbed in as well, hovering over the stuttering maiden.

“Wuh- wait, Cassandra, I know we established we like each other but—“ the former maid flustered as Cassandra rested her full weight over (Y/n)’s body and moaned pleasantly in her ear.

“Mm, you’re so warm. I could just lay here forever.” She sighed, snaking her hands underneath (Y/n)’s back.

“Thank... you?” (Y/n) awkwardly replied. For as tall and strong as Cassandra was, she was surprisingly light. (Y/n) figured the fact that she was made up of flies had something to do with that.

Cassandra hummed some more, nuzzling her nose in the crook of (Y/n)’s neck and breathing so deeply that (Y/n) couldn’t help but giggle. There was a bit of concern bleeding in the back of her mind, but the smiling lips on her collarbone were quick to distract her.

“I quite like it when you make that sound, it’s sweet. But right now I’m quite tired, and I would like for you to be quiet now. I’m listening to your blood move.”

Well, that was a slightly terrifying admission. (Y/n) must’ve been going mad because she reacted no differently than if she had said she was listening to her heartbeat.

“Goodnight then.” (Y/n) murmured, slowly patting Cassandra’s hair, earning a low continuous buzzing that persisted until they had fallen asleep together.

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter Two: The Moonlight Phenomenon

Genshin Impact x F! Reader

Warnings: major Genshin Impact Spoilers! Possible grammar errors.

Tag list: To Be Added. (sorry it needed to be published!)

With the return of a mysterious archon, celebrations began! The night was filled with laughter, food, and memories being made. One person was amiss during the celebration, Mona still found herself unsettled and unable to be as excited as the others. An eerie feeling of unrest and anxiety has settled over our esteemed astrologist as our beloved heroes celebrate.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I’ve finally found you,” Mona’s intense astrology session was interrupted by a cheery high pitched voice.

“Hello, Seraphim.” Mona turned to greet the beautiful woman.

She nearly gasped as the woman walked in, her hair now styled and her eyes shining brighter than before, the mysterious tattoos seemed to have faded and though she was still striking she looked far more human than before. The Celestial Archon merely smiled at the woman’s surprise and stepped towards her, hand out.

“We should talk, my child. Fate had brought us together, an astrologist with a water vision instead of a celestial vision is strange enough.” The woman was calm but not cold as Mona took her hand.

Mona was warm as the gentle archon interlocked their fingers and led her to the corner of the room, sinking down into a comfy chair and pointing at the one next to her. Disappointment creeped up in the astrologist as her idol released her hand. It was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a soft flush across her cheeks. Mona was wholeheartedly captured by the mystery goddess.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” The bright eyes goddess sighed, “That my arrival in Teyvat has stirred up some trouble.”

Mona frowned slightly, “There was already trouble, your sudden appearance is not the cause of it.”

“That’s good, but I still feel that my presence is going to stir the pot a bit. I am connected to all the stars and spaces of this world, I can feel and see things so deeply and I am well aware that there are challenges coming. It’s annoying in some ways.” Her eyes were distant again.

Words were lost on Mona for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it was to feel so deeply, to constantly be overwhelmed by information and one’s connection to the world. Every piece of text written about the Celestial Archon was very vague. Information on the god of stars was hard to find and many details had been lost, yet one thing seemed to stay the same in ever piece of information Mona had consumed.

Even when the world was teeming with elemental energy and gods were far more common, the goddess of the sky, Seraphim, was an oddity. Before the Archon war, Seraphim was a lone wolf being without many ties. The last god of stars kept to herself and had no desire to interfere with the other’s problems, despite knowing so much of them. It was incredibly lonely and sad.

“You said it’s strange that I have a water vision,” Mona finally spoke.

“Yes,” The archon clicked her tongue, “Had I been around, somebody like you would’ve received a vision from me. However, you did not receive one of my visions and ultimately that should’ve impacted your abilities over astrology but it did not. You are quite the gifted character, aren’t you Miss Mona?”

Mona’s face was tomato red at the words of the beloved celestial archon, “I am honored to be complimented by the goddess of stars.”

“You’re very formal,” The starry eyed goddess laughed.

“Excuse me,” the two were interrupted by none other than the acting grandmaster, “I would like a word with the Lady of the Stars.”

Mona was hesitant, not wanting her idol to slip away but nodded and escorted the woman to the door. She was a bit dissatisfied with the conversation they’d had, wanting to know more and more of her long awaited god. The woman turned back to Mona, eyes twinkling, and embraced her. The normally level headed and somewhat haughty astrologist stiffened in shock but returned the warm hug. A sigh escaped Mona’s mouth, but she didn’t mind. The goddess was warm and something about her affection put Mona at peace.

“I am so lucky that somebody as beautiful and gifted as you awaited my return, Mona Megistus. Until we meet again, my darling.” The woman’s grasp around Mona tightened as she whispered in her ear.

The water mage watched as the strange goddess gracefully glided away with Jean. She was ethereal with the moonlight filtering in from tall windows, her skin illuminated as she hung on to every word Jean said. Even the confident and ever busy acting grandmaster found butterflies swarming her abdomen at the sight of the goddess. Jean felt as if she could be swept away by the young woman.

A part of Jean felt guilty for several reasons. As acting grand master, it was her duty to know about the citizens of Mond, it was her duty to work without personal emotions interfering, and her duty to oversee the safety of all the wind borne citizens. The Celestial Archon was challenging all of these duties. It was only natural for an astrologist to be obsessed with a god of stars, and Jean had interrupted the conversation. The Dandelion Knight couldn’t help but feel an innocent sort of crush on the goddess, she was kind and beautiful and she really seemed to want to get to know everyone. Ultimately, Jean was also aware of the danger a new archon posed.

Even so, the beautiful knight couldn’t help but want to push all those thoughts aside and capture the attention of the goddess for hours. She shook off that thought, attempting to focus on her duty as Mondstat’s respected Grand Master. Jean explained the general politics of the city of freedom and the individual jobs of the knights of favonious. She even went as far as to explain the adventurer’s guild and the recent trouble with Storm Terror. The Celestial Archon hung on to every word, nodding and asking occasional questions.

Jean took the time to explain the place they were in, a place between Mondstat and Liyue, and the teleport points that marked both countries. She was diligent and had already prepared some documents for the 8th Archon, maps and other things needed in the world. Jean had even communicated with others to ensure each safe place for the archon was marked. The allied domain was the middle ground, but Mondstat welcomed the new Archon with a living place and much to do. Liyue had also prepared a small home in the city for her.

The archon stared in wonder at the map. The knights of Favonious had prepared a room for her in their own head quarters, even the esteemed Tycoon had set aside a room. Wangshuu Inn welcomed her and Liyue Harbor gave her quarters close to Rex Lapis. Small notes were written for her, both Xiao and Diluc noted the stars were best seen from where they were while the traveler and Paimon had starred their favorite places to eat.

“Ah, Master Jean.” The Goddess spoke slowly, bowing.

“Please, Seraphim, there’s no reason to be so formal!” Jean’s voice rose nervously, “You are an archon after all.”

“Yes, that’s true. You do not serve me though, please refer to me as my chosen name. Formalities aren’t my taste much.” The Archon remarked bashfully.

Jean nodded, rose dusting her cheeks.

“I,” The Archon sighed, “Really need an open space so I can, uh, deal with my weapon situation.”

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit Jean.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Jean babbled nervously, “Here let us go out to the cliffs, it should be okay, right?”

“Mhm,” The goddess followed the knight to the exit.

Aether and Paimon were also by the exit, turning at the sound of approaching foot steps. Aether grinned and waved at the Celestial Archon, she waved back and beamed. Paimon immediately took off, throwing herself into the Archons arms as the woman giggled. Jean’s face was priceless, attempting to process how this small otherworldly creature could just tackle and archon without shame.

Aether and his companion followed the two women, curious about the weapon another archon would wield. The group made their way to the edge of the cliff, the stars seeming extra bright and the moon full. The goddess lowered herself, feet on the lush grass and put her hand forth, palm out. Swiftly, she struck the air in front of her with her pointer finger, an unfamiliar constellation connecting at each point.

“Return to your master, Destroyer of Divinity.” Her words were clear and calm.

The constellation burst into a ray of white light, Aether covered his eyes as Paimon whined. Darkness fell again and he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight in front of him. The goddess held a long weapon close to her body, above her shoulder was a large opalescent curved blade, below the hip on the opposite side, another shimmering curved blade could be seen. No weapon in Teyvat was even similar.

“I-Is is that a scythe?!” Jean sputtered.

“Aha, well yes,” The goddess blushed at their reactions, “Destroyer of Divinity is an unusual weapon, meant to slice through dimensional and spatial barriers. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Aether stood, mouth agape, “Even its name is terrifying! What the hell?”

“Ahahaha,” the archon continued to laugh nervously, “Well, its existence is basically to bring judgement from the heavens upon those deserving so yeah it’s a bit intimidating.”

Aether nearly screamed. How could she say something so casually?

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The traveler was feeling a bit nervous, as anybody would if an Archon decided to tag along for their daily commissions. Paimon and the Celestial Archon chattered away as Aether spoke to the Katheryne in Liyue. It did not help that the three had left before the others awoke and the Celestial Archon had left a note declaring it as a “friendly date.”

The last thing Aether wanted was to piss off literally any of the adepti, the Geo Archon himself, and even Jean who had taken a very noticeable interest in the goddess. A cloud seemed to look over the blonde but Paimon didn’t notice. The eighth Archon gave the teenager a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to ease his nerves. Only one thing could make the situation worse, and unfortunately that particular thing was heading straight towards Aether.

“Let’s run,” Aether grabbed the startled archon’s wrist and dragged her to the teleport point nearby, ignoring the calls of a certain troublesome individual.

The archon chuckled, “I didn’t know daily commissions would be so exciting!”

Aether smiled sheepishly and let go of her wrist, trying to focus on which commission to start with. He was distracted by a sudden commotion, people yelled out as a hooded figure darted past the trio. Liyue Harbor’s guards thundered after the thief, knocking the poor panicked goddess off her feet.

The eight archon shut her eyes and prepared for the impact of the fall, but was yanked back by a pair of strong arms.

“Hey, girlie. Hold still.” A charming voice said.

The goddess watched as the lanky ginger haired man moved forward and shot an arrow, narrowly missing all the guard and hitting the suspicious character in the back. Aether’s eyes were filled with shock and panic at the sight of the man. Immediately, the goddess side stepped away from her hero, on high alert.

“Now,” He turned to her beaming, “What exactly is such a beautiful young lady doing with this kiddo?”

Her starry eyes met his azure eyes, “I’m just a new adventurer from Mondstat, learning the ropes from the best.”

“Hmm?” His gaze was questioning, “Well then, I’m Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers. We should definitely get to know each other.”

The goddess moved to Aether in a quick swift movement. Suddenly, she wanted very much to escape Liyue Harbor. The Fatui were trouble, the goddess was new to the era but even she knew that they were dangerous. It was one of the first matters addressed at her arrival. She no longer knew the Cryo Archon, and this Tsarita sounded troubling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed voice chimed in, averting the red head’s attention.

A shorter man with a large hat and ominous aura stood behind the tall harbinger. Aether tensed up and the goddess wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the trio made their escape at the expense of Childe. The older harbinger was chewing the younger man out for flirting and wasting time, both harbingers bickered as the traveler and his companions fled.

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on trying to get laid you, fool.” Scaramouche scowled, still ripping into his subordinate. “Especially not that woman, even from a mile away I can tell she’s trouble. You’re a harbinger not a host, get your shit together, Tartaglia.”

Childe smirked, looking down on his superior, “So you noticed her, too. I wonder what someone like that is doing with my favorite traveler.”

“We should alert the Tsarita of that girl,” Scaramouche mumbled, avoiding the earlier comment.

“I actually agree,” Childe’s eyes narrowed, “I was hoping to see for myself what she is, but that kid stopped me of course. There’s something strange about her but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I can charm it out of her?”

Scaramouche slapped his comrades back, “Let’s go you useless fucking playboy.”

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Wangshuu Inn looked beautiful and the aroma of food was far too enticing. Aether sighed as he watched his small, chubby companion chase after the eighth archon. The woman was supposed to be divine, yet in some ways he reminded her of a puppy or a kitten. She was somewhat moody with her affections and spacey like a kitten may be, and still somehow clingy and energetic like a puppy.

Luckily for the two, Aether had a commission from Verr Goldet. The blonde tried to maintain composure as he saw a familiar dark haired yaksha speaking with the Inn Keeper, not wanting to admit he’d accidentally led the Fatui straight to the Archon. The traveler watched in fascination and amusement as Verr’s face twisted from composed to horrified when Xiao was knocked over by the goddess. The conqueror of demons merely grunted and stood back up, clutching the ethereal woman to his chest.

Xiao’s eyes were cold as they met Aether’s, clearly annoyed with the boy, but his expression softened at the yawning goddess in his arms. Once again, the traveler was overcome with curiosity at her behavior. Only moments ago the woman was bubbly and hyper, now her eyes were fluttering and she was snuggling up to one of the most dangerous beings in Teyvat. Without a word, the tattooed man spun around and carried the goddess upstairs.

“I’m here for your com-“ Aether began.

“Who was that?!” Verr Goldet burst out, “I’ve never seen Adeptus Xiao so damn agreeable. What just happened? Is this a dream?”

Paimon giggled, “He loooooves her! That person is the one we told you about before! Even Xiao can’t be in a bad mood around her, it’s amazing!”

“Oh,” Verr blushed at Paimon’s words, “She’s that person? No wonder he’s been so restless.”

“Wait, restless?” Aether questioned.

Verr Sighed and beckoned the two to a guest free area. The two followed her into a small back room, exchanging glances. The boss lady pulled out an old book and brushed the dust away. Aether and Paimon peered down at the book, puzzled by its appearance. It was a dark leather with carvings of the moon and clouds on the front.

Carefully, Verr flipped the book open and turned it to the two. Paimon shot up, shrieking. The book looked like a book you’d find in a library but was strange. Instead of ongoing text, the pages had scraps and pieces stuck on the pages with various notes scribbled around. Verr turned to the first page, placing her middle finger at the beginning text and giving Aether and expectant look. The traveler leaned down and began to read the text.

“The moonlight phenomenon: Legend of Liyue.

It is said that there was once a ruler of the stars, one who ruled over the sky as the Gods rule over our land. When tides of war overcame Liyue, Rex Lapis sought out the monarch of the sky to form a contract.

Seraphim granted Rex Lapis the moonlight phenomenon. Liyue’s skies were never to dim even on the darkest of nights, the moon and stars would remain as guides for Liyue always. It is said that this contract assisted in bringing the evil gods to their doom, the sky illuminating the way to victory for Liyue and all of Teyvat.”

Verr flipped the page as Aether exhaled trying to wrap his mind around the strange passage.

“The Contract: Seraphim and Rex Lapis.

The circumstances of the moonlight phenomenon still remain unknown. It is an ancient mystery that many still attempt to solve, what exactly did the Geo Archon barter for his people?

Nobody knows, still. However, the most common theories are that the contract has not been fulfilled or that there was no contract to begin with. Many believe that Rex Lapis and Seraphim were secret lovers, and this was Seraphim’s gift to her beloved. Others hypothesize that Seraphim’s wish was never fulfilled, as her death sealed the victory for The Seven Archons.”

Aether shuddered. People in Liyue believe that The Celestial Archon died in the Archon war? Verr flipped to a page in the middle of the book.

“Liyue’s Priestess Seraphim

It is said that a woman with eyes vast like the galaxy beyond and mysterious astrological powers once enchanted all of Liyue.

Seraphim, the last Celestial wielder was Liyue’s last hope. Though she is not honored as an archon, she is known vaguely as a priestess. The woman who captured the attention of the archon’s themselves and was adored by the Adepti. Few remain, but Liyue’s legends claim that the priestess of the stars was the lover of Rex Lapis, the lover of the Vigilant Yaksha, or the lover another adepti.

Even fewer discuss the devastation that occurred when she fell from grace. Her death was the catalyst of the only known battle between Liyue’s very own Archon, The Anemo Archon and his people, and the Adepti. A lesser known battle that almost forced both Mondstat and Liyue into Civil Wars.

When the dust settled, all that stood was the full moon. Many Adepti still honor the priestess under the moonlight by fighting evil spirits and demons.”

