#ive been watching it since the beginning and goodness its a wonderful ride !!!

[ssreeder]

HELLO

I didnt see that there was an update until now and i dont feel like discording and i just read the new chapter so here i am with my few main points bc i dont feel like doing a full live reaction👍👍🫶

Seeing Jeeto come into play in any capacity at all makes me feel like a proud parent watching their children grow. Its always wonderful like those are my emotional support middle aged fictional men. I watched them go from conspiracy to getting crumbs to now their "dates" and gossiping together. Youve gotta love it. Those are my children. Im so proud of them. But im also scared because you killed shen so obviously my feeligns mean nothing to you 🙄😒😒. (Im never going to get over that, im going to be 80 years old in some pst apocolypic enviroment with horrors all around me, but im going to be having nightmares about shen. Ill send you my therapy bill) (im going to get a tattoo in his memory istg)

Also its always really subtle but its funny to see your specific linguistical patterns in liab esp because i can never really explain it. Like ill read a random sentence and be like 'yeah that seems like sreeder wrote it' i just think its neat.

I also really loved zukka this chapter. But i always lovr zukka so its not a surprise. But espesially this chapter because its mostly soft zukka.

"Do you think we will stay together" NO Zukko divorce 🔫🔫. 🙅🏻🔥🔥🔥🙅🏾

The 'moving forward' ness of zukka in liab is so nicely written. Like ive been reading liab since (almost) the beginning and it has been a ride and its starting to feel more conclusive and that is SCARY but its also nice because you write it very well and i adore the way you write trauma and the healing of it and the ups and downs and the two steps forward two steps backness. Its very lovely.

I knew ara was going to have a suicide attempt (esque situation (idk if that counts)) i called it i win.

Idc what others say ara will always be amazing. I love her character SO MUCH

i feel like you can always tell the strengths of a writer in the way they write complicated characters and the way you write ara is very telling of that. Like the fragility and also harshness used for her is very realistic and i always enjoy her parts so much.

Like her deciding to move on independant of how zuko or sokka feel about it is and regardless of whether people thinks she 'deserves it' is immaculate.

And thats a good example on your specific strengths as the author of liab (being able to handle delicate situations well, and realistically and make them very thought out and not rushed, stuff like that).

But her 'i need to start getting along with other girls' is great because like,, RHATS SO TRUE. she is genuienlly one of my favorite characters of all time, i could write essays on why i love her. Exquisite.

REHO MENTION 🥳🥳💪💪💪💪

Thats my emotional support woobified early 20 something year old man. I adore him. If 30 people love reho i am one of them, if one person loves reho i am them if 0 people love reho i am dead (rip rehoes 😔) i will defend his (and aras) good names until i die.

Amazing chapter as always 10/10 *chefs kiss* im so excited for the series to finish and see what you do with everyone and the rest of the storylines and such.

Every time I think of Shen’s death I think of your utter devastation & how I wasn’t expecting you to be so distraught over it. I will say I had another commenter lately who was talking about how much they liked Shen & wanted an Iroh/Shen/Zuko dynamic and I kept thinking…. Damn it buddy, you’re going to be soooo mad at me in a few chapter haha…. oops.

ugh my linguistic patterns haunt me and I specifically ask my betas to check for them because I feel sooooo repetitive sometimes especially when there’s a lot of introspection lol. So it’s funny you mentioned that lol.

Omg I remember when I was still on RIA & someone in the server was like “dude I’m rooting for some jeeto.” & I was like oh no how do they know??? I created this fun divide between hakoda and bato just to push Bato into Jees arm!! Don’t spoil it haha, but whatever at least Dentys dead

Awwww thanks for the compliments it means a lot coming from you <3 but also yeah Ara is my delicate dumpster fire who says she going to make her existence everyone’s problem (most importantly sokka because damn girl could just LEAVE but she refuses lol) I love it. She’s fun, and any scene with her expect utter chaos haha.

every time I write Reho in a scene my mind says and the crowd goes wild,,, he’s annoying but I’m glad you like him.

thanks for this amazing ask you’re awesome

[ufogoo]

FINALLY watched rise of titans !!! my thoughts under the cut :)) (spoilers inbound)

ngl i loved it !! i know a LOT of people are mad at the ending, and its like the type of ending i didnt know id like but i liked it a lot !!! unpredictable, but made sense, and the happiest of the endings for sure. im so not against trollhunter toby, yet i did hope jim would continue bearing that mantle (yet who can blame him that boy needs rest and therapy). the whole time travel stuff also was okay with me ! which is surprising usually i hate like,, story whiping back to the beginning plotlines. and i guess it wasnt my go to but if it makes jim happy im happy LOL.

idk how i wouldve ended it all really, something that kept jim as the trollhunter yet everyone alive, and picking up present day, (like maybe jim and douxie go on a mission throughout the timeline to fix mistakes, speedrun it all). yet its not my story ! and im ok with that :)!!

i did hate mpreg steve a lot. like i hated it. AND ELI GLOW UP?? a LOT to unpack.

lastly douxie my fav :) i love him sm and im glad he is ok. thats it

nonetheless: enjoyable movie, the plot i wont think too much on, it was good, angsty, and the animation... GOD IT WAS SO NICE. overall incredibly enjoyable !!! that just be my thoughts :)

[angstysebfan]

The Past Can Break You - 5

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

AU: Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for aa few years. As far as you’re concerned he is the one. But what happens when a blast from the actual past shows up?

A/N: Ive seen a lot stories of Bucky getting his first love from the 40′s back. And I’ve always wondered... what would happen if he was dating someone already? Reader is from this time. Not proofread.

Warning: implied smut, angst is back

--

The next 2 weeks were amazing. Bucky really turned everything around and showed you that he was committed to you. It made you feel so much better. While you felt bad that he now completely avoided Dot, because she is still out of place, you didn’t feel that bad because you knew she was bad news. Whenever she saw you and Bucky together she would scoff and glare at you. It made you uncomfortable.

One day the whole Avengers team was called into a meeting to discuss an upcoming mission. Per Steve and Tony, everyone, except you, were needed. You didn’t like the thought of staying behind with Dot in the compound, but you were a team player, and wouldn’t argue. Bucky on the other hand let Steve have it with both barrels.

“Steve you know the situation with Dot. Can’t someone else stay behind?” he said to Steve.

Steve sighed, “Yes, I know this will be difficult, but everyone else is needed for their skill. Y/N’s skills aren’t needed on this mission. She agreed, so why are you fighting me on this?” Steve argued back.

“Of course Y/N won’t fight this, but I am trying to protect her from Dot. You remember how vicious Dot can be, and I don’t want her to upset Y/N when we just started to get back on track,” Bucky said.

“Look Buck, I get it. I do. But this is how it is. The compound is big enough that Y/N won’t need to be anywhere near Dot. By the way, when are you going to tell her that she needs to start looking for employment and another living situation. She makes everyone uncomfortable. Even Tony is starting to get annoyed at all her questions about FRIDAY, and he loves showing people how smart he is,” Steve asked.

“I-I don’t know. I mean I know I have to do it, especially after what she’s pulled, but I still feel bad for her. I mean she didn’t ask for this to happen, and doesn’t deserve to be thrown out on her ass, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I’ll talk to Y/N about it and see if she has any ideas. Maybe if we help setting her up I will feel better about it,” Bucky said.

“Yea, I know. Let me know if you need help. But we gotta get packed and head to the quinjet. And please don’t worry about Y/N. Your girl is strong, and she knows how Dot is. She will be fine. Besides, we are only gone for like 24 hours, what could happen?” Steve asked.

Bucky didn’t respond and watched as Steve walked out of the meeting room. He ran his hands through his hair, what could happen? He hoped nothing, but he didn’t trust Dot. It’s funny the way she is acting now didn’t bother him when he was in the 40s, but now, because of you, he sees that she is not as great as he thought.

Bucky sighs and heads to your shared room to find you packing his bag for him. He smiles as he walks in, “Hey baby,” he says.

You look up at him and give him a bashful smile, “Figured I would help you out,” you said.

Bucky walks up to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. He looks into your eyes, and all you see is love and admiration in them. He leans in and connects his soft lips with yours. After a moment he deepens the kiss and you feel his tongue on your lower lip. You open you mouth in response, allowing him full access. When the need to breath becomes too great you pull away, panting.

“You’re only going to be gone a day,” you say with a chuckle.

Bucky also laughs, “Will you be ok? Here? With... her?” he asks.

You brush your hand through his soft hair, “Yea. I’ll stay clear of her as much as I can. But I’ll be ok,” you say.