Aether’s eyes widened at Verr. She solemnly shook her head as the traveler’s face fell. Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli, Venti, all of them suffered so terribly. It was confusing to the boy that every text described the Celestial Archon as deceased. His head began to hurt from the information. Verr sighed and led him back out.

“Once you finish commissions, why don’t you two stay here? I’ll prepare a room for you,” The boss was sympathetic.

Aether grimaced but nodded, leading Paimon out to finish their duties.

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Somewhere in the shadows of Wangshuu Inn crept a Fatui agent, slipping away as the traveler set out. The shadowy figure grinned at the piece of paper in their hand.

“Protected by the traveler and the Adepti. Master Childe will be interested in this,” His eyes were dark as he approached his fellow Fatui agents, “She could be very useful to us, this (Y/N).”

The suspicious shadows began to slink away, overcome with desire to inform their boss of the new information. Only a few feet away, a strange creature ducked down to avoid being seen by the agents, fidgeting.

“The angel is here!” The creature shrieked as the cult like group left it’s sight, “(Y/N) will be ours.”

[user21340]

my only exception

(i don’t own this gif or any of the characters in this fic)

summary: you and nat are separated when in the Red Room. you both are reunited. after holding onto a couple things to give her for a couple years you both realize love is well and alive.

warnings: violence, abuse, swearing, lil angst, fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

word count: nearly 1.8k

a/n: omg i don’t know what to say! thank you for all the support on the stuff i’ve released so far. it’s super crazy seeing some of my favorite writers following me. thank you so so much for 30 followers! much love 💕💕

(italics in dialogue mean the person is speaking russian)

sorry for any mistakes i wrote this at 3am and have to get up for school at 6 😪 no bueno

It was a cold and stormy night as the power in the Red Room continuously flickered on and off even with the help of a high powered generator.

You and Natalia had been waiting for an event like this to occur so you could break out. Even though both herself and you lived only a small bit of life outside in the real world before you were taken in and trained to become a weapon, both of your humanly morals knew right from wrong. The Red Room’s treatment definitely being a wrong.

Madame B and the other monstrous staff at this facility put all you girls to bed roughly an hour ago. Nat and yourself undid your cuffs connecting your wrist to the metal bedframe so you could pack the few things you both owned before you made your escape. Both of you had talked this plan over through and through so you both were on the same page as soon as you saw that flicker of a power outage surge though the site.

At the moment you both were eighteen years old meaning both of you had proven yourselves worthy enough to hone a spot at this academy and had graduated a couple months prior.

GAME PLAN

Some information you had gathered which the staff weren’t aware of was every time the power flickered off, it disarmed and unlocked the exit door/s for nearly five seconds. The weather has been dry but cold lately not making this discovery too useful. The plan was to sneak over to uncuff yourselves in the middle of the night when these brief power outages were occurring, pack your items, and as you were about to escape bang on the wall of the large room where the girls kept at the academy would sleep to create enough of a distraction before you were out and free for good. Easy right? How wrong you’d be.

When it was time for the distraction, Nat stood by the door waiting for the next surge of lightning of whatever broke the electricities stability as you walked to the far side of the sleeping quarters where you were sure you’d have enough time to bang on the walls and sprint out of that door.

You heard a crash of thunder so you knew your escape chance would be soon. As you were about to start banging on the walls you see a door knob parallel to Nat but far away none the less start turning.

BAM

Lightning strikes, what seems to be right outside of the building. You sprint for the door only to have your arm caught by one of Madame B’s henchmen.

Just like that the power flickers.

five.

Without much thought you break away from the man’s grasp lunge at Natalia who happened to be at the door.

four.

“We’ll meet again Natalia.” you speak softly

three.

You shove her out of the door with all of your might.

two.

You use all of your remaining strength that you can muster up to slam the heavy metal door closed.

one.

Click

The door locks once again.

“You stupid little bitch. Get over here NOW!” the man practically growls.

You slowly and steadily walk over to the man as he gruesomely pummels and kicks you.

Sure the beatings, mind torture and manipulation hurt, but you’ve never experienced any kind of pain on the same caliber to what being separated from Natalia feels like.

Madame B is more than disappointed, enraged and annoyed with one of her ‘star students’. You receive daily beatings and long, tiresome training hours for helping Natalia escape. Although everyone is ‘replaceable’ in the minds of the staff as well as Madame B, they just lost Natalia so they couldn’t afford to lose you as well.

Months later the beatings finally slow down to a couple a week which you are able to endure. Madame’s mission now is to make a monster out of you by pushing you to and past your limits when training.

One night you finally drift off to sleep. You hate sleeping. It’s a constant replay of your last night with Nat. Only hoping that she made it to civilization safe and sound and is living a normal teens life. However, tonight’s dream is different. In this dream you see yourself shoving your packed-escape bag between your mattress and bedframe as you are bleeding out on the ground from the beatings. You wake up in a cold sweat and manage to kneel on the ground and slowly lift up your mattress only to find that same, small bag filled with the few, but important belongings of yours and Nat’s. You open up the bag forgetting all about what you both had packed. The most important items you see is a picture of Natalia as a toddler with alongside her mother and father, a small metal ring which you had made for her after stealing a small teaspoon at dinner, banging it against the concrete floor with a rock to flatten it out as you’d continuously bend it back and fourth so only the thinnest part is of the spoon is left which you bend into a ring before surprising Nat with it after you know she had a pretty rough day training, and lastly Nat’s papers containing important info about her such as her full name, birthplace, parents names, and birthdate.

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

You make sure you have this date burned into your head, latching onto any important information about her you can learn.

You hang onto those three items keeping them hidden.

Two and a half years later...

It’s late at night when you hear gunshots and fights breaking out throughout the facility. You quickly get up out of bed (once again undoing your cuffs) and grab those three items from under your mattress. You place them in your pocket getting ready to make a break for the outside world. As you reach for the door you turn back taking one last look at the place you’ve been living for pretty much the entirety of your life, only before a man in a funny red, white, and blue costume enters your view.

You bring your hands up ready for a fight.

“Look kid, I’m not here to fight you. We are breaking you out.” the man ensures

“Who even are you?” you sternly question

“Steve Rogers. But the public calls me Captain America.” his gaze settles on your figure, “Mind telling me who you are?” he pushes

“Names y/n, but look I’ve got places to be ma-“ you are cut off when Captain America’s jaw drops.

“No, we both know you don’t. But, you ARE coming with me.” you know there isn’t much room for protest but that won’t stop you from trying. You lunge at him and push him to the ground as you wave a small goodbye and sprint towards the door only for your body to fall on the ground limp. Realizing you’ve been stunned by something temporarily.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” you shriek, he only chuckles.

“God, Nat was right about you.” she shakes he head with a small grin on his face.

“N-nat?” you whisper as you vision fades black.

You regain consciousness and look around only to find yourself in a weird windowy, loud vehicle type thing. You see a group of people standing around you but you see one particular familiar face hovering directly over yours lightly combing through your hair with one one hand and gently outlining your jawline with the other.

“NAT!” you screech, your brain is feeling too many emotions to comprehend at the moment.

Once she sees and hears you are awake she pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

“Y/n/n I’m so sorry I left you and you had to stay in that hellhole for so long alone I don’t know how I would’ve help up it if that-“ you cut her off

“Natalia, all that matters is I’m here with you right now.” you reason.

After getting off of what you learned is a ‘plane’ you and Nat spend hours together clinging onto one another as if, as soon as you separate you will be absent in her life for another couple years, vice versa.

Months pass by. Even though you and Nat have yet to label yourselves as a couple your hearts belong to one another after being attached to the hip to one another for pretty much every activity or mission you both do. In this time you were also recruited as an Avenger due to your skillful hand to hand combat and your masterful types of fighting you have nearly perfected from your time in the room.

The date just happens to be November 22. You are pretty sure no one in the compound is aware of Natalia’s birthday, hell, you aren’t even sure if she’s aware.

Today is the day you decide to return the missing items from her bag that you recover after she left.

You wake up next to her and wake her up with a long, graceful, soft kiss on her lips to which she responds shortly after by kissing you back as you feel as tiny smirk against your own lips.

“Hey, what was that for?” she asks playfully

“Ohhh nothing. Just maybe it’s for my favorite girl’s special day today.” Nat blushes.

“H-how’d you know?”

“Oh honey, I know e v e r y t h i n g.” you reply

Before she can respond you pull her to sit up on your shared bed and hand her an envelope containing her papers as well as he one and only photo of herself and her family.

As soon as she sees both items she sobs into your chest. (more because of the picture, you really only included her papers so she too would know all the most crucial parts of her life pre-red room era.

“Uh, uh, uh’” you tut,”One more thing.” you reach for her hand slowly and tell her to shut her eyes. You slowly slide the makeshift ring on her finger.

“Open.” you instruct

To which she gasps at the sight and just like the day you both were reunited you hugged and kissed for hours on end.

“Nat, will you be my girlfriend?” you ask with a sheepish smile.

“Of course y/n/n, I thought you’d never ask.” she takes a breath,“I know love is for children, but you are my only exception.”

“Ditto.” Natalia chuckles, “That is what the Americans say, right?” you backtrack with flushed cheeks.

She holds you tighter and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Sure.” she breathes out.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 15

The Darkling x reader

Time was in fact ticking and as minutes went on, your palms got sweatier and your heart never stopped thumping in your chest. Any minute now Aleksander could stroll into your chambers flanked by oprichniki and have you arrested. You had crossed the line and you acknowledged that but there was no other way to do it with him. He was never going to sit down and have a regular conversation with you where he detailed his plans out step by step, even if you said please and begged on your knees.

It was morning now and still no word from Aleksander. You had to return to your boring duties of reading trade agreements and approving Grisha posts at the war fronts, none of which passed the time any quicker. You skipped breakfast and threw on the first kefta that caught your eye, only making sure it wasn't black. A simple summoner blue, to reflect your sullen mood.

A knock on your door caught you by surprise but you opened it anyway to reveal your least favorite Heartrenderer sulking at your doorstep.

'Ivan'

'The General requests to see you'

'He sent his puppy to fetch me, how cute' You open the door wider to let yourself through letting a deep breath go in preparation. Ivan sent you a glare worth a thousand words, something along the lines of I hate you.

'Relax, I'm only jesting'

The walk to Aleksander's quarters was silent. Ivan wasn't the chatty type and even if he was, he probably wouldn't have much to say to you.

As you went to open the grand double doors, he caught your wrist tightly

'Don't lay a finger on him again, or I'll rip your heart from your chest' He warned. Either Aleksander tattled the events that took place yesterday or Ivan was eavesdropping, your gut told you it was the latter.

'I didn't take you as the type to disrespect your elders Ivan' You didn't care to return his tone of voice. He was simply Aleksander's lapdog, not somebody to be scared of or feared.

'Run along now' You dismissed him, watching as he huffed and turned down the hallway.

Aleksander sat at the same desk as yesterday except now he faced you. He was back to his normal self, void of emotion and collected in his embroidered black kefta. You sat down on a random chair, clearing your throat.

'Did you finally come to your senses?' You weren't here for pleasantries or to dance around the subject, you needed answers.

'Of sorts. Yes'

'Get to it then, you have a lot of explaining to do. And remember, I know when you're lying' You tapped the skin above your heart, indicating that he had no way out but to tell truth.

'Ask away.'

'How are you going to weaponize the Fold?'

'Alina. She can let us get through it, I can expand it into the borders.'

'How?'

'The stag. I'll use it to control her powers as well as amplify my own. She won't comply otherwise. ' He's going to use Merzost to control the Sun-Summoner.

'The King?'

'Gradually being poisoned by Ms.Safin. He'll take to being ill when the time comes.'

'You're not going to kill him?' To ascend the throne, the King needs to die.

'In time' You took a quick pause and let the information settle. You still needed to ask the most important question and you feared once he answered it, your heart would break in two.

'Alina.'

'Yes. Alina'

'Is it real?'

He took a sharp inhale and pondered for a quick second while you held yours.

'Not anymore.'

'Anymore?'

'Before you got here, perhaps there was something, But not now. I swear on the Saints. All she is is a key to more power. Everything we've ever wanted lies in our future if we play our cards right Y/N' You were sitting too far away from him, but his hands still itched to reach for yours.

'I'm suspecting there is a downside to all of this'

'I need her to trust me.'

'And the only way to do that is by loving her I assume' You hung your head low when he gave a small nod.

'I wish there was another way. She's young and blinded by her friend Mal to see what's truly happening'

'What if she finds out?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get to it' He stood up from his seat and kneeled beside you, firmly holding your knees.

'You're not a loose cannon Y/N. I didn't want to tell you because if I told you about Alina, you would seek us out and watch. I don't want you to see me with her' You recognized that everything he said was true, his heart hadn't skipped a beat since you got here.

'I'm sorry for the other night, for what I said. I didn't mean it' Throughout your years with Aleksander, you had witnessed him apologize to you and every time he did, his eyes were the true apology. They reflected his whole soul, bared his deepest emotions to you, and begged for forgiveness with immense desperation in ways that his words couldn't. This was no exception.

'We all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment' All it took was those simple words for his eyes to wash away the guilt and reappear filled with affection.

'Why didn't you tell me about Zoya?'

He sighed again, resting his forehead against your arm 'I don't know'

'Are you done with her?'

'She was just an outlet Y/N, I truly haven't loved anybody since you. You crowded my dreams and my daily thoughts, do you really think I could move on?' He gave a gentle laugh with an undertone of embarrassment at his inability to get over you.

'I'm flattered'

Although the areas of the future that involved Alina rubbed you the wrong way for many reasons, you were glad to finally know the things Aleksander kept from you. No doubt there were things you omitted that would come up in due time, but you had gone what caused you the most stress.

'Will you finally stop running away from me? I've barely had any time to enjoy your presence' His hand came up to your face, nudging a thin piece of hair away. You melted into his touch, grabbing him by the shoulders and embracing him tightly, forcing both of you to stand. He held you as close, if not tighter.

'I'll do anything you want me to if it means you trust me again' His words stuck in your mind as he spoke against your hair. Your statement must have cut him deep. It hurt you too, you loved this man, you've loved him for more than a century, and being scared to trust him dwindled your memory of him.

You were the first to pull away but only for a second as your lips crashed onto his. It wasn't rough or needy, it was sweet and reflected your love for him. It was the kind of kiss you imagined when you dreamed of him at your weakest; when your dreams were vivid and lucid in comparison to your feverish body as it lay on the brink of death.

'Have you eaten?' He asked as you wrapped your arms around him yet again, not ready to let go.

'Not yet, but give me a minute' You closed your eyes, reveling in his scent and warm touch.

At last, I finally got my hug.

***

It was later on in the day now, you had forced yourself away from Aleksander after breakfast and retreated into your chambers, sifting through documents and pointless papers. You barely read them as you signed away, doing the tedious work Aleksander passed onto you as he focused on the stag. You didn't know much about the animal and willingly chose to stay out of the affair, never really caring for the amplifier. For now, all that it entailed was chasing false leads and ending up at dead-ends. Not your cup of tea.

The Winter fete was coming up and much to your displeasure, you were asked to make sure the Sun-Summoner was up to scratch for her showcase. It was important she makes a good impression on the foreign ambassadors, Ravka needed stronger alliances now that Zlatan was claiming the West needed to break away. He was colluding with the druskelle to capture Grisha, and wherever your Grisha were concerned, you had to get involved.

You realized the measly reports of Alina's progress weren't enough and you had to go right to the source. There wasn't a single part of you that looked forward to stepping into that boiling hut and conversing with the rude woman, but work had to be done.

You took your time walking down, chatting to bystanding Grisha and trying to stall, you really weren't in the mood to be bullied. You didn't bother to knock, you just waltzed in and searched the dark for her hunched figure.

'You again' You could've sworn she appeared out of thin air as her voice carried disgust along the room, it usually did when it came to speaking to you but you stopped caring a long time ago.

'Why are you back, Witch'

With the track record Baghra had with you, the nickname never failed to fuel your temptation to throttle her.

---

Part 16

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

ABC the mandalorian?

A/N: I ended up doing the whole Alphabet, so, here we go!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He can’t keep his hands off you.  He just wants to keep you beside him, just feeling your skin against his.  He’ll only part with you if you ask.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For you, he loves your eyes.  He loves watching the tiny nueances of your expression, the way the corners crinkle when your happy or the way they roll back in pleasure as he makes love to you.  He can cum just by watching you.