Bucky pecks your lips again. “When I come home, I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he asks.

You look at him with confusion, “Like what?” you ask.

“I think it’s time for Dot to go off on her own, but I don’t want to just kick her out and make her fend for herself. I was thinking you could help me find her a job and a place to live? I would just feel better if I know I wasn’t kicking her out with nowhere to go,” he asks.

You smile and nod, “Sure. I’ll be glad to help. I’ll start while you’re gone,” you say. 

Bucky kisses you one more time, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I love you, Doll,” he says.

“I love you too, Buck.”

--

You have to say you are surprised when you find yourself not running into Dot at all. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to be near you either, which is fine. She has spent most of the last 24 hours in the lab, while you stayed in your room looking up possible jobs and apartment for her. 

You thought it was nice of Bucky to at least help set her up and not throw her to the wolves. It was something you admired about Bucky, his big heart. You both have been texting before the mission, but since then you haven’t heard from him. You hope everything is ok. 

“FRIDAY, any update on the team?” you ask the AI.

“No agent, I’m sorry,” she responds.

You decide to take a nap in hopes that when you wake up your boyfriend will be home. You want your family home safe and sound.

--

You woke up to the sounds of the team in the hallway. You walk out and see Nat and Wanda and hug them hello. You head toward the common room hoping to see the guys, but don’t. You walk back toward the elevator and heard something from Dot’s room.

“Oh Dot, I’ve missed you so much, Doll,” you hear Bucky moan.

You gasp in horror as you continue listening to Dot moan and beg for Bucky to go harder. You can’t help the tears that begin to fall as you hear your boyfriend and his ex having sex.

“So good baby, you’re so good. Taking me so well, you feel amazing. No one is like you, I love you so much,” Bucky moaned.

You’ve heard enough and turn, running back to your shared room. You can’t be near him when he comes in pretending he didn’t just fuck his ex. Your heart is in a million pieces as his voice continues to play in your head. All you hear is her and his moans and his words. He loves her. It will always be her. Maybe you just need to learn to accept that.

--

“Buck, I think you should have told Y/N you got hurt. She is going to be worried about you,” Steve scolded.

“Look, I know my girl. She will be mad at first, but then she will nurse me back to health. I will have to convince her to ride me later, but it will be so worth it,” Bucky says with a smirk as the doctor continues to pull out shards of shrapnel from his side.

“Seriously man? TMI!” Sam complained before leaving Medbay.

Bucky laughed and then hissed as the doctor pulled another shard out. “How much longer? I don’t want Y/N to think I’m dead if she knows we are back,” Bucky asked the doctor.

“One more piece... and....” she pulls the large piece out, “There! Now I will quickly clean and bandage. no stitches cause you will heal fast, but please no sex tonight. You might bleed all over her,” the doctor said with a glare.

Bucky and Steve laugh. “Oh I talked to Y/N about helping me out with Dot and she agreed. I figured it was best to have her involved with that situation from now on,” Bucky says to Steve as the doctor cleans and bandages his side.

“Good idea, less messy that way. I hope everything went well here with the 2 of them,” Steve says.

“I’ll find out,” Bucky says as he puts his shirt on. 

Both men walk to the elevator and head to their floor. They say their goodbyes in the hall as Bucky opens the door to your shared apartment. You aren’t in there, which confuses him, but he figures maybe you went to the kitchen.

When he walks into the bathroom he senses something is wrong. None of your toiletries are there. It was different from when you cleaned, plus his was still there. He walks back out to your room and sees that everything on your nightstand is gone too. Now he starts to panic as he goes to the closet and sees that all your clothes are gone. He tries to not have a panic attack because that will slow him down. He goes to head to the door and sees a piece of paper on the floor:

Bucky,

I guess I’m the stupid one. I’m stupid to think that everything you said to me was true. I was stupid to think that I could compete with your one true love. I was stupid to think that you really loved me. Well I won’t be stupid anymore. No need to lie and say what I heard isn’t true. I hope you and Dot are very happy together in your new apartment, but I’m done. Have a nice life.

Bucky dropped the letter and fell to his knees as tears pool down his cheeks. What the hell happened that you up and left him? You are angry with him, and he doesn’t understand why. He allows himself to cry for a moment before rereading it.

Dot.

--

Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

Oh Dot you dirty bitch! Feedback is appreciated.

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PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYONE!