For himself, he likes his hands.  He knows their big and can’t help but watch them as he runs them across your skin.  You seem to appreciate them to, which only add to his own pride.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Din is a mess when he comes.  He has basically no experience, so controlling where he cums can be a bit of a trick.  That all being said, his basic instinct is to cum inside you. Once your bodies are connected, he doesn’t want to leave, not for anything.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He jerked himself all to the thought of you, a lot when you first joined his crew.  He didn’t know what it was. Just having your around, brushing by him in such close quarters drove him crazy.  He eventually got a hold of himself, but that didn’t stop him from feeling incredibly guilt and embarrassed afterwards.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I’m saying it right now: DIN DJARIN IS A VIRGIN!

I am tired of seeing all these “spank me Daddy” Din headcanons all over the place.  The man has repeatedly said, he hasn’t taken off his helmet in front of anyone since he was a child, and considering how devout he is, my guess is that means the rest of his armor stays on too.  He hasn’t so much as received a peck on the cheek.  The first time you hold his bare hand, he nearly faints.

The man has no experience before doing it with you, and you bet your ass it’s only after he’s decided to take off his helmet around you.  No blindfolds or doing it in the dark.  All or nothing baby!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. He want to be able to look at you when he fucks you.  He wants to watch your face, and feel his body over yours, keeping you close and safe against him.  The only close second is to have you ride him.  He watches you in awe, taking your lead on how best to touch you as you rock against him. He just wants to see the pleasure take over your face when you cum.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It takes a while for him to lighten up in bed. At first he takes it very seriously, studying your body like he would a new weapon; finding the best ways to use it and himself to bring you both pleasure.  You’re the one who gets him out of his head, and shows him that sex could be for fun as well as intimacy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it pretty trim, more of his own comfort than anything, but not much in terms of man-scaping.  So long as it doesn’t bother you, it’s not really something he thinks about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Din is the epitome of romance and intimacy during sex.  Every time you’re together, it’s like he’s trying to absorb you into his skin.  All the things he can’t put into words, he shows you in how he touches you.  It can be really intense, but he holds onto you, keeping your grounded as raw emotion floods your veins as surly as the pleasure.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Just because he’s a virgin, does not met he’s completely clueless.  He doesn’t do it often.  He frankly he has better ways of relieving stress, but there are times it’s the only cure.  Weirdly after you together, he does it more often.  Not to a ridiculous extent, but more like he has a solid image of someone to think about, and the specific stress of being away from that person can get to him sometimes.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He doesn’t have many.  I do think he leans more towards service top.  He’s not interested in controlling you.  But, he does want to know he’s the one giving you pleasure.  Honestly, just saying his name can be enough to get him to cum.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Razor Crest, hands down, preferably in his own bed.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

In a fun way? Honestly any time he watches you be really sweet with Grogu. Just seeing you hold him and try to make him laugh hit something deep inside him. After you put the kid to bed, he just wants to feel all of you at once and thinks what it would be like to give you a baby of your own.

In a not so fun way? Any close call you have.  The moment your out of danger, Din wants to just strip you down and fuck you senseless, just a reminder that you’re both still alive and that he can still take care of you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that would hurt you, or him for that matter.  Din Djarin is not your BDSM, “your daughter calls me Daddy too”, whatever Tumblr seems to be obsessed with. The idea of hurting you, even for pleasure just does not compute for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

If you go down on him, the man will not last. He’s actually embarrassed the first few times.  All it takes is a few minutes of you swirling your tongue around his tip before he’s cumming down your throat. You’re a goddess with your mouth as far as he’s concerned.

He also loves going down on you.  It does take him time to get a proper technique, but eventually he gets it.  There has been more than one occasion he’s ripped of his helmet and dove between your legs, not bothering with the rest of his armor. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It varies.  Sometimes he wants to take his time and others it’s just about getting you off as fast as he can just so he can do it all over again.  But, no matter how fast you go, the emotion and intensity remain the same.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really his thing.  It’s actually really hard to fuck you with his armor on and so would rather wait until he can take it all off.  That being said, it’s hard for him to say no to you going down on him for a quick one in the cock-pit.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s really cautious when it comes to sex.  He hasn’t had a lot of experience, and frankly nobody really talked to him about it.  He’s still exploring his sexuality with you, so the key is to be patient.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So good.  He cums quickly the first few times you have sex, but his recovery time is amazing and once he gets better control of his body, he can keep you occupied for hours, making you cum until you just can’t take it anymore.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really.  For him sex really is about being with you.  You might introduce some stuff later, but it’s a lot further down the line.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s really really bad at it.  Like he cannot tease to save his life.  He might nip at the inside of your thigh before finally touching your clit, but that’s the extent. He just wants to make you cum.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not very.  He’s not much of a talker, and that’s no different in bed.  Lots of soft grunt and curses mixed with moans and the occasional pet name.  Otherwise, he’s main just listening to you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Demisexual Din? Demisexual Din.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly larger than average, but he doesn’t know it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not especially high before he meets you.  But once you’re together it does go up.  It’s nothing he can’t handle, but he doesn’t get noticeably more grumpy if he hasn’t been around you in a while and once he does see you again, you guys can go for hours.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes him a bit to come down after you’re done.  Honestly, he won’t let himself fall asleep until he knows you’re comfortable already dozing off in his arms.

[hrwinter]

You’re not sure what you remember about home. If you try, it might be blue skies and warm summer rain that you played in for hours. It might be your mother washing the mud out of your clothes, frowning and asking if it was really necessary for you to roll that completely in the dirt. You told her you were just doing what the dog did.

You had a dog, right?

You’re not really sure.

Because the other memories you have are not blue and green and the dirt brown of your knobby childhood knees. They’re grey and orange and crispy charcoal black. The market you visited where your parents would sometimes have hushed meetings behind shaky hands, it’s rubble. The wind that used to blow the fragrance of fresh peaches and citrus, it’s ash. The home you had is gone.

You remember a voyage, long, dark, and ripe with a putrid accumulation of smells. You remember getting to see the water a few times, opal blue and ever shifting. It was beautiful. But the ship crashed or was attacked, you don’t know, and then it was back to the oranges of fire, the reds of blood, and the screams of your parents you’d never find.

You washed up on shore alone.

Although, not quite alone.

That’s when you first saw her. The crow. You’re sure of that. She’d been there, pecking at the sand near your arm, the same one still clutching the cheap large plastic debris. It had saved your life. You looked over the edge of it, coughing salt water into the surf, and you saw her.

It was weird. She’d surprised you. You’d never seen a bird so big and black, you thought, and she shuffled from foot to foot, nervous. Was she hungry? Was she scared?

You don’t get a chance to find out before a man with large hands is swatting her away. She cawed angrily, reluctant to go, but she did, maybe to a nearby tree. He shook your shoulders then and asked you who you were.

“Kara,” your voice came out in a croak, not yours.

“Kara,” he says again.

The crow cawed.

It’s years before you put the patchwork pieces of your life back together, that you find out what happened to you. That a warmongering company, LuthorCorp, helped exacerbate the tensions in your region then exploited and profited from them by selling both sides weapons. But that doesn’t become relevant for a long time. For now, you’re an immigrant, and an immigrant is not a very good thing in this new country.

It could be worse. There are other kids who are not as lucky as you. Somehow having never set foot here, you have dual citizenship. Your mother was American. So, despite the government calling your parents insurgents and traitors, they don’t try to deport you. Or keep you locked in a cage. Instead, they put you in foster care.

It’s hard. It’s toiling. It takes you a long while to learn the language. You’re shy to talk because of it.

And you’re pretty. At least, people keep telling you that you are. You’re not sure what you see when you look in the mirror. The kind, clever blue eyes of your mother. The hard line of your father’s brow when he’d reprimand you for sneaking too many cookies.

But your prettiness doesn’t feel like a good thing. The other children resent you for it. And it brings you a different kind of attention, a kind that has you cowering from your foster mom’s drunk boyfriend, a kind that has your crow swooping in and attempting to peck out his eyes. She almost manages it, but when he swings, taking hold of her, you jump into the fray, too. You would’ve killed him if your foster mother hadn’t intervened.

That’s right, your crow has followed you here, has followed you through it all. She’s in the tree outside of the window when your foster mother returns you to the group facility for being ‘cruel and violent.’

You didn’t do anything. At least, you didn’t do anything you wouldn’t do again, a hundred times over.

“We’re better off here, anyway,” you tell the crow sitting with you during lunch recess.

“Why do you talk to that thing?” a boy asks you nearby, trapping a soccer ball with his foot.

“She’s my friend.”

“Friends can’t be birds.”

Yes, they can, you think.

“She doesn’t understand you,” he feels the need to add, certain.

But she does. You know she does.

---

You’re adopted into a new home not long after that. It’s different than the others. They’re called ‘Danvers.’ Eliza and Jeremiah, your adoptive parents, they’re kind and intelligent. They encourage your natural abilities in science and math. You’re starting to get A’s for the first time in your life, and you’re less reluctant to speak in class.

You still feel like an impostor. It doesn’t seem like a reality that’s meant for you. You were meant for the bottom of the sea.

“You have a right to be here,” Eliza tells you, but that’s not how your new sister acts.

Your crow has somehow inferred the antagonism between you. One afternoon she swoops in to steal a large portion of Alex’s sandwich and drops it on your plate.

“Hey!” Alex shouts after her, but the crow merely glares at her with dark black eyes, wings ruffling on your side of the picnic table.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Alex looks between two of you, wary, parsing.

“How did you train it to do that, anyway?”

“…patience?” you improvise.

“You’re lying.”

The crow caws loudly, and Alex narrows her eyes.

“Whatever, I’m going inside.”

The crow watches her leave, and you soothe her ruffled feathers with a hand. The sheen of them always makes them seem oily, but they’re not at all. Her feathers are soft, and she preens a little under the touch. You gives her a nickel to play with. Maybe you’ll actually try to train her.

So, you make her puzzles. She seems somewhat competent in checkers. You read to her. Her favorite stories are fairy tales. Her favorite foods are unsalted peanuts, boiled eggs, shell and all. She likes apples too (you painstakingly removes the seeds, they’re bad for birds.) You feed her from the window. She sleeps in the tree there and follows you to school and back every single day. She watches you organize quarters for a state collection, nipping slightly at the plastic casing.

“I already gave you Iowa,” you tell her.

She clicks her beak back at you. Sometimes, she’ll steal your keys. You think she just likes things that you like, but you’re not sure. Alex says you’re projecting. Alex says you make up things that aren’t there, but honestly, Alex is a little mean.

Once on a fishing trip, the crow used bread to catch a fish, laying it before you all on the thick wood pier planks.

“That bird is smart,” Eliza comments, watching her chase away a hawk that seems a little too interested in the fish.

You’re proud. She’s fearless.

“Their brains are bigger than ours proportionally,” you reply with enthusiasm. You look to Alex. “See.”

“Her brain is bigger than yours,” Alex mumbles over her empty fishing line, and the crow dives down to nip at her.

“Hey!” Alex swats without making contact. The crow flies away again. “That crow doesn’t like me, I swear. She knows me.”

“Of course she does.”

“It’s meaner to me.”

“She’s a she, not an it,” you correct her.

“It’s not normal.”

“It’s perfectly normal for a crow,” you bicker with Alex. “They don't forget a face. They hold a grudge.”

“You sound like the Discovery Channel.”

“Well, it’s true. Did you know that they also mourn the dead? That they don’t migrate, staying in one place for most of their life?”

“So, you’re saying we’ll never get rid of it? Great.”

“She,” you correct her again testily. “And they can live to be 15 years old. So, yeah, you’re stuck.”

Alex quiets, and you’re thrilled to have won the argument.

But deep down inside, you’re willing to admit it’s a little weird, she’s a little weird. Crows are supposed to be social, and you’ve never seen her with any other crow. She only talks to you. She only follows you.

It would be crazy to think she wasn’t quite a crow, but something else, something more. Wouldn’t it? But you kind of do. You don’t admit it to anyone, but you do.

---

Graduation from high school is close, only days away. You’ve arranged everything for college, although not without a hulking amount of help from Eliza. She organized all of your scholarship forms, your applications, your dozens of essays. She kept you on track with projects and midterms and extracurriculars (you’re the captain of the Geology club, who knew!) And it’s all materialized into your acceptance at National City University. It’s only a couple of hours from Midvale, and you can’t wait for August.

Sometimes it’s crazy to think you’re going to college. A blonde, blue eyed girl who washed up on the beach one day like a sand dollar? You would’ve never put your money on her.

But here you are, walking a beach not that far from the one you arrived on, a big slate blue sky in front of you, wind whipping your hair. You think about the future; the new city, the potluck roommate, eighteen hours of classes in biomedical engineering.

“You’ll come with me to college, right?” you say to the crow perched on your shoulder, bobbing with every step you take.

The crow softly caws and nuzzles its head on your shoulder. It’s a rare form of her affection. Otherwise, her eyes are focused on the little crabs skittering in and out of the waves.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” you reach to bring the crow to your hand, her pointed claws clinging gracefully to two of your fingers. She looks back at you expectant and listening, canting her head to the side every now and again.

“We’ve never really talked about it,” you say as if it’s typical to apologize for conversations you haven’t had with your crow. “But you’ve always been there. You protected me.”

The crow flaps her wings a little. Is it pride? Joy?

“Thank you.”

You’re not sure what overtakes you then, but you do something you’ve never done before. Despite the fact that you’ve seen her roll around in ant piles, you lean forward and plant a little kiss on her feathered head.

Immediately, you know something has changed, that something is different. There’s a shimmer in the air in front of you, prismatic in color, and the crow flies away from you, landing, staggering in the sand. You chase after, but a crisp gust of wind blows sand into your eyes and you wobble, falling. When you scramble to your feet again, blinking and rubbing the grit out of your eyes, you don’t see your crow, but a girl with eyes as green as spring leaves, with hair as black as crow.

“You’re her,” you say as she sits up, looking confused, one armed draped across her middle.

“Yes,” the girl answers simply, shaping the word as if unfamiliar.

“You’re naked,” you announce.

“Yes.”

You strip your light jacket off, suddenly rushing to cover her. You rub her shoulders and she looks at you in that same, too intelligent way.

It is her.

You have no idea know what to say next. You just watched a bird transform into a human. It’s not real. You made it up. Maybe you passed out. You did eat a lot of cinnamon rolls right before this. You pinch yourself, but you don’t wake up. You’re still here on the windy beach, clutching a familiar creature in your arms.

In a panic, you fall back on the very first English you learned.

“I’m Kara,” you say. She sort of smiles as if that’s obvious. “What’s your name?”

She looks away, thinks hard. She has a strong jaw. Her skin is too white, like it’s never seen sun. Maybe not under the feathers? God, you think you’re going crazy.

“Lena.”

“Do you have parents, Lena?”

It’s a ridiculous question. She’s been with you for eleven years. But it’s a ridiculous situation.

“I—don’t remember. But I guess I do,” she says thoughtfully. Her voice has a raspy quality to it, not unlike her caw. “They probably think I’m dead.”

“What happened to you?”

She shakes her head again.

“I don’t remember,” then, “a curse, maybe. On my father. A woman came to our house that night. ‘A payment taken of your most prized possession’, she said. Something about an enemy loved.”

“A curse,” you repeat back. It makes sense. Even if nothing about this makes sense.

You shake your head, focusing on what’s important.

“Don’t worry,” you take her hand. Her palm is butter smooth. “Let’s go home.”

[ct7567329]

Pass: Rex x Reader

A loud sigh escaped your lips as a holopad was slapped down next to you.

"Here are the list of all the troopers that need their annual evaluation. Make sure you can get them all done within the next thirty rotations," General Shaak Ti informed you, urgency in her voice.

You hummed in response and picked up the holopad, browsing through the list. All ARC Troopers were reevaluated annually to ensure they were still the best fit for the position. The list could easily be knocked in half if the 501st managed to make their way to Kamino anytime soon. The mid-rim sieges would make it difficult but you had to get it done.

Begging Anakin to let the 501st have a few days off on Kamino wasn't too hard to accomplish. He complied to it faster than you expected but you weren't going to complain. There was plenty to do before the reevaluations. Testing new weapons, giving new battle combinations and evaluation their ability to adapt were just a few things that needed to be done. And you had to figure out how to do it.

The only thing you enjoyed about the task was catching up with the troopers. Throughout your time as a special ranks trainer at Kamino,  you've developed many friendships with the soldiers, and unfortunately, you never really got to see them again once they were shipped off.

Your heart jumped a little when you saw the number 7567 on the list. You recognized the number as a Captain named Rex. He was one of the hardest working soldiers you've worked with. Right before he shipped out, he buzz cut his hair and dyed it blonde, making him the only soldier in that captain training program to not have the standard hair cut with brown hair. You admired his willingness to be unique.

Roughly six rotations later, the 501st finally arrived on Kamino, giving the majority of the men a much needed break. You figured Anakin would be in the mess hall so you made your way there to meet up with your long time-no see friend.

It was never difficult to find him. Anakin was always the center of attention. According to his Padawan, he enjoyed telling elaborated stories about before the war to the clones. You approached him from behind as he rambled on about his encounter with a bounty hunter when he was only fourteen.

"Wow, let me guess, you used your lightsaber without holding it. You used the force to levitate it?" you butted it, chuckling slightly.

Anakin turned around and threw his hand up, "(Y/N)! Always a pleasure to see you. Let me introduce you to my new men!"

You smirked and shook your head as Anakin began introducing them. It appeared as if Rex wasn't present.

"And this here is Hard-"

"Case," you laughed, "You forget. I've worked with every solider that steps foot off this planet."

"Great to see you again, General!" Hardcase salutes, "And may I add, your beauty has multiplied since."

You rolled your eyes, "Not even the brutality of the war can take away his charm. But, he takes after his general I suppose."

The men snickered as Anakin gave you a glare.

"Anyway, I sent you a list of men that need their evaluation. I know you're here for a while but of you can let them know to get it done as soon as possible, that would be great. I have thousands of troopers to test."

"You wish is my command," Anakin playfully bowed.

You exhaled and began to exit, "I'll catch up with you all soon!" you called out.

As you exited the mess hall, you began to reminisce on the old days of being a Padawan and filling around with Anakin. The two of you always managed to pull off shenanigans that usually resulted in a conference by the council, but you wouldn't change a thing. You turned the corner to head to your quarters when you knocked into a solider, causing him to drop his helmet.

"Oh my gosh I am so sorry...Rex?" you gasped, once you realized who it was.

Rex's jaw dropped, "General. You remember my name?"

"I remember every soldier's name," you grinned, using the force to pick up his helmet, "especially the special ones." You handed him his helmet.

"Is that a compliment, sir?" he asked, slowly taking his helmet from you.

You bit your lower lip, "Perhaps. How has the war been for the 501st?"

He let out a heavy sigh, "There's always some uphill battles, but I think we are all just glad to be back on Kamino. Even if it's just for seven rotations."

"Me too!" you nodded. Trying to hide your reddening cheeks in his presence was nearly impossible. They say war drains you, but Rex was even more handsome than you remembered.

"Sir? Aren't you always on Kamino though?" he asked, making a confused face.

"Oh no. I mean I'm glad that the 501st is back. You guys are the finest soldiers to come out of my training. My favorite to be around, if I may add."

Rex's entire demeanor when from solider talking to general to a look of more compassion, "You mean that?"

"Lying isn't the Jedi way. And even if I wasn't a Jedi, who would lie to someone like you? Don't sell yourself short, Rex. Don't think just because you're 'just a clone' you're any less than anyone else. And-"

You stopped for a moment, realizing what words. were actually coming out of your mouth.

"And.." you drew out the n sound, "Don't forget to pick a time slot for your evaluation! Can't wait to see how much you've grown on the battlefield!" you rushed to say, before taking off to your quarters at a quick pace.

As you hastily walked away, Rex turned to look at you. He wasn't quite sure what to make of what you said. As far as he could remember, you were always kind to him, compassionate with your words, but never that caliber. Though he would have loved to think of it as a flirtatious encounter, he knew that would be something he could only dream of and continued to make his way to the mess.

"Are you knifing stupid!?" you yelled to yourself as you entered your quarters. In that moment you knew you messed up. If there was anything you were taught as a youngling, is was that admitting your attachments is a tell tale sign you are completely attached. You sighed and flung your body onto your bed, hoping a nap would clear your mind.

Meanwhile, Rex ate his grub hastily. This wasn't common for him at all. Especially since the men of the 501st were used to actually conversing with Rex during meals.

"What's got you eating like a bat out of hell?" Fives asked, turning his head to face his vod.

"Just a little busy," Rex mumbled, stuffing the remaining food in his mouth.

Fives raised an eyebrow, "With what? We have six whole rotations for evaluations, and our evaluator is General (Y/LN). You've said before you two were friendly during your training. I'm sure she'll go easy on you!"

Rex didn't respond.

"And last we heard, you have no interning on becoming Commander Rex," Jesse butted in, "That takes less work off your shoulders. Some of us are looking for promotions."

"You really think you're getting promoted to arc trooper," Hardcase laughed, getting an eye roll in response.

Rex finally got up, "I saw General (Y/LN) in the hall and she asked if I wanted to assist with ARC promotions," he lied, "Just thinking about whether or not I'm fit for that responsibility."

He walked away, wanting nothing more than to find Anakin's droid, R2.

"Told you you should have been kissing Rex's shebs!" Hardcase hummed at Jesse as Rex exited the mess hall.

At last he was alone with his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about your conversation with him. As much as his heart told him it was flirtatious, his mind told him other wise. It didn't take Rex long to find R2.

"Hey R2!" he called, the droid rolling towards him and greeting him with a series of beeps.

"I need to know if I have access to know where General (Y/LN)'s quarters are located."

R2 buzzed, telling Rex the location.

"She gave me access?" he replied softly, "strange. Thank you."

Rex made his way through the seemingly never ending halls. He figured the Jedi quarters had to be hidden deep in the halls of Kamino. After what felt like forever he reached the door to your quarters and knocked.

A knock startled you from your nap. In a hurry, you straightened up your bed and laid out your meditation mat, sitting in a meditative state.

"Enter," you called, your eyes shut. As the person entered the room, your eyes were still shut. By reaching out to the Force, you knew it was Rex.

"Captain, you seem a bit, conflicted," you announced opening your eyes to look at him, "take a seat."

The door shut behind him and he sat down across from you on your meditation mat.

"You do know that Captains are not permitted to supervise ARC selection, correct?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

His lips parted, "Sir?"

You smirked, "Jedi thing. I know what you told your brothers." You stopped for a moment and saw his face drop, "but I would have done the same."

"Huh?"

"What's bothering you, Rex?"

"Uh, nothing. Just nervous about evaluations."

"You think you can lie to a Jedi," you rolled your eyes, cocking your head at him again.

Rex pressed his lips together and looked down at your meditation mat, "you know why I'm here don't you?"

"Perhaps," you shrugged, inching your body towards his.

He swallowed at your closeness to him and he whispered, "so what was it?"

You gave him a shy smile and leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. For being at war for so long, his skin was surprisingly soft.

"That should answer your question, Rex."

Rex's cheeks were flushed, a tan outline of your lips stained on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Rex," you sighed, moving back to your spot on the meditation mat.

"For? You easily just made me the luckiest man in the galaxy. I've wanted this moment for a long time.  Figured I would be foolish to actually dream of it." Rex's smile remained on his face, "If I don't do my evaluation, do I just get to stay on Kamino until I take it?"

You chuckled, "I get this is your home, but trust me, you'd rather be out on the battlefield."

"I can't get cheek kisses on the battlefield," he smirked contagiously.

The two of you looked at each other in an awkward silence.

Rex finally broke it, "Don't get my wrong, your training is flawless, but unfortunately I wasn't given  romance lessons, so I'm going to give this my best try," he paused for a moment, "would you be interested in a late night snack together in the mess tonight?"

"As long as you're interested in late night holovids in my quarters afterwards," you blushed back.

Rex confidently beamed, "It's a date." He reached out for your hand and softly kissed the back of it, "Now as much as I would love to stay, I have an evaluation to practice for."

You looked up at him as he left the room, "A little birdie told me you'll pass."

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[slytherinbarnes]

Seasons Change [3]

iii. the summer will warm the coldest parts of your heart 

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, language. 

summary: a mission throws you and steve together, bringing a new sort of revelation to your relationship. 

a/n: okay, yes, I know this is late, but listen, I couldn’t find my laptop amongst all the moving boxes! good news is that I did find it though, so here is seasons change part 3 (my favorite part!), one day late!!! the taglist for this series is open!

previous chapter // series masterlist // full masterlist

June 20, Rome, Italy. 

You walk out of the bathroom of your hotel room, your final belongings gathered in your arms. You dump them into your open suitcase, not bothering to organize them since you’re finally flying home again, before zipping the suitcase closed and plopping down beside it on the bed. You stare out the window of your room, admiring the Sydney skyline outside, though you’re glad to trade it for a familiar skyline in just a few short hours. 

As you stand to grab your suitcase, your phone rings, and your stomach drops with dread, already aware that this phone call is not going to be one that you like. You grab your phone from your pocket, eyes scanning the familiar number on the screen before you answer with a sigh, “Hill, this better not one of those calls.”

“It’s just recon!” You sigh again, and you can practically hear her cringe though the phone, “I know you haven't been home in months, but you’re our best agent. And you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

“Who gave the orders?”

“Fury.”

Not optional then. You nod once, even though she can’t see it. “Where?”

“Rome.”

Your brows lift slightly, “Italy?”

“You know any other Romes?”

You deadpan, “Yeah. Georgia, Alabama, Illinois.”

Hill lets out a short laugh, “Okay, okay, I get it, smartass. Yes, Rome, Italy.”

“Just recon, huh?”

“Just recon.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t say no if it’s from Fury. “Alright, send over the file.”

“Already done.” You can hear the smile in her voice when she adds, “Oh, and you’ll have a partner on this one.”

You groan, “You know I do better solo.”

“You’ll like this one!”

“You said that about the last one.”

“Who, Franklin?”

You hum in acknowledgement, “He talked too much. And he ate way too much garlic for someone sharing a tiny room above a church.”

Hill laughs again before she mutters, “Well, I mean it this time.”

“Who is it?”

“Can’t say. Classified.” You let out a sound of frustration, and you can hear the amusement in her voice when she reassures you. “You’ll meet him in the safe house.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t forget that you’re my favorite agent!”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you soon.”

-

Shield sends a Quinjet to fly you to Rome, which you suppose is the closest thing you’ll get to an apology for not getting to go home. Still, it’s better than flying commercial, so you accept the gesture, and your flight passes uneventfully, which you’re grateful for.

The safe house is close to your landing spot, so you decide to walk, thinking the fresh air will be good for you. Unfortunately, you underestimated just how hot it would be beneath the Italian sun, and by the time you arrive at the safe house, you’re sticky with sweat. You walk inside, the apartment pretty small as far as safehouses go, but you’re used to sharing close quarters with other agents, so you aren’t worried about it. You drop your bag on the floor in the living room, heading towards the kitchen and calling out as you move. “Hello? Anyone here?”

As you step into the kitchen, you find it empty, save for a note on the table, along with a small brown paper bag. There’s a delicious smell wafting towards you from the bag, buttery and warm and full of cinnamon, and when you pull it open, you see a fat cinnamon roll staring back at you. You get an idea of who your partner is before you even read the note left beside the bag.

 Went to grab a few things, be back in a bit.

-S

 You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “God damn it, Hill.” 

You knew you’d regret telling her about your arrangement with Steve, but she was suspicious after he called her in Japan, and she pretty much pieced it together on her own. All you did was confirm the details for her. Still, it felt nice to talk about it with someone. Not as agents, but as friends. You work so often that you don't have a lot of opportunities to get close to anyone, and besides Steve, Hill is the closest thing you have to a friend. 

You shake your head, sure that she’s laughing her ass off at HQ, before you settle into one of the chairs at the table, pulling the bag with the cinnamon roll towards you. You pull a copy of the file out of your bag, given to you by the pilot in the Quinjet, reading through it again as you eat the cinnamon roll left to you by Steve. And that’s where he finds you later, sitting at the table and popping the last bite into your mouth, and he says from the doorway, “Where does it rank on your list?”

You look up in surprise, so engrossed in the file that you didn't hear him come in, and he smiles as he walks into the room and sets two bags of groceries on the table. “So?”

You shake your head at him, not understanding. “So, what?”

“The cinnamon roll, where does it rank?”

You smile and wipe your hands clean, looking down at the crumbs scattered on the table. “Oh. Definitely not as good as my mom’s, but it’s one of the better ones I’ve had, so maybe a 7?”

Steve’s brows lift and a playful smirk settles itself on his face. “A 7? It’s at least a 9.”

“There’s isn't enough icing for it to be a 9.”

He smiles and nods, taking note of the criticism. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He starts to put the groceries away, and you stand to help him. “So you’ve read the file?”

“Simple surveillance, in and out in a few days. Intel says Alexandrei Ivanov has been scoping out tourist traps to test Hydra weapons at.”

You nod, both of you on the same page, before you ask, “So how are we gonna play this?”

Steve grabs a different file, turning to hand it to you as he grabs the last few groceries. “Newlyweds Victoria and Logan Jones. Honeymooners happily in love, hitting up all the best tourist spots and snapping plenty of pictures for their family back home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up a little as you scan the file, realizing that you’re gonna have to pretend to be married to Steve for the next few days. And everyone knows that you have to stay in your cover at all times, because you never know who’s watching. This should be fun. You take a deep breath and look up at him with a smile, feigning a confidence you don’t quite feel. “So, when do we start?”

-

It turns out that you’re starting right away. 

You freshen up from your flight and change clothes into the ones Steve brought for you, a bright yellow sundress; both of you looking incredibly average when you reveal your outfits to each other. Preparing to be tourists, you both don sunhats and grab a camera, and with your cover in place, you head to the Coliseum hand in hand, playing the part of a couple in love. 

It doesn't take long for you and Steve to spot Ivanov, as most of the Hydra operatives tend to stand out in a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand when he spots him first, and he turns to you and sweeps you in for a kiss, whispering softly against your lips, “Ivanov at your 3 o’clock.”

You feel your skin heat up with his touch, and you tell yourself that it’s the Italian sun, because you’re an operative and this is just work. But Steve seems to notice the effect he’s already having on you, because he smirks, and you repress an eye roll as you turn away and look around for Ivanov. When you spot him, you turn to your fake husband and exclaim, “Let me get your picture, love!”

You see his cheeks tinge pink, and now it’s your turn to smile, the nickname clearly something he enjoys. He passes you the camera and stands in line with Ivanov, and you point the camera at Steve, pretending to snap pictures of him, when in reality you’re capturing Ivanov in the background. Once you get the shot, you smile at Steve, waving him back over. “Oh my god babe, you look great! Come see!”

Steve walks over and checks the pictures, smiling his approval at you. “Wow, you really captured my good side!”

You lean into your cheesy role, beaming up at him. “Every side is your good side!”

“Baby, c’mere.” He pulls you in for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last, his tongue instantly slipping into your mouth. You have to work hard to remind yourself that you’re in public and this is a job, so you need to keep your composure. Every move the two of you make needs to be calculated, it needs to serve a purpose. 

Steve’s mouth moves over your jaw and down to your neck, his mouth pressing kisses and love bites into the skin there. You automatically tip your head to the side, giving him better access, and you hear him whisper against your throat, “Think you can get his phone?”

He lightly nips the side of your neck, and despite yourself you let out a soft moan, unable to hold it back. You feel Steve smile against your neck, and you clench your fists hard, pressing your nails into your palms, trying to calm yourself down again. You nudge Steve back up to your mouth and pull him close, running your tongue over his bottom lip, sinfully slow. You hear Steve’s breath hitch in his throat and you smile before whispering, “Phones are my specialty.”

You pull away from him, stepping back and smiling at his expression, Steve clearly getting into this just as much as you are. You’re slightly relieved that you aren’t the only one affected by his presence or his mouth on yours. You’ve seen each other a few times since Japan, quick flings on your way to other cities and missions, but each tryst never feels like enough. You feel yourself wanting to spend more and more time with Steve. Not just for the sex though. The sex is great, but you’re starting to enjoy just being with Steve. 

You try not to think about it too much, focusing instead on your arrangement. No strings attached, just hook ups. No feelings, no relationship. That’s it. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, returning to the present and your need to lift the phone off Ivanov. You carefully evaluate him; where’s he’s standing, where his phone is most likely to be on his body, what’s the best way to get it off him. And as you watch him standing near the railing, a thick crowd of tourists moving past him, you decide that the best method is to slip it from his back pocket as you move past him with the crowd. 