[imaginecolby]

weekend getaway || c.b.

summary: colby surprises you with a quick little trip to spend the weekend with each other.

"hey, youre off this weekend, right?" colby text you one thursday afternoon.

"yeah. once i get off tonight im free until tuesday. whats up?" you asked.

"what time do you get off tonight?"

"im off at 5:30."

"when you get home tonight, pack a bag. enough for three days four nights at the beach."

"um, okay? can i ask why?"

"its a surprise. its a good one though, i promise."

"okay?" you put your phone down and got back to work. you were confused about what colby had planned, but his adventures were always full of fun.

once you got home that evening, you immediately started packing. you threw together a bag for a weekend at the beach, some of your favorite swimsuits and night wear. you threw in a couple pairs of sandals as well as sneakers, since you weren’t sure what other activities you would be partaking in.

just as you finished getting your things together, there was a knock on your door.

"hey! you ready to go?" colby asked with a kiss when you answered.

"yeah. but are you gonna tell me where we're going?" you asked.

"i told you, its a surprise." he said with a sly smirk. he took your bags and loaded them into the car. you got in and made yourself comfortable, noticing a cooler full of snacks and drinks on the floor in front of you.

"jeez, how long are we gonna be in the car?"

"a little over two hours." he said as he made his way to the road. you knew better than to continue questioning him, so you just enjoyed the ride.

after a little bit if driving, you figured out you were heading towards san diego. you always being down there, but you hadn’t been in a while. and colby, and he was always happy to spend time with you.

as you were arriving in town, the sun was beginning to set and you watched as the colors changed over the ocean.

"god, its so beautiful here." you said as you snapped a few pictures.

"im so glad to finally get to see it with you." colby said with a smile. you drove for a little while longer, and finally made it to your hotel. you checked in, went up to your room, and ordered room service for the night, not really wanting to go out for dinner.

"so, are you gonna tell me why you did all this?" you asked as you ate.

"what? i cant spend a weekend at the beach with my favorite person without having motive?" he teased.

"im just asking."

"no, i really didn’t have a specific reason. we've both just been so busy and have hardly have time just to ourselves. i mean, we hang out at our homes, but i just wanted to do something special. we finally had a weekend off, together, and i wanted to take advantage of that." he explained.

"well, i think thats really sweet. and im glad we're here together." you said, leaning down to kiss him.

"me too." he said, kissing you again.

the rest of the weekend was absolutely wonderful. you and colby took on the full tourist brand, finding any all fun things to do while you were there. you spent time at the beach, took in all the sight, visited all the tourist attractions.

on your last night there, you were getting ready to go out to dinner. you were ready, sitting out on the balcony waiting for colby to finish getting ready. the sun was setting and you were enjoying the view. you stood there for a while before you felt colby walk up behind you.

"you standing on this balcony right now, with the sunset right now, is the most beautiful sight ive ever seen." he said softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you turned around to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"i love you." you said, kissing him. "thank you for this weekend."

"thank you for this weekend. ive had the best time. i always have a good time when im with you, but this was absolutely perfect."

"i have to agree. i think we should do this more often."

"i think so too." colby smiled, kissing you again.

you finally went out to dinner and enjoyed your evening, a perfect end to a perfect weekend.

[ladydevoir]

Weiss coming out as trans to her team?