You blend in with the families and couples moving through the attraction, and when you get close enough to him, you deftly slide the phone from his back pocket, quickly switching it to your other hand, held out of sight. You wander over to an area with brochures and pamphlets, grabbing a few and using them to further hide the phone, before making your way back to Steve, the phone hidden in your hand. When you reach him, you give him a smile, passing the brochures and the phone to him. “Look at all these places we need to visit here! So many exciting things to see!”

Steve beams at you when he feels the weight of the phone, and he quickly slides an SD card into the phone, transferring whatever he can as he chatters away about what cafes look best and what attractions you absolutely need to see before your honeymoon is over. When the transfer process finishes, he pulls you close and whispers, “Now how do you get it back?”

“Bumping into him is best, he’s less likely to feel it sliding into his pocket that way.”

Steve smiles at you, “I have the perfect idea then.”

Your brows furrow together, wondering what he has in mind as he pulls you towards Ivanov, talking excitedly the whole way. When the two of you get close, he holds up the camera. “This looks like a good spot, babe! Let’s take a few selfies here.”

“Good idea, love.”

His eyes cut to yours, and you confirm the nickname is one he really likes as he lifts the camera and pulls you close. He snaps a few of the two of you smiling before he leans in and kisses your cheek, snapping a few more. Finally, his lips find yours, and you hear the camera snap a few more times before his arm lowers and his kiss grows more passionate. His tongue slips into your mouth again, and you feel one of his hands slide down to your ass, the phone hidden beneath his hand, pressed against your butt. 

You feel a spark of arousal as he shifts you backwards, his mouth moving to kiss your neck as he bumps into Ivanov, quickly sliding the phone back into his back pocket. Steve’s hand quickly returns to your ass, squeezing lightly as Ivanov turns to look at the two of you with disgust. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry man, it’s just hard to keep my hands off her.”

Another squeeze to prove his point, and you close your eyes, steadying yourself as Ivanov retorts, “Maybe you should take her home and fuck her then.”

“Maybe I should.”

You look up and find Steve’s eyes, and the look in them is enough for you to know that he means it. You both mumble another apology to your target before Steve takes your hand and leads you through the crowd, the two of you heading back to the apartment you’re sharing. But it’s like the walk cools Steve off or something, because when you arrive back at the building, he drops your hand and steps inside, awkwardly rubbing his neck as you lock the door behind you. “Good grab back there.”

“Yeah, you too.” You shake your head, your mind too focused on his hands on you, before you amend, “I mean, thanks.”

He holds up the SD card and the camera, “I should get these sent over to Fury.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” You glance towards the bedroom door, thinking there’s only one thing that’s gonna cool you down at this point. “I’m gonna shower, try to wash off this sweat.”

“Enjoy it.”

You swear you can see Steve physically cringe at his response to you, and you nod once, grabbing your bag as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You move straight to the bathroom, switching the water to cool, hoping you can shock your arousal out of your system. You strip quickly and step under the cool stream, the water shocking the heat that seems to linger on your skin. Goosebumps lift on your skin, chasing away all thoughts of Steve, and when you feel calmed down enough, you switch the water warmer, intending to wash up before you get out. 

You wash your hair and body quickly, wondering if you can claim jetlag and pretend to go to sleep early to avoid any more awkward interactions with Steve. But as you stand beneath the warm water, letting it wash over you and relax you, you hear the bathroom door swing open. Confused, you turn to see who it is, surprised to see Steve striding towards you and pulling the shower door open. “Steve, what are you-”

The rest of the questions dies on your lips as he pulls you towards him, crashing his lips onto yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan into his touch, hoping he won’t pull away from you this time. You tug him closer and he steps into the shower fully clothed, moving beneath the stream of warm water with you. His hands start to roam over your body, and your lips move together frantically. 

You reach up and unbutton his wet shirt, pushing it off his body and onto the shower floor with a wet sound before your hands find his pants and belt, undoing them too and pushing the fabric down to join his shirt. His boxers are the last to go, and as you nudge them down his legs and grab him, his hand slips between your legs, expertly moving against you. The two of you stand pushed together, water running over you as you bring each other to the edge, ridding yourself of the tension that’s been building all day between you. 

Steve is the first to pull away, muttering “bedroom” against your lips. You nod and reach behind you blindly to switch the water off before allowing him to lead you into the bedroom, both of you dripping water across the floor. He leads you to the bed, still wet, and you lean back into the sheets, too aroused to care. Steve follows, and he’s inside of you in seconds, both of you moaning as you climb towards your highs together. It doesn't take either of you long to reach the top, and stars explode across your vision as you tip over the edge, Steve’s name coming out of your mouth as you finish.

-

You fall asleep almost as soon as Steve rolls off of you, exhausted from traveling and spying and being with Steve. You wake a few hours later, when the moon is high in the sky, and you roll over to face Steve, only to find that he isn’t there. Curious, you slide out from beneath the sheets that Steve tucked you into, and you pull on your discarded sundress from earlier before wandering out into the living room. 

There you find Steve, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. You smile when you see him, wondering why he’s out here, until you see the sketchbook in his hand. You move closer to him, grabbing the book to close it and set it aside, and as you do, you spot the drawing half finished on the page. 

It’s of you, fast asleep, sprawled out on the sheets, a soft smile on your face. You flip to the page before it and find another picture; you in Japan, eating across from Steve, and the one before that is you at the holiday party a few months ago. You look at Steve in surprise, still sleeping, unaware of what you’ve seen, and you smile as you close the book and set it on the table beside him. 

You hear your phone ring in the other room, and you head back to the bedroom, scooping it from your suitcase and answering without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Good job in Rome. We’re running the data from the phone and already getting hits on other locations, which means we need you somewhere else.”

You wander to the doorway between the bedroom and the living room, looking out at Steve as he sleeps on the couch, and when you do, you suddenly become aware of the intimacy of all of this. The playing pretend, the cinnamon roll, the notes, the sketches, it’s a breach of your arrangement. No strings attached, no feelings. You shake your head at yourself, wondering if you’ve managed to ruin a good thing, and at the same time, Hill’s voice comes through the phone, soft and concerned. “Agent, are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You look at Steve one last time before turning and heading to your suitcase, already starting to pack up. “Where do you need me?”

-

This time when Steve wakes up and looks beside him, there is no note. 

-

[phykios]

honesty and promise me part 9, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

He doesn’t text her later. He doesn’t text her for two weeks. On day fifteen of no contact from Percy, Annabeth begins to accept that whatever they had might be over now. 

That’s alright, she reminds herself. She had been working up to breaking it off with him for a while, and he just went ahead and did it for her. Saves her the trouble, really. 

October rolls on, wet and cold, inching ever closer to Halloween, and Annabeth finds herself seeking refuge at Piper’s, lending her body and her skills to help her friend finish her collection before her self-imposed deadline. At least the work provides a nice distraction from her silent phone--when Percy stopped texting her, Thalia did, too. Well. That’s that, she supposes.

Still, the fact that they were never officially dating doesn’t stop Annabeth from scrolling through his Instagram at 2 AM like some pathetic ex-girlfriend, screenshotting all her favorite photos so she can look at them later without the threat of accidentally liking them. He’s been posting a lot of stills from that fucking music video again, the divinely crafted muscles of his body on full display in cool, blue light, brown cheekbone and jawline sharper than ever. Beyonce herself even liked a few of them. 

God damn she’s a fucking idiot. 

It must be the self-pity that’s making her crazy, because when Luke calls her up to be his date/eye candy to some fancy semi-costumed party that weekend at an art gallery on the Lower East Side, she agrees without even thinking about it.

The gallery isn’t that far (certainly much, much closer than the Lincoln Center) but Annabeth has not worn heels in probably up to a calendar year, and she just cannot make herself walk that far. She will not. Her tiny-ass cross-body bag isn’t big enough to hold a separate pair of walking shoes. So she ponies up the exorbitant cab fare to the Lower East Side, asking the driver to drop her at the Seward Park Library so she can elegantly sashay down the sidewalk with the rest of the rich and glamorous. 

No one spares her a second glance, which is both relieving and strangely disheartening. She’s become too used to turning heads, she thinks.

Well. One head in particular.

“Hey, Annabeth!” Luke appears from thin air, dressed immaculately as always. His sandy hair has come a long way since business school, now tamed and laid perfectly, but with the faintest touch of dishevelment, like he couldn’t completely fix it after someone’s hands had been all over it. He looks even more handsome than he had on her birthday. He kisses her on the cheek, right on the sensitive skin of an old, failed piercing, and she shivers. “You look incredible.” 

Before she left Piper’s apartment that day, Annabeth had raided her small stash of designer clothes and had rediscovered her old faithful that Piper had tried to bury, the midi-length Valentino dress she had worn to the unveiling of her and Leo’s collaboration. It’s a light, powder blue, which can’t be helped, but the lace collar and three-quarter sleeves cover most of her tattoos. She had dug out her tiara, too, making herself a low-key Halloween costume out of the spring season dress. Though the dress doesn’t fit like it did a year ago, Which is depressing as all hell. “Thanks. You, too.”

He beams at her, holding out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Who did you say was the artist, again?” she asks, taking it.

“I didn’t. Something with an ‘L,’ I think. Levelle? Levique? I don’t remember.”

The white gallery walls have been draped in shades of inky blue and midnight purple, all the better to see the crystal sculptures on display: beautiful renderings of swords and skulls, deadly weapons and human bones. There’s something mind-numbingly obvious about holding a spooky, macabre-themed gallery show on Halloween night, entitled “Death and Riches,” but she has to admit, the artwork is stunning. The crystals take what little light is cast from the weak ceiling lamps and multiply it, casting the dark velvets in rainbow reflections. Annabeth feels like she’s walking through the night sky, like she could reach out and rearrange the stars in the constellations. “Look at this,” she murmurs to Luke, stopping them in front of a sculpture of an ancient cavalry sword. “This is incredible.”

He grunts. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Annabeth fixes him with a look. “‘Cool’? Seriously?”

“What? It’s just a rock.”

She shakes her head. “You are wasted on an art gallery.”

“I am,” he agrees, swiftly. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my bosses.”

“What do you mean?”

Luke steers her away from the sculpture, moving them onward. “One of our assistant executives, he’s about to close a huge deal with some big wig from Europe who runs this massive import/export, but before everything is made official, he wanted to meet all of us.”

“Why here, though?”

“He’s in town for this gallery opening; the artist is his niece, or something.”

Ugh. This is why she swore off business bros: always an ulterior motive with these people. “Hey, I’m going to go look for something to drink, do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he waves her off.

Annabeth, teetering on her towering heels, has to make her way against the current of the crowd towards the refreshments table along the edge of the wall. She feels ten pounds lighter without all the metal in her face, her center of gravity completely out of whack--not to mention she’s having trouble seeing with all this hair in her face. To better disguise her undercut, she had brushed all her hair over her head in one big, voluminous side ponytail on the wrong side of her face. It’s disorienting, to say the least.

Her stomach roils at the display of food, even as her mouth waters a little bit at the bruschetta with olive tapenade. Rather than risk it, she decides to just go with a glass of sparkling cider. She’s been feeling sick and anxious all day long, dreading every moment of this gala; the last thing she wants to do is exacerbate it with champagne. 

Before she makes her way back to Luke’s side, however, she wants to take another look at the actual art. Or at least find out who the actual artist is. Whoever they are, they are phenomenally talented. 

“Excuse me,” Annabeth says to the staff member manning the food table. “Do you have any more information about the artist? I’d love to see more of their work.”

“Sure!” she chirps, turning round to grab something off a stack of pamphlets beside her. “You can read more about Ms. Levesque here.”

“Thank you,” says Annabeth, taking the glossy brochure. Levesque. Levesque Levesque Levesque. She knows that name, she’s sure of it. Penny in the air… 

Slowly, like she’s walking a labyrinth, she makes her way around the gallery. The booklet has descriptions of each piece of art on display, contexts and histories and prices that make her sweat a little. But by the time she returns to the cavalry sword, her head is swimming--probably from the lack of food--her eyes straining in the dim light. She has completely lost track of Luke. She has completely lost track of the time. Annabeth puts her hand to her head, pressing her fingers against the bone of her forehead.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She jolts at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. The owner of the hand pulls away immediately, holding it up in a placating motion. 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Annabeth blinks at the person in front of her. He’s blond, tall, with glasses and a scar on his upper lip, and she cannot shake the bone-deep feeling that she’s seen him before. 

“You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down?” he asks, electric blue eyes shining with concern. 

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m okay, just a little… the light, you know. Makes it hard to read.”

“I know how you feel,” he says, nodding sagely. “The lighting setup here is absolute murder on my glasses.” Then he sticks out his hand, proud and jutting. “I’m Jason.”

Furiously, she blinks away unbidden tears, turning her sudden sob into a light laugh at the thought of the last time she had met someone named Jason. Or, someone she thought had been named Jason. “Annabeth.” His grip is firm and congenial, like a senator. “Are you with Mercury Exchange, too?”

“Oh, no,” he says, “I’m just here to support the artist. She’s my cousin.”

“Well, congratulations to your cousin on a beautiful gallery opening,” says Annabeth, inclining her head with a smile that he returns. “These sculptures are incredible.”

Jason follows her gaze, and when she looks at him again, he’s smiling. The scar gives his smile an adorable edge. “Hazel is very talented.”

Penny drops. “Hazel Levesque?” Annabeth asks. “Your cousin is Hazel Levesque?” 

“Yeah!” Jason beams. “You ever listen to a band called Pluto’s Daughter?”

“You’re Jason Grace?”

That takes him aback, blinking in shock. “Yes… how did you--oh, you know Thalia?” he asks.

No. No no no, this cannot be happening. “Um, not-not really, I just--”

“I just saw her, like, ten minutes ago--”

No no no, she cannot be here, she can’t see Annabeth, not like this-- “Actually,” Annabeth cuts in, “I should really get back to my date, I’m sure he’s worried sick, it was nice meeting you!” And she bolts from the conversation in the general direction of the exit, leaving a very confused member of the cousin consortium in her wake. 

Stupid, so stupid, how did she not look this up beforehand, how did she not put it together sooner? She can’t let anyone see her like this, dolled up and--and downright clean. The crowd has turned into an impenetrable wall, the gaps between patrons too small for her to slip between. The dark walls close in around her, suffocating her, and her panic rises, stomach churning, bile crawling up her throat.

From the crush of people, a hand shoots out to grasp hers, and she jumps a foot in the air. “There you are!” says Luke. “Come on, I want you to meet the big wig.”

“Oh, Luke, I don’t know,” she stammers, “I’m-I’m not feeling very well, I think I had a bad burrito earlier, and--”

“It’ll just take a minute,” he wheedles, “We just gotta show up, make some small talk for a few minutes, then I’ll get you home. Sounds good?” But she can’t resist as he pulls her deeper into the gallery.

Like fucking Moses and the fucking Red Sea, the crowd parts before them, laying out a clear path to the three very well dressed men in the center of the room. Even from behind, she can tell that they’re all related: three copies of the same broad build, the same thick, black hair, peppered with grey, the same radiating aura of power and influence, engaged in deep, important conversation. 

“Mr. Olympianides?” Luke politely interjects. 

As one, the three of them turn to face him, identical gazes sizing them up, pinning them in place. “Yes?” intones the oldest-looking one, his earth-brown eyes cold and dispassionate. 

“I think he means me, brother,” says the middle-looking one, jovial. “You’re with Mercury too, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, sir,” says Luke, holding out a hand. “Luke Castellan, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Ah, of course!” he says, taking Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard great things about you from Prometheus. I understand I have you to thank for the success of the Saturn deal?”

Luke, wholly in his element, smiles his perfectly practiced sycophantic smile--just the right cocktail of humble and arrogant, gracious and gregarious. You can tell he double majored in theater. “It was no trouble at all, really.” 

Then he turns his gaze to Annabeth, and she just about faints. 

Those eyes. She knows those eyes. Perfectly blue-green, like the waters of the Mediterranean in the sunshine, beneath thick, black eyebrows, with an aquiline nose and a full, salt and pepper beard--she is, without a doubt, looking into the unimaginably handsome face of Percy’s father. 

“May I have the name of your lovely lady?” He takes her hand, bringing it up to his for a kiss. 

Annabeth’s eyes practically bug out of her head. This is what Percy will turn into in twenty years? Good lord.

“This is my…” Luke trails off, sparing her a glance. “This is Annabeth Chase. She’s an architect here in New York. Annabeth, these are the gentlemen I was telling you about: Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus Olympianides.”

Oddly enough, part of her relaxes, even at Luke’s little fib. If Percy’s father is here, then that means that Percy might not be. She would still have to duck Thalia, but if Luke lets her leave within the next few minutes, that shouldn’t be too hard.

“Chase--like the Boston Chases?” the oldest brother asks. She’s seen those dark eyes, as well, lined with black, and sometimes with glitter. 

Annabeth smiles, just a little vacant. She hasn’t had a conversation like this in two years, but back in Boston she’d had them nearly weekly. “That’s the one,” she agrees, letting a giggle out at the end. With business bros her age, they preferred a little bit of a too cool attitude, they’d loved her with all the metal in her face. But the older ones like a giggle. From the corner of her vision, she sees Luke give her just a little bit of a side eye. 

“You’re Randolph’s daughter?” Asks the other brother. His eyes are electric blue. Even if Annabeth hadn’t just met Jason, she’d have known this was Thalia’s father from twenty paces. 

“I’m his niece,” Annabeth says. “Frederick is my father.”

“The middle one?” Percy’s father says, with a little bit of a grin. 

“Yes.” So far, so good--and no one has asked about her mother. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to see that she is not her stepmother’s daughter.

There’s maybe the slightest hint of snideness when Zeus says, “Another Harvard graduate, I assume.”

So there are a lot of Chases at Harvard. On a whim, one night while she should have been writing her Modernism final instead, Annabeth had spent several hours making an academic genealogical chart, inordinately pleased when she found out that her old, decrepit freshman history professor had also taught her father, way back in the day. 

“Guilty,” she titters, “but I did attend Miss Minerva’s here in the city.”

“So your Randolph’s niece,” Thalia’s dad asks again, “And Frey Vanir is married to your aunt.”

“Yes.” She bites down on the “sir.” She’s got to have some standards. 

“Good families,” Nico and Hazel’s father says, nodding at her, “Chases and Vanir.” 

Annabeth has some very, very hazy memories of meeting her own fabulously wealthy extended family, just after her little cousin Magnus had been born. She doesn’t recall much, but she can remember the high, vaulted ceilings of her aunt’s apartment on Commonwealth Avenue, the view of the Public Gardens just down the block, and the very big, very sharp-looking sword hanging above the mantel. The Chases are a well-off family, it’s true, but the Vanir, old money from leftover Nordic peerage are very much on the Olympianides' level, even if Annabeth is the one wearing a tiara that allegedly once belonged to the crown jewels of Sweden. 

Athena Pallas is on that same level, too, but Annabeth would rather run into Thalia then talk about her mother. Especially with these people.

Then Poseidon’s gaze fixes on something behind her, and he breaks into a broad, heartbreakingly familiar grin. “Ah, Percy, there you are!” he calls. 

The smile drops from her face, and her blood freezes. Caught in the gravity well of a black hole, she turns. 

A huge mistake. 

Her only thought is How dare he be so handsome.

He’s in a suit she’s never seen before, crisply pressed, but comfortable, simple black but with pearl cuff links, to match his father’s. The sharp lines of the suit hide his beautiful form beneath them in a way that makes Annabeth understand the appeal of lingerie like she never has before. He looms, back discipline-straight, his face scrubbed clean and eyebrows perfectly shaped, and to cap it all off, a pair of simple, classy diamond studs in his ears. Percy Jackson remains, as always, unfairly gorgeous, the perfect specimen of male beauty, and Annabeth is powerless under his gaze.

And he’s just heard every word of their conversation.

“Percy,” his father says, “have you met Annabeth Chase?”

Percy stares at her, mouth open a little. She watches those eyes take her in from top to bottom, hairstyle to clean face to conservative dress to high heels. Never, ever one to hide his emotions, she can see his inner monologue playing out on his face: shock and awe, bewilderment and confusion, jerkily transitioning to… to a politely blank face. Like the surface of the ocean, the wave of his feelings disappear beneath his skin, leaving no trace that they were ever there. “No,” he says, in a tone that broaches no argument. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever met Annabeth Chase before.”

He takes her in again. Percy was never above leering, but he was always pretty situational about it. He would wait until sex was explicitly on the table, wait until she wanted to see him go just a little bit crazy for her. He doesn’t leer now, cataloguing the dress, the shoes, the tiara.

“Cinderella?” he asks, before the conversation can become awkward and their audience can notice something else.

“Yes,” she says, unable to force the smile she’d used on his father just minutes before. “What girl doesn’t want to be a princess for Halloween?”

“Cinderella was always your favorite, wasn’t she?” Percy’s father asks him. Then he laughs. “Once we went to Disney in Paris, I think, and Percy, all of ten years old, cried because he didn’t think he was going to be able to meet her.” 

Percy’s face stays blank. “I was six, Dad.” 

Annabeth winces, internally. That was the year, he’d told her, that he’d spent in shoes that didn’t fit because his new ones had been destroyed by bullies taunting him over ballet, and he didn’t want to tell his mother because trying to buy him a second pair of shoes would have been a struggle. She wonders if maybe he was crying because he’d spent the day walking around Disneyland in shoes two sizes too small, and no one had noticed.

His father laughs again. “Still,” he says, “Cinderella is your favorite.” 

“I don’t have much use for princesses anymore,” Percy says. “Fairy tales and true love are kid stuff.”

His uncles laugh along with his father, and Luke just frowns at Percy, like he’s not sure what to make of him. But his family seems convinced it's the wisdom of youth.

“Oh,” says Poseidon, “You never know when you can find someone special.” He does leer at Annabeth, just a bit. There isn’t a lot to leer at in this dress, but it's unmistakable. He’s very handsome, but the leer is perhaps the first time she’s thought he didn’t favor his son. 

“Were you the one who dated the princess of what it was called?” Thalia’s father asks. “Or was Triton? Or was it both of you?” 

“No,” Hazel and Nico’s father says, “no, they both dated Atlas’s girl. Right?”

“Yes, Uncle Hades,” Percy says. 

“Zoe?” 

Calypso, Annabeth thinks, just before Percy says it out loud and they all nod. 

“Is she here?” Thalia’s father asks, glancing around. “Or do you have a different date tonight?”

Annabeth hasn’t even considered Percy having a date. But the idea of it causes a wave of nausea to come over her, of a beautiful woman on Percy’s arm, one of his fellow dancers, or perhaps some heiress, who he could take to fancy parties and show off to his father and uncles.

That could have so easily been you, says a voice in the back of her head. 

I’m no one’s arm candy, she wants to yell at herself. 

But she can’t, because she’s literally resting on Luke’s arm, while three powerful businessmen ogle her. 

She breathes through her nose, and tries to keep from throwing up. Or crying. 

“Percy knows its best to come to events like this stag,” Percy’s father winks at him, and then unmistakably at her, “you never know what sorts of lovely creatures you might run into.” 

Percy frowns, clearly uncomfortable. “I think Miss Chase definitely came with her boyfriend.” He nods to Luke, and gives him a smile Annabeth has never seen. So forced and fake and clearly unhappy. 

She wishes she could stop everything and scream at Percy that Luke’s not her boyfriend. That he could never be. That she does not want Luke, not the way she wants Percy. 

But time goes on, and so does Percy. “I don’t like coming to these sorts of things alone, if I can help it.” 

And the world nearly collapses out from under her feet. 

“The buddy system is important.” He turns his head, clearly searching the milling crowd for someone. Annabeth doesn’t follow his gaze. She doesn’t want to see the woman he willingly shows off to his father. She glances at Luke instead. His face is still placid, but she’s known him a long time, in all sorts of states. He’s clearly uncomfortable. 

“Thalia,” Percy’s voice says, not a shout, but a request. Annabeth doesn’t look over at him, or the direction he shouted, but Luke does. He breaks away from her gaze and actually unlinks their arms. His mask slips a little bit more. 

At the last possible second Annabeth looks over too. 

Thalia Grace looks exactly like the Thalia Annabeth has always known. Her hair is slicked down in some old fashioned pin curls, and she’s wearing a cocktail dress and red soled heels that are too big for her, but you can see the tattoos up and down her arms and legs, underneath her ripped fishnets. Her facial piercings are all still in, and her eyebrows and ears are full of safety pins and the necklace around her neck is made of them too. She’s wearing the same beat up leather gloves as always. 

For just a second, Annabeth hates her. Because Thalia is clearly so Thalia, so comfortable in being Thalia, and she can walk around this fucking gala, with buisness bros and old money, and look totally comfortable and confident. 

And Annabeth keeps adjusting her sleeves and hair, worried that somethings going to move wrong, and it's going to become obvious that she’s… something? 

Then their eyes meet, and it's almost as bad as when Percy showed up. Thalia looks lost, and then she glances to Annabeth’s side, at Luke and her face settles into a frown not unlike Percy’s. 

She stops beside Percy who smiles at her, “Thalia and I always use the buddy system.” He says. Then, as he holds out his hand to her, his smile becomes the closest she could ever refer to as cruel. “Thalia, have you met Annabeth Chase? Of the Boston Chases? Her uncle is Frey Vanir.” 

Standing tall, bright eyes ringed in black, Thalia takes in all of Annabeth. She’s done this before, when Annabeth was drunk and crying on a dirty bar floor, with a couple hours old tattoo on her arm and a couple of days old ring in her eyebrow. Annabeth had seen her mother on Wednesday for lunch and had destroyed her life by dinner. She doesn’t really remember what they’d talked about, in the wee hours as Friday became Saturday: not being good enough for your family, how New York took your dreams, chewed them up, and spit them out, how your father would never understand you and your mother would never love you. That sort of thing.

She’d been a gross, pathetic mess. But Thalia had seen something in her that night. Had lifted her off the floor and out the door and eventually onto the mattress in the place she’d been renting weekly at the time. She’d taken Annabeth into her world.

Now, it doesn’t look like she sees anything good in Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases, in designer heels, with a designer bag, wrapped in a designer dress and dripping in jewels. Annabeth knows she looks like a dozen other girls at this event, girls that Luke’s (and maybe Thalia’s and, God, maybe even Percy’s) eyes have wandered over with interest. 

“Miss Chase, despite being from Boston,” Percy says to Thalia, “was mentioning some of the schools she went to in New York. I thought maybe you might have known each other through one.” 

Percy’s face has gone perfectly blank, but Thalia’s… Thalia’s is angry. 

“No,” she says, “we did not go to school together. But Luke and I did.”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to gape, eyes wide as she turns to him, shocked. 

Luke tries to smile. “Yes, we did, but--” 

Thalia doesn’t let him finish. “Are you still sending weekly audition tapes to Lorne Michaels?” she asks, a snarl that only an idiot would mistake for a grin on her face. 

Annabeth would laugh, if she felt like laughing at anything right now.

Luke tries to speak again, but Thalia talks right over him. “No, of course not. You’re doing some business thing.” She eyes his suit and then her three older relatives. “Why else would we be here? I know you never really had the brains for the arts. You were always more interested in the carnal passions of acting.” 

Annabeth actually does laugh, just a bit, both because that’s clearly something Luke had once said (and Annabeth remembered him coming straight out of NYU, a Yankee transplant to Boston, she could totally believe it) and because Thalia got Luke’s cadence and tone down perfectly. 

But it does nothing to relieve the tension. If anything, it's gone up. 

Percy’s father forces his own laugh. “It is so much fun when you run into old friends like this.” He offers, clearly sensing the storm brewing. Percy has at least tried to force it down. “And it's good to see you, as well, Thalia. It's been a long time.” 

“It has, Uncle Poseidon,” She agrees. 

“Mr. Castellan has left the world of acting for our bland business and finance meetings, but are you still acting?”

Thalia goes very still. 

Annabeth, in the two years she’s known Thalia Grace, has never even once heard her so much as allude to acting in anything. She set up equipment and tended bars for cash. The only acting she ever did was pretending not to be hungover. 

It’s a slight movement, but she sees Thalia reach out and grip Percy’s arm. He meets it, holding on. Steadying. 

He understands what’s going on here.

“She’s not,” Thalia’s father says. He’s been polite so far this evening, but now he sounds annoyed. “All that talent and all that promise, and she’s thrown it all away.” He looks at Thalia, electric eyes to electric eyes, and shakes his head. “You could have been just like your mother.” 

Percy, Luke, and Hades all let out a sharp breath. 

Thalia’s smile, sharp, turns acidic. “I can't be,” she says. “I don't drive. So I couldn't drive myself into a tree.”

Her father narrows his gaze, mouth tight. Annabeth has actually seen that look on Thalia’s face before. Poseidon looks suddenly very sorry he ever opened his mouth. 

Thalia turns to Percy. “Do you think Hazel would mind if I committed a murder and ruined her big night?” 

It's a very Thalia thing to say, but Annabeth has never really considered the theatricality of her before. This is an artist working her craft, taking words and turning them into daggers.

“Hazel loves performance art,” Percy says. “And it is on theme.” 

Thalia nods and then looks at her father. She smiles. “That sounds like a lot of work, so, instead, why don’t I do just what you want. I’ll be my mother. I’ll go get fabulously drunk and embarrass you horribly. Unfortunately, this is a 21+ event, so I won’t be able to endanger any children in the process. But you never know.”   

She spins on her heels, and walks away. 

“I'm going to make sure she doesn’t enganger any children just to prove a point,” Percy says. “I'll see you later.” He nods to his family, and then offers Annabeth a very formal handshake. “So nice to meet you.” 

She’s missed his hands on her. She doesn’t want to let go. 

But she lets him, and he moves over to give Luke one, too. He leans in, just a little bit, and lowers his voice so only Luke and Annabeth can hear. “You shouldn’t make a scene in a public place. But you deserve to know, she’s been cheating on you since May.”

Annabeth can’t breathe for a moment. The perfect man, handsome and charming and crueler than she ever believed possible.   

Her stomach rolls again. 

Behind her, she hears Poseidon say, “Do you often tell women whose mothers’ acting career dried up and then descended into substance abuse that you hope they have the same career as said mothers? Because wow."

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispers. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m very sorry.” 

He turns to speak with the three brothers, to formally and probably seamlessly untangle themselves from all of this, and she tries to turn too, but the effort to spin gets too much. 

She’s still nauseous, feeling light-headed. The stiletto heels only add to the problem. She shakes and stumbles, right into Luke, who catches her on one arm, Poseidon on the other. Annabeth has to work very hard not to yank herself away from him. 

“Are you alright?” Poseidon’s accent isn’t the same as Percy’s at all, his hands too smooth. There are differences between the two that she can focus on. 

“I haven’t been feeling well tonight,” she admits, if it will get her out of here faster. 

“Do you need to sit down?” Asks Poseidon. “I’m sure there is a medical professional around here.” 

“No, no, thank you,” she says. “I should probably head out, If that’s okay,” she tells Luke, apologetically.

He nods, finally complying with her need for escape. “Of course.” 

When Poseidon lets go of her arm, she basically falls into Luke. It's embarrassing. Her eighteen year old self is probably cheering. Unfortunately for her, that crush was killed two great heartbreaks ago. Now, it’s just quiet and awkward as they walk away. “Sorry,” she says. 

“Sorry? I should be thanking you. That was a really good excuse.” Then he looks at her--really looks. “It wasn’t an excuse, was it?”

She shakes her head, miserable. 

“Is it because of that guy? Percy? Do you know him?”

She nods.

“Why does he think you’ve been cheating on me since May?”

“Because he thinks you and I are a couple, and I’ve been sleeping with him since May.” 

Luke lets out a low whistle. “You and those business bros.” He shakes his head. Sometimes he doesn’t quite have the self-awareness that he should, she thinks. “I blame myself. If I didn’t invite you to that MBA party, maybe you wouldn’t have lost your virginity to that asshole in my cohort.” 

“Percy’s not a business bro,” she says, defending him, though for the life of her she doesn’t know why. “He’s a ballet dancer with NYCB. It… ended about 3 weeks ago. I’d tell you about it, but I do actually feel pretty horrible.”

Luke frowns at her. “You want me to get you a cab?”

Annabeth shakes her head. “I know you have more business bro things to do. I can get myself home.”

He waits several seconds, before giving her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, wishing her goodnight, leaving her in the middle of the mingling crowd and the crystal displays. 