The halls of Beacon were quiet as Weiss walked through, though she was glad for the peace as her mind was swimming in thought. She was silently dreading returning to her dorms, knowing what was waiting for her. But, she had decided tonight was the night, and she would not cower away from what she had decided to do. Best to get it over with rather than continuing to let her dread grow. Soon a voice broke her train of thought. “Hey Weiss~!” She looked back as the owner of the voice caught up to her, a plastic bag in hand. “Hello Nora, It’s good to see you. I see your trip to Vale was productive.” Nora beamed back at her with her usual energy. “Good to see you too~ And heck yeah it was~ Me and Ren found that cute coffee shop you told us about, Jaune actually managed to not throw up on the ride there, though he was wasnt as lucky on the way back, and me and Pyrrha went shopping for our dresses for the dance~ Oh, and here’s the stuff you wanted~” Nora held up the back for Weiss who took it and looked through it, a set of razors and shaving cream along with some skin care for after. “Thank you very much Nora. Im afraid I was starting to run low, and our team won’t be free to travel to Vale for a few days. Please, what do I owe you?” As she began to sift through her bag for her purse, Nora held up her hand. “Nuh uh uh, you dont owe me anything. Girls like us gotta stick together after all, and you’d do the same for me~” Nora’s usual high energy voice had softened as she spoke, to which Weiss was grateful. Since coming to Beacon she had been nervous about the truth coming out about her, thankfully Nora had seen through her immediately and been a true pillar of support. Weiss had been surprised and rather relieved when Nora had revealed she was just like her, and in moments like this it was wonderful to have someone to talk to and help her without any worry about questions she was not particularly wanting to answer. As if sensing some unease, Nora gently squeezed her shoulder and nodded her head towards a small bench in the hall. As the two sat down, Nora spoke up. “Hey, you doing ok? You seem off.” Weiss sighed and nodded. “I am just...nervous. I promised myself that tonight would be the night I tell the rest of my team, the truth about me.” Nora watched Weiss’s expression, seeing the build up of worry on her face. “You know the others aren’t going to suddenly turn on you just because of this, right? I cant imagine this would be a big deal for Ruby or Yang, and I doubt Blake would mind really.” Weiss let out another sigh and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes before responding. “I am fully aware that no one on my team will be upset or treat me any different.” “So...whats the problem then?” Weiss looked down, her eyes darting left and right to make sure there was no one else listening, before she spoke. “When Blake accidentally revealed that she was a Faunus, I….did not handle the news with grace. I accused her of having lied to us, keeping the truth hidden from us. And while I did apologise for it afterwards, I still cannot take back what I said. And that is why I am worried. I was so quick to accuse her of lying and hiding the truth and yet here I am, having done the very same thing since starting Beacon.” Her hands gripped one another as she looked down, shaking slightly. “My standing with Blake and the others is not exactly on stable terms, and I am afraid that revealing myself after all I said to Blake might cause more strife between us.” Nora listened quietly as she gave Weiss’s back a gentle rub. Thinking carefully before responding. “If you’re this worried, then why now? Why not wait?” Weiss took a deep breath and looked straight ahead, as if steeling herself for it. “Because I owe it to my team to be honest with them, especially after how I overreacted to Blake. I cannot allow myself to hide the truth any longer, even if…” She looked down at her hands, starting to tremble. Instantly Nora knelt down in front of her and gently cupped her face, speaking softly. “Hey hey, dont go working yourself

up over ifs and maybes. Sure, you said some things, but you said sorry, and they forgave you. Im sure they wont be bothered by this. And if things go south, hey you can always just join our team~! Though we’d need to work out how to include W to JNPR~” Weiss let out a sniffle and smiled, raising her head from Nora’s hands and slowly standing, Nora instantly hugging the girl, to which Weiss reciprocated. “Nora, thank you so much. You have been a wonderful friend to me and I cannot repay you enough.” Nora pulled back from the hug with a wide smile, her usual energy returning. “Hey come-on, thats what friends do, we look out for one another~” Weiss picked up the bag from the ground and nodded back, the two girls walking back to the dorms, idle chatter filling the time before they arrived, Nora giving a big thumbs up before entering her room, leaving Weiss with her hand on the handle, taking a deep breath before entering the room, barely having time to duck as a pillow came flying towards her, narrowly missing as she looked upon the scene. Ruby holding a pillow and swinging hazardly at Yang, who weaved out of the way and returned with her own swing, before the two registered Weiss and stopped. “Hey Weiss! You wanna join in~? Blake might join if its two on two~” Ruby chirped excitedly, her energy seemingly limitless. “Yeah come-on princess, I’ll be more than happy to whoop your butt as well as my little sis’s~” Yang said with a smirk on her face, before dodging a well timed throw from Ruby. Weiss sighed and picked up the pillow that had nearly hit her and closed the door, shaking her head. “Honestly it is a wonder how the two of you are considering becoming huntresses when you act like little children.” “Ah cmon Weiss-y, you gotta have a little fun now and then, whats the point of life if you stay ridged all the time~?” Weiss shook her head and made her way to her bed, placing the pillow onto it and sitting, restless as her worry was building up again. “Weiss? Are you..ok?” Weiss looked up startled at the last member of the team over on her bed, slowly closing her book and focusing her attention on her. “You seem….kinda tense.” Weiss took a breath to help calm her nerves as her other two teammates looked over, all showing a similar sign of concern. “Actually Blake, I need to talk to you. All of you, if that is ok?” Yang flopped down onto Blake’s bed and looked over at her, while Ruby sat down beside her, all eyes on her. “Whats wrong Weiss? Blake’s right, you’re looking real tense.” Weiss’s eyes focused on her hands as she fidgeted, trying to come up with the right words. She silently cursed herself, this should not be this hard. A hand coming to rest on her knee drew her from her thoughts as she looked over at her partner, a soft-yet warm smile on her face. “It’s ok Weiss, whatever’s wrong, you know we’re here for you, right?” Weiss felt herself relax slightly, thankful for her partner’s kind words. “Okay, I do not know how to properly say this, so please, be patient with me.” With a reaffirming nod from Ruby and an audible “Mhm” from Yang, she continued. “The truth is...I have not been entirely honest with the rest of you. And for that, I am sorry to all of you, but mostly, I am sorry to Blake.” Blake looked over, confused. “Weiss, what are you-” Weiss raised her hand to stop Blake, taking a breath. “I was not at all kind to you when you revealed the truth about yourself, despite the fact that in doing so, I was being extremely hypocritical myself. Ive been hiding a truth myself, and after all that has been said and done, I feel I owe it to all of you to be honest.” Weiss took a quick glance at her team, Yang’s expression was clear confusion, Ruby was still giving her the same calming smile, while Blake had become more focused on her. She took a deep breath and continued. “The truth is, I….was not born a girl.” Weiss waited for a response from the others, but when none came, she looked up at her three teammates. Yang looked somewhat shocked, Blake still had her focused look on her, though it was clear she hadnt

expected that. Ruby however, didnt seem shocked or surprised in the slightest. “So, like Nora?” Weiss nodded, and to her surprise found herself being wrapped in her partner’s embrace. “Aww Weiss, you dont have to be nervous, its not like we’d think of you any diferent, ya know?” Yang looked over, shaking off her shocked look and sitting forward. “Yeah, Rubes is right, you’re still our icy princess after all, right Blake?” Blake looked over at Weiss, her expression no longer one of shock, but of understanding. “You were worried I’d be mad at you, werent you?” Ruby and Yang looked to one another as Weiss nodded slightly. “I acted like you lying to us about yourself was such a big deal when I have been lying this entire time.” Weiss continued to hang her head. “Its ok Weiss, really. You already apologised more than enough times for me to know you mean it. And I get it, really. Growing up where you did, I know that kind of thinking isnt easy to get rid of.” Blake shifted herself and stood up. “But, you’re wrong about something.” Weiss looked up hesitantly as Blake stepped over to her, kneeling down in front of her. “You haven’t lied to any of us.” Weiss looked taken aback, not sure what to make of that. It was far from what she had expected Blake to say. “I...I am not sure I follow.” Blake smiled at her softly, resting her hands gently over Weiss’s. “You havent lied to us, because you arent pretending to be something you arent. You’re a girl Weiss, even if you weren’t born one. You haven’t hidden anything from us. From day one, you have been honest to us.” Yang soon walked over, sitting on the other side of Weiss. “Blake’s right, ya know? You’ve always been honest with us about who you are, and you didnt have to feel like you owed us to tell us.” She felt her eyes begin to well up, she knew they would accept her but she had fully expected Blake to be mad at her. To find not only was she not mad, but giving Weiss words of kindness and understanding as she had, it felt overwhelming. Said team was quick to embrace her as she felt a few tears flow, a small smile on her face. “T-thank you, all of you. I-I suppose I should not have been worrying so much over this.” Ruby gave her a gentle squeeze. “Well, worrying about things too much is something you’re best at.” “Hey!” They all laughed as they remained in their embrace, Weiss giving a gentle chuckle. Of course Nora has been right, she shouldn’t have been worried about hypothetical ifs and maybes, especially not with her team. A team that, day by day, Weiss would consider more and more her real family. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Whooo boy, this, this was a tough one. Im proud of how her talk with Nora went at the beginning, I felt like I wrote that well, and yeah I HC Nora as trans. But writing her coming out to her team, I kept erasing and redoing parts because I really did not know how to do it right. This is one I feel like I should come back to when ive gotten some more experience writing.

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point. 

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up. 

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my incredible beta and to @maybege​ for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content! 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control) 

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss. 

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother. 

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine. 

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet. 

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments. 