Annabeth shuffles towards the exit, passing the food table. Even the smell makes her feel like she’s going to throw up. Walking faster doesn’t exactly help. 

Eventually, she manages to get out of the main gallery, where the lobby and coat check had been set up, very much regretting letting Luke go. Right now, walking outside and finding a cab might as well be like attempting a quick little jaunt up Mt. Everest. Head aching, stomach rolling, she slumps against the wall outside the coat check, laying her warm cheek against the cool wall. 

That’s when she hears the muffled shouting. 

Two voices she knows intimately. 

“How can you say that?” Thalia whisper-screams. “In what possible universe are they the same?”

“How are they not?” Percy quietly shouts back. “They’re exactly the same.”

“I can’t even believe you’re defending her. She lied to us--she hurt you, just like--”

“Don’t you dare try and tell me you’re doing this for me. This is about you and your problems. Like always.”

“I don’t have to listen to this shit.” Then comes the telltale clacks of Thalia stomping about in her high heels. She flings open the door of the coat closet, and comes face to face with Annabeth--who probably looks about like death warmed over. Thalia takes one look at Annabeth, sneers, then stalks away, anger sparking off of her like static shock. 

Hot on her heels comes Percy, equally furious. "Then find someone else’s couch to crash on tonight!" He shouts at her retreating form.

Then he sees Annabeth.

She hopes she never has to see him that angry ever again. 

It takes a couple of pounding heartbeats, but he visibly dials it back down, rage giving way to something a little less intense, the bitterness bleeding out of him until he’s only just annoyed. “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

There’s a million and one things she wants to tell him; her mind is a hurricane, every thought and feeling moving at a hundred and fifty miles per hour, sentences forming on her tongue in one second and ripped away the next. She wants to tell him that she never meant to hurt him, but all that comes out is, “Luke isn’t my boyfriend.”

“What, he dump you already?”

“We’ve never dated,” she says. “He’s just a friend. I haven’t cheated on anyone.”

“Oh, so you’ll get all dolled up for some guy that isn’t your boyfriend, but you couldn’t be bothered to find a pair of jeans without holes in them to come see my show?”

Her stomach lurches, in both anger and regret. She did do those things. “You told me that you didn’t care what I wore.”

“And I didn’t, because I thought you didn’t either.”

“I don’t!”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you parted your hair on the wrong side? Because you didn’t care if someone would see your undercut?”

She can’t say anything to that, because of course, he had hit the nail on the head. 

“I mean, Thalia may be messed up, but at least she has the guts not to hide it, but you--” he sputters, gesturing angrily to her head, “you put on a tiara and pretend you haven’t been gutter trash for the last two years.”

Indignation rises in her. Gutter trash? “You’re one to talk--you can’t go anywhere nicer than Antonio’s for dinner but you own a custom fucking Italian suit and diamond earrings?”

He scowls. “Oh, I'm sorry, just so we're clear, Kym got me this suit so I would stop, and I quote, 'embarrassing her with my poverty.' I borrowed the earrings from Nico. But you're right. The same Christmas I had my power and heat turned off in Paris, my dad got me these pearl cufflinks.” He raises his hands, brandishing them. “Just what I always wanted!”

“Don’t give me that--the man takes you, his bastard,” she spits, “on the family vacation to the Greek islands every goddamn summer! You think he wouldn’t drop a couple million for you if you asked? Meanwhile, I had to grovel at my mother’s feet for years for even the barest hint of support--”

“That is not even remotely the same thing, and you know it!”

“It isn’t?” She laughs, cruelly. “Because from where I’m standing, we were both left at the mercy of our shitty parents, but you’re too much of a coward to tell your father to fuck off when you really want to.”

That just about sets him off. His eyes darken like sea storms, raging and thunderous. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on me. You’re the one that lied to me for months, to Thalia for years--Jesus, Annabeth, was any of it real? Was everything you said to me over the last five months just some game to you?”

“How dare you,” she hisses. “How dare you even ask me that when you know full well you’re the only person I’ve shown my designs to in years.”

“Oh, really,” he says, and she goes cold. “What about the one that won the Eta Industries award? Did you not show that to anyone? Or did you get that one because they knew you were Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases.” 

Clenching her fists, she growls, standing up against the wall. “Leo and I put our hearts and souls into that project, and we won, fair and fucking square. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, seeing as you probably only got into NYCB because someone cashed a seven figure check.” 

She doesn’t know if she’s ever said anything she believes less. 

Percy laughs, an ugly, bitter thing. “If it had been that easy, I would have asked him to do that five years ago.”

Then he frowns. “Are you… feeling okay?”

She is not, as a matter of fact, but it’s no longer his fucking business, now is it. Annabeth opens her mouth to tell him so, then abruptly closes it as a little bit of vomit erupts from her esophagus. She covers her mouth, pressing against her teeth, trying to will it back inside. 

Warm hands encircle her shoulders, holding her up as her legs threaten to buckle beneath her. “Come on,” he says, gruffly. 

Together, they stagger into the single-stall bathroom, when Annabeth rips himself from his grasp, dropping to her knees before the toilet, and hurls. Faintly, she hears the lock of the door click behind her, then jumps at the feel of his hand on her back. “Leave me alone,” she spits, hocking bile into the toilet.

He doesn’t answer, only gently repositions her braid behind her shoulder so she doesn’t get any vomit on it. 

She will not admit that his hand on her body is the best she’s felt all day. She will not. 

“Ugh,” she moans, in between bouts of bile. “Fuck me.”

“Jesus, what did you eat?”

Annabeth has barely eaten all day, so it’s mostly sparkling cider and a bit of the olive tapenade from earlier. 

Finally, after several excruciating minutes, it subsides. She feels twenty pounds lighter, like she’s vomited up all of her organs. Now if only she could have barfed up her heart as well. She’s sure Percy can feel how hard it’s beating, just from being around him again. 

When the hell did she let herself get this worked up over a fucking guy, anyway? She hasn’t felt like this since she was nineteen, moping over a missed connection. But she’s not nineteen anymore, she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. She can handle it herself.

“Feeling better?” he asks. 

She coughs, attempting to clear her throat, throwing him a glare over her shoulder. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.” 

“I said,” she growls, fingers tightening around the bowl of the toilet. “Leave me al--” Her genius retort is, sadly, cut off by another bout of vomiting, so forceful that her tiara comes flying clean off. It would have landed straight into the bowl, were it not for Percy and his lightning reflexes, snatching it out of the air before the crown jewels of Sweden landed in a puddle of barf. 

When she comes back to herself, she realizes that she’s crying. 

The second wave passes, and she can breathe again. Her awareness returns to her in pieces, starting with the pinch in her knees from kneeling on the cold, hard floor for too long, then the cool porcelain of the toilet, oddly soothing against her flushed skin. Her mouth tastes like you’d expect, and she spits, trying to clear it in vain. 

“That’s it,” Percy murmurs behind her, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Just let it out.”

Her chest heaves on a sob, quickly disguising it as a cough. Why won’t this man just leave?

When another five or so minutes pass without any more upchuck, she pulls away from him, practically crawling back until she hits the bathroom wall, the floor pressing up against her bones, and she kicks off her heels. Everything is too cold and too hot, Annabeth practically shaking out of her skin, taking in huge, gulping gasps of air. Faintly, she hears the door open and close, softly and carefully. 

Good. He’s gone. 

Her whole body shudders. Stubborn tears force their way out of her, crawling down her cheeks, mixing with the taste of vomit and lipstick. 

But she can’t wallow in it for too long, because a minute later, Percy comes back, crouching down next to her, offering her a plastic cup of water. “Here.”

She takes a swig, swishing it around her mouth. Staggering to her bare feet, she shambles over to the sink, spitting it out. 

There’s no way Annabeth can avoid looking at herself too closely in the mirror, but she tries, her eyes skating over her smeared mascara and running foundation, taking in her (thankfully) vomit free braid and her bare head. “Where,” she coughs. “Where is my tiara?”

“I got it.” In the mirror’s reflection, Percy holds it up. “Wouldn’t want the crown jewels of England to wind up in the toilet.”

“Sweden,” she says, on reflex.

“What?”

Why can’t she just shut her stupid mouth, for God’s sake-- “They were part of the Swedish crown jewels.”

He stares at her in the reflection, his eyes unfathomable. “I just don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” She asks, a question to which she really doesn’t want to know the answer.

“How I keep letting this happen.” Percy closes his eyes, shaking his head, raising his chin to the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Like this, all the angles and contours of his stupidly beautiful face are thrown in sharp, brutal relief. He looks thin, somehow, the quiet sadness of his expression carved into the lines of his frown, of his squeezed shut eyes and the grim line of his lips. “I thought I was done with letting rich girls fuck me to make a point.”

Funny, how a simple sentence can feel like a knife in the stomach.

Percy, always so tall, slumps his shoulders, running a hand over his face. In seconds, the sadness is gone, replaced with a blank void of expression. “Will you let me call you a cab to take you home?” He asks, because of course, he’d never leave her alone like this. He’s too fucking good.

Annabeth nods into the mirror. 

He sidles up to her, slinging her arm around his shoulder. In his other hand, he carries her shoes and her tiara, dangling limply from his fingers. For a wild second she wants to turn and kiss him. She’s wanted to do that for weeks. She wants to wipe the tears and vomit off her face, stick back on her tiara, and go back to the party on his arm. They could make a beautiful picture, she thinks, Poseidon Olympianides’ son and Annabeth Chase of the Boston Chases. But when she tries to move, maybe to make a big mistake, she sways, unsteady. His grip on her waist tightens, holding her close, but his face is turned stubbornly out. He won’t even look at her.

The cool night air and the smell of city dirt is a welcome balm on her flushed face. In no time at all, Percy has hailed a cab, letting her hang off of him as she falls heavily onto the seat. With the utmost care and precision, he gently places her shoes and her crown on her lap, as controlled and careful as when he puts down a fellow dancer. There is no mistake here, she knows. Their little dance together is over. It feels like the end of one of those romantic movies from the 50s her dad used to love to cry over.

“Take her home, please,” he informs the cab driver, giving him her address, then without even sparing her a glance, he closes the door on her.

But greedy for one last look, Annabeth presses her face to the window as the driver pulls away from the curb. The night is dark and the streetlamps are unhelpful, but she can still see him as he cups his hands to his face, glowing like he holds a little star between his fingers, can see him tilt his head up and exhale, sending cigarette smoke up into the heavens.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Love on Open Waters: Chapter 1: The Capture

Prologue

Word Count: 1,419

Five Years Later

Patton smiled at Roman. “Alright, kiddo, time for bed.”

Roman looked up at him from his position on the bed. “Do you think Virgil will come back soon?”

Patton patted his head, dipping down to place a brief kiss on his forehead. “I don’t know, young prince. Maybe one day.” He walked to the door, leaving it open just a crack but turning the light out as he went.

Patton walked down the corridor, checking to make sure the other castle residents didn’t need anything. He went up a floor and did the same thing there, checking in on the king in his study and informing him of the time. He was thanked and sent on his way. He stepped through the main spaces, checking the other studies and the main living areas to make sure that everything was in place and that the maids had done their jobs to the best of their ability.

When that was done, he made his way over to the servants’ quarters and checked in on everyone. He sped up when he got to the maids’ quarters, not wanting to be caught in conversation with a certain person. He walked at a slightly faster pace, exhausted and wanting to get to bed before much else happened that night. His mind ran through all the projects he still had to do, the mending he wanted to do on his favorite suit jacket but also the new skirt he was planning on making.

His distracted thoughts had him slowing down until he almost ran into the one person he was trying to avoid. She stepped back but blocked his path in the narrow corridor. “Where are you off to, Patton?” Gaelle’s voice was higher than it was when talking to anyone else as she tried to put on an accent she thought he liked. Gaelle was someone that was under the impression that Patton was anything but exclusively gay. She seemed to have some sort of obsessive crush on him despite him wanting nothing to do with her.

Patton sighed. “Gaelle, I’m tired. I just wanna go to bed. Maybe do a bit of sewing first.”

She frowned and he knew he’d said something to displease her. “You know, sewing isn’t a very manly thing to do.”

Patton closed his eyes and nodded. “You tell me this every time you see me. And every time, I could not possibly care less about your opinion. I must, once again, inform you that I am not romantically inclined toward you. If I am to be blunt, I’m not even platonically inclined to like you. So, if you don’t stop harassing me every night and let me pass, you won’t have a job in the morning.” His voice had changed from tired to a honey smooth tone that meant he was extremely upset but wouldn’t show it.

She scoffed, not hearing the danger in his voice. “You can’t do that.”

He dropped the ‘customer service’ smile he’d been maintaining and gave her a look that was deadly. “Not only do I have the ear of the king, I’m still your boss. Either leave me alone, or pack your bags.”

She scoffed again but moved to the side. Patton gave her a tight lipped smile and passed, going on to his room. He stretched when he finally closed the door behind him, reveling in the feeling of dropping his mental burdens at the door. 

He moved away from his bedroom door and toward the small balcony that overlooked the ocean a few miles away. He leaned against the railing, trying to get lost in thought as he stared at the shifting water. Just as he was relaxing, an arm wrapped around his waist, a hand coming up to cover his mouth with a cloth. He tried to shout but made the mistake of breathing in. His vision faded as he clawed at his attacker, who simply held him until he passed out.

⚓⚓⚓

Patton woke with a headache. The ground shifted under him, constantly in a rocking motion. He raised a hand to his temple only to find that he wasn't bound. He stood and looked around the small room. There was a bed that he’d woken up on that was tucked into a nook of the wall, a desk that was attached to the wall with a chair which was attached to that by leather straps for arms, and an empty shelf above the desk. Looking around the small wall, Patton found a trunk sitting at the base and a hook for a coat on the wall.

He took a few steps forward, the cabin wasn’t very wide, and tried the door, only to find it locked. Sitting on the bed, he wondered what was happening to him.

He didn’t have long to wait before the sound of a key in the lock reached his ears and a man entered. The first thing Patton noticed about him was how tall he was, barely fitting through the door. He had on a long dark green coat that went down to his knees, a grey shirt that was open to halfway down his chest and revealed his chest hair, and loose fitting black pants with a sword on his hip. When he came into the light, Patton noticed that he wasn’t as tall as he’d thought, having a large and dirty green hat with a feather in it on. His boots were simple work boots, the kind that Patton had often seen on the hired help that came to the castle for a quick paycheck.

When the man came into the room and shut the door behind him, it took Patton a minute for his vision to adjust again as the green-clad man took a seat in the desk chair, taking off the hat as he did so. Patton noticed his hair was a bleached brown, his skin tan from the sun, he wore a mustache darker than the rest of his hair, and his right iris was almost white compared to his dark green left eye.

“Can you guess why you’re here?” The man’s gruff voice brought Patton’s attention back to the situation at hand.

Patton sighed. “Sir, I don’t even know where here is, let alone what I’ve done to deserve this.” He tried to put his usual authority into his voice to hide how badly it was shaking.

The man nodded. “You’re being held for ransom. You’ve harbored a person I have interest in for too long and I intend to have them back. Thus, you are going to write home and tell them that until they hand over the mer or a sum of money to his equivalent to make up for the loss of revenue, you are staying with me.”

Patton furrowed his brow. “The mer?” He thought for a moment but soon realized there was only one new addition to the household recently that would constitute such actions from someone. “Virgil,” he said under his breath.

“So you do know who I’m talking about,” the man said, a note of triumph in his voice.

Patton nodded. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

Patton shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “Virgil did indeed stay with us for four months. However, he disappeared a day or so before my capture and, as far as I know, has yet to return. I can’t give up a location I don’t know.”

The man nodded and slapped his thighs before standing and putting his hat back on. “In that case, I’ll be back with food in a few minutes.”

Patton reached out a hand but didn’t touch him. “Wait! Am I at least allowed to know the name of the man keeping me prisoner?”

The man didn’t turn around but did speak. “Remus Cadoc, Captain Remus Cadoc.” He left without waiting for a response.

Patton sat in the locked room for what felt like a half hour before the door opened again. This time, it was someone else bearing a tray of food. Unlike Captain Cadoc, this sailor didn’t seem to have any weapons on his person. The man put the tray on the desk and doffed an imaginary hat at Patton. “Cap’n got caught up in work and couldn’t bring this to ya but told me to do it.”

Patton thanked him and stood. “May I know your name?”

He smiled. “The name’s Apollo Aiman. What’s yours?”

“Patton Hope.”

Chapter 2

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[lovehotelreservation]

Prepare for Boarding

Summary: Vacation awaited for the entirety of the Grandcypher crew in Auguste. And yet, without having even stepped out from the ship, Rackam was already feeling the heat from watching your hands polish away at his beloved Benedia.

And as his dearest Captain, you simply had to take responsibility. 

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: DFAB!Reader/Rackam

RACKAM’S DILF ENERGY IS SO STRONG AND THE MANS IS ONLY 29 HEWWO???

ANYWAY THANKS SO MUCH TO MY DEAREST COMMISSIONER FOR THIS BLESSED PROMPT!!! 🧔👨‍✈️✨ -------------

“Only pilots get it.”

Your words echoed within Rackam’s head all the while his hands held onto the steering wheel of the Grandcypher with a grip tighter than Sandalphon’s fingers were on Lyria’s wrist while the two plummeted down the sky.

But as to what it meant, he was still trying to parse the significance.

However, his mind was racing through a million thoughts but never stopping to settle on one.

Simply because all that he could think about was the absolute temptation that he was subjected to just moments earlier.

Benedia held so gingerly within your grasp, the smooth strokes of your hand dragging a polish-slicked handkerchief along its neck, that cheeky grin on your lips which never seemed to falter in the slightest while the two of you conversed about the imminent crew-wide vacation at Auguste.

You coyly remarked how you wouldn’t mind if he rubbed sunscreen on your back in the same way you were applying polish onto Benedia.

Your smile widened while one of your eyes shut in a wink, the four words that were now reverberating in his mind uttered as you turned to leave with his beloved weapon in your hands, having offered to bring it back to his room once you started doing maintenance.

A creak was suddenly heard from the steering wheel as he docked the Grandcypher, searching through all of his willpower to not fumble with the process due to being distracted. His grip was tighter than ever, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes widened, all while scorching heat shot straight to his loins.

Rackam finally knew what it was.

With the Grandcypher properly and safely docked, and members of the crew already filing out to kick off a much deserved vacation, he wasted no time to speed off towards his room. By his hard hitting steps, his approach was sure to be detected by whoever was within his quarters, something confirmed by the giggling he heard as he prepared to open the door.

As in, prepared his leg to kick his door open before he stomped inside.

“Oh Captain, my Captain--”

He greeted with a huff, kicking the door closed and locking it behind him as his narrowed eyes immediately locked right onto yours.

Rackam was already worked up from your teasing earlier, but seeing the still cheeky and taunting grin on your face grow even wider from his arrival only served to rile him up to the point of no return, his chest heavy with a deep long breath as he stepped up right towards you, his words uttered in a low grunt,

“--that pretty little ass of yours is mine.”

Words were no longer needed to convey his intentions, only the immediate smothering of your lips by his own, his arms seizing hold of your body as he pulled you right against the sturdy front of his chest.

The sensation of your mouth smirking into his kiss had him hissing in response, his hands reaching down to grab at your ass in admonishment. Hearing your muffled squeak was a feeling he would savor, glad to see the situation turn towards his favor, his lead.

This was furthered when the two of you parted for breath, his eyes taking in and relishing the sight of your blushing cheeks and your mouth, once triumphant with its smile, now parted in a pant.

Rackam leaned forward to kiss you again, all the while his hands proceeded to knead and grope your ass. Feeling you squirm against him and hearing moans spill from your lips, he couldn’t resist from grinning as he remarked,

“Captain you may be, but Grandcypher’s a ship for the crew, by the crew…”

His words trailed off as one hand drew away from your ass.

“...and I object to our leader being such a damn tease…!”

The yelp you let out from his palm swatting at your ass had him shuddering as he tugged you closer, nudging his stiff erection against you through your clothes, which now only served to irritate him the longer they kept him away from your naked skin.

Impatient didn’t even begin to describe his demand for you.

Your clothes were soon tossed onto the floor, sometimes in tatters, others simply yanked off to join the growing heap. 

As more of your body was exposed, his fingers roamed over your skin to squeeze and fondle you as he suddenly had you bent over upon the rather broad surface of his work bench. With both of his hands massaging your breasts, teasing your nipples with pinches and tugs, spanking your ass out of admonishing vengeance, delving between your thighs to caress your core, each shudder and whimper he elicited from you made all the teasing you had him put up were prizes for him to treasure.

“I get it though--teasing Rackam is everyone’s favorite pastime, but I’m pretty sure you of all people should know that I always am happy to return the favor, especially when it’s you.”

While he grumbled, part of what caused the hoarseness of his voice was his admiration of your nude form--from your curves to the glistening shine off of your dribbling core.

He cursed under his breath.

God he couldn’t wait to sink his cock inside of you.

“I mean, you’re the only one who’s allowed to hold Benedia...” He continued while making quick work of his pants with the tug of his zipper and belt, soon unsheathing his hard erection as his need for you became far too much for him to bother with even thinking to undress completely. “--hell you’re practically holding my damn heart by this point.”

Leaning forward, his lips brushed against your neck, the bristles of his facial hair raking over your skin. “Guess what I’m tryin’ to make crystal clear to you, Captain--”

The moan you let out as you felt the blunt hot tip of his cock nudge against you was sheer heaven.

Grinning broadly, he brought a hand up to grasp your chin, turning your head so you faced him, finishing his thoughts before he kissed you fully while plunging his cock into your core. “--is that you can tease me all you want, but just never forget that you’re all mine, yeah?”

At first, he wanted to indulge in the hot, velvety wet depths in your core, but with you wiggling your ass so cutely in need along with his previous gripes from earlier, his self-restraint was teetering.

And then you responded to his words upon pulling away.

“Yes Rackam~” Your lips curled into a grin, your eyes twinkling as you hummed, “Though if I forget, you’ll be sure to punish me more, right?”

His eyes widened but soon narrowed just as quickly, his hands seizing your waist tightly as he readied to plow into you with all his might. “O-Oi, you little--!”

Needless to say, for you and Rackam, by the time the two of you left the Grandcypher, staggering but hand in hand nonetheless, rather than spending your vacation out on the waves, the two of you were happily tucked away in your hotel suite, tangled together upon the sheets.

[heywejustheretohavefum]

Attachment - Chapter One

- to clarify, you are an adult in this story. also, im sorry my writing is so bad and that i have not proofread this very thoroughly, but hell, this isnt my job and i dont have to be good at it -

word count : 1.5k

warnings : none, i think

From the start, your relationship with Master Skywalker was unorthodox. Yet the bond you shared was a strong one, though it started strangely.

He had been showing you to your quarters after your fateful meeting with the Jedi Counsel. After the excitement of the day, you were more than ready to take a much needed rest; the emotions which you had ignored rising up through you. It seemed as if your new master sensed this, as he didn’t attempt to make conversation. It was you who talked first.

“I killed him,” you said. (e/c) eyes still staring at the floor, you didn’t notice his clear blue gaze settle onto your bowed head. “The man who killed my mother.” Though you paused, as if to allow him to say something in response to your confession, Anakin stayed quiet. What could he say? ‘Me too’? For he had done the same thing on Tatooine on that awful day when his mother was taken from him.

“I didn’t have to…I did it because I wanted to,” you looked up at him this time, your soft eyes staring into his steelier ones. You both stopped, standing still in the middle of the halls of the Jedi Temple. It was a moment of understanding, and the way your (h/c) locks cradled your face made Anakin feel calmer than he ever had before.

Yet as your bond grew brighter, Anakin and Padmé’s slowly dimmed. He was given six weeks leave from the war in order to train his new padawan, which he had originally planned to spend with his wife as well. Yet as the days drifted by, he found himself wanting to leave your side left. By the third week, he had stopped sleeping in the secret apartment he and Padmé had shared. The Chosen One didn’t understand it; how he had longed for Padmé only weeks ago and now had no desire to see her.

Perhaps it was you. Or more specifically, the fact that you knew of his and Senator Amidala’s forbidden relationship. Anakin still didn’t understand how you found out about them.

You had been early for your training, as always. Master Skywalker, though he tried, could never get to the training room before you. And as always, you were meditating upon his arrival; Anakin swore he had never met a Jedi who enjoyed meditating more than you.

“I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to have attachments,” your voice was soft and just as lovely as ever when you spoke to him, your eyes meeting his own.

“We’re not,” Anakin responded with a classic smirk gracing his handsome face.

“Then how come you're married to Senator Amidala?” You didn’t expect your question to be answered, clearly, as you stood up from your cross-legged position on the floor.

Your master’s head whipped up, following your movements as you walked to get a training staff to practice with. “I...H-how do you know? About Padmé and me?”

(e/c) eyes stare down at the dueling staff, giving it a gentle twirl in your hand. “I don’t know. I just...knew,” you paused, turning to look at him again. “And it’s ‘Padmé and I’, not ‘Padmé and me’.”

But was it really just the simple anxiety of having another person know of them? Anakin wasn’t so sure. After yet another fight with Padmé, he had gone to the only person who he could vent to - you, which then led to a late night sparring session.

Elegant blue clashes with the brilliant emerald green of your own saber. Over and over again they collide in blinding fury; both fighters stay on equal footing until Master Skywalker slashes unexpectedly at your shins. Just in time, you jump, landing with practiced grace on the hilt of his weapon. Twisting his wrists to angle the glowing blade up into your back, Anakin swings again. Jumping over his head, you dodge the fiery cerulean sword before wrapping your legs around his throat. Your master falls backwards from the unexpected shift in weight. The wind is knocked out of you as you crash onto the ground, but a second later you find the strength to summon the saber which had fallen from your master’s hand. You swiftly straddle him, and with a saber dangerously close to both sides of his throat, Anakin concedes to you.

“That was quite the impressive fight,” Obi-Wan Kenobi says. The bearded man had been secretly watching your entire battle with his former padawan; he’s impressed by your dexterity and skill after only a few months of training.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” you say, bowing to him.

“How does it feel to be beaten by your padawan, Anakin?” He asks with a smirk which only widens as he sees Anakin’s frown deepen.

“You should know very well what that’s like, my former master,” Anakin retorts. You laugh sweetly, snorting slightly as you try desperately to breathe between giggle fits. Both blue-eyed men watch as you chortle with softened expressions.

“Master Skywalker’s only mad because he hasn’t won against me in a week,” you declare proudly, twisting around to face Obi-Wan. “Even if it’s probably only because I know his fighting style so well by now.”

“Well then, would you care for more of a challenge?” Master Kenobi asks, noticing but ignoring his former padawan’s glare; the bright smile you offer him being far more captaving.

“It would be an honor, Master Kenobi.”

The fight was a long one, both of you being skilled fighters despite your short time training with a lightsaber. It ended with you yielding after being pinned against the wall by the older man with a saber at your throat. Anakin watches with resentment as Obi-Wan steps away from you, allowing you to move away from the wall.

“You certainly do have a strange fighting style, padawan,” the bearded man comments; your style was different from other Jedi - instead of relying solely on your lightsaber like most, you used it as a distraction to try and get in more physical attacks in order to disarm your opponent. He guesses it was due to what you learned before arriving at the Jedi Temple.

Sliding your lightsaber back into place, you smile up at Kenobi. “I’m not sure if that’s meant as a compliment or an insult, master,” you say in amusement. Obi-Wan finds the sparkle in your eyes as you meet his own intoxicating, and shocked, he looks away.

The Chosen One glares at his former master, a grimace etched into his handsome features. He doesn’t understand the feeling of boiling resentment in his gut, nor why he wants to shove Obi-Wan across the room - anything to get him away from you. “It’s late,” he says, hopefully without any annoyance he felt evident in his voice. The way you look up at him, almost shocked as if you forgot about him, only serves to aggravate him more. “I’ll walk you to bed (n/n).” It wasn’t often that your master used his nickname for you in front of others, and you silently wonder why he does now. You decide it’s because he’s more comfortable around Obi-Wan than any other Jedi.

“No need, Anakin, I can accompany your padawan to their chambers. You should keep training if you hope to beat your apprentice again,” Master Kenobi responds with a smug grin, his azure eyes slyly glancing at his former padawan.

“But they are my apprentice, Obi-Wan. I really must insist on walking them myself.” For a few moments their eyes met, both men waiting for the other to back off. After some seconds of tension, two sets of blue eyes break way from each other and to your giggling figure.

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty,” you say facetiously, rolling your (e/c) eyes at their antics. “You can both take me to bed.” Both men stammer, a heavy blush on their faces as they stutter vehement denials of what you insinuated. Nevertheless, once you walk out the door, both follow behind you quickly in order to catch up.

In the halls, one on either side, you three chatter on about nothing in particular - missions and tales of their heroics being the men’s favorite thing to talk about as they subconsciously try to one up each other. “In the end I destroyed 42 droids, even without my lightsaber,” Anakin brags, glancing down to see your reaction.

“Really? Because I seem to remember having to save you as you hid behind a rock,” Obi-Wan corrects him, smiling when you laugh at the two boy’s banter. The bearded man easily avoids the foot Anakin puts out to try and trip him as pay-back.

“Well,” you start, stopping in front of your bedroom, “this is me! Thank you both for walking me back, masters.” You bow to the knights respectfully.

“It was nothing, young one,” Master Kenobi responds.

“Yeah, no problem at all (n/n).”

一

The two men, left alone in the hallway outside your room, stare at the door you had just walked into. “Remember, Anakin,” Obi-Wan starts, “Jedi aren’t allowed to have attachments.” His voice is even, thanks to a great deal of effort on his part. With tense shoulders and a frown that settled on his face once you were out of sight, he looks over to his former padawan.

“Are you reminding me, or yourself?” Anakin says coldly.

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

Hello! Can I request a matchup for Grishaverse? (Literally anyone from Shadow and Bone to Six of Crows)

I’m bisexual but I prefer men.

Appearance: Just over 5 ft, athletic build (not extremely tone/muscular) with slightly broader hips and shoulders, tan skin, round face, dark brown eyes, downturned mouth with a slightly crooked smile. I have thick, nearly black hair that falls just below my armpits which I wear down with the exception of a few small braids and choppy curtain bangs. My style is a mix of vintage 90s, 70s, and dark academia.

Personality: My mbti is ENTJ. I’m a Ravenclaw but Slytherin comes in a close second. My moral alignment is chaotic neutral. I’m passionate, competitive, imaginative, creative, sarcastic, bold, and ambitious. I am very determined to achieve what I want and be successful if I’m interested in it, but I need to have that interest. I tend to either care a lot or not at all. I’m not afraid to tell people what I think, but I also know when it’s smarter to hold my tounge. I will admit, at times I can be a bit mean but I do care a lot about those I hold close to me. My hobbies include reading, writing, martial arts, piano, singing, exploring, theater, and I dabble in video games. My favorite weapons to train with are knives, although I also use nunchucks, sticks, staffs, butterfly knives, throwing stars, and open handed sparring. I love fighting- like a lot. I can and will nerd out about things I feel very passionate about. My favorite genres to read/watch are fantasy, adventure, sci-fi, and mystery. I’m a sucker for a good enemies/rivals to lovers.

I saw the words ‘chaotic neutral’ and my mind was made up lol. Also, thanks for being my first Grishaverse request!

I match you with…

Nikolai Lantsov

Nikolai is in awe by you. Seriously. Dude trips over his own feet when he sees you train with weapons.

The two of you are right on par when it comes to competitiveness, so expect a lot of silly competitions between the two of you.

Nikolai: “Hey, I bet you can’t hit that target over there.”

You, without even looking as you throw a knife and hitting a bullseye: “What do I win?”

He definitely asks for your opinion when it comes to diplomatic meetings. Hell, he probably asks you to be there with him.

Saints help the guy who thinks he can get away with insulting Nikolai in your presence. Nikolai can take care of himself, of course, but it’s far too much fun to watch how you kick the guy’s ass.

If the two of you have known each other since you were kids, he asks you to tag along when he runs off to become captain of the Volkvolny.

Nikolai is secretly a huge softie, and will literally remember every little thing about you.

When looking at the ton of candles that he lit in his quarters on the Volkvolny: “Nikolai, what’s all this?”

Nikolai, somehow holding a bouquet of roses: “It’s our five month, two days, and seven hours anniversary.”

“So you decided to try and set the ship on fire?”

At some point, he walks in on you playing piano and he just… freezes. He looks like he’s seeing a saint in person, which is saying something because he knows an actual saint.

Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks again for requesting, and have a lovely day/night :)