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

 In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

  But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

 He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

 You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

  You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you. 

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be. 

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway. 

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well. 

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from. 

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life. 

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby. 

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead. 

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least. 

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes. 

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours. 

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things. 

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project. 

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any. 

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!” 

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize. 

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen. 

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way.  “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?” 

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you. 

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. 

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving. 

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch. 

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru. 

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…” 

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.” 

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod. 

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves. 

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own? 

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area. 

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him. 

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house. 

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working. 

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him. 

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours. 

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in. 

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent. 

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away. 

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams. 

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence. 

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest. 

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall.  “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover. 

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to… 

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs.  Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it,  meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso. 

 And you begin to weep with him.

 *********

 The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut. 

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth. 

 You cannot tell him for a long while still. 

 *******

 It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.  

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.  

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it. 

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

 At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words. 

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

 And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

 *****

 The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air. 

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance. 

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors. 

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.  

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”  

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.” 

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet. 

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist. 

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.  

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface. 

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.  

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.  

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality. 

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.” 

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him. 

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss. 

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you. 

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all. 

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features. 

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him. 

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth. 

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest. 

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him. 

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern. 

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in. 

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first. 

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there. 

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy. 

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity. 

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other. 

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other. 

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived.  With more than ever to lose. 

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course. 

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down. 

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile. 

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away. 

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating. 

“I can feel you staring, little one.”  He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.” 

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively. 

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest. 

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.” 

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.” 

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from. 

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter. 

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms. 

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches. 

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy. 

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin. 

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously. 

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted. 

 With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too. 

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed. 

Although first you needed a blank canvas. 

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up. 

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance. 

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created. 

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this. 

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him. 

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises. 

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful. 

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods. 

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing. 

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors. 

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now. 

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?” 

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.” 

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you. 

 You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat. 

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay. 

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan. 

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold. 

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know. 

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen. 

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it. 

Gentle. 

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again. 

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow. 

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him. 

Stars, how you want to let him. 

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture. 

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach. 

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is. 

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind. 

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother. 

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him. 

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble. 

Confident. 

Steadfast. 

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you. 

Nothing can. 

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you. 

Treasure. 

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion. 

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying. 

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him. 

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.” 

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons. 

“Darling, I’m…” 

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now. 

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping. 

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before. 

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself. 

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly. 

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists. 

“Allow me.” 

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head. 

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves. 

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening. 

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind. 

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did. 

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples. 

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing. 

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked. 

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.” 

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it. 

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again. 

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone. 

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is. 

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night. 

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him. 

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care. 

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple. 

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all. 

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control. 

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand. 

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.” 

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him. 

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all. 

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.” 

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.” 

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body. 

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips. 

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you. 

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you. 

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own. 

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time. 

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this. 

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed? 

Anchor. Anchor against me. 

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before. 

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck. 

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge. 

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought. 

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him. 

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit. 

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear. 

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back. 

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under. 

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up. 

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you,  how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this. 

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion. 

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths. 

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it. 

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth. 

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes. 

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations. 

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.” 

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough,  how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied. 

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.  

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you. 

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it. 

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity. 

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force. 

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all. 

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind. 

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them. 

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been. 

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time. 

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke. 

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair. 

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand. 

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke. 

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment. 

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over. 

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too. 

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms. 

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it. 

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle. 

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.” 

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef. 

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses. 

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day. 

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving. 

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning. 

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite? 

So is the promise of the return of the Light. 

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “I Have Seen.”

Wrote something easy and more similar to my original stories today. I hope you like it. 

I have been thinking about taking a couple days off from writing these stories, since I have been working non stop on this and the book for over a year now, so I am considering taking a break for about a week so I don’t burn out. I haven’t decided yet, so we shall see, but I hope you all have a great day.

I have a job no one knows about.

I don’t think anyone would be surprised if they heard about my job. I don’t even think they would care all that much.

None of this explains why my work station is in the basement of a nondescript government bunker on a death planet…. A!36. I can’t explain why I need three codes to get into my office, or why I go through five locked doors, or why I am not allowed to tell anyone what I do on pain of termination and imprisonment. 

You would assume, perhaps that I am a spy, and involved in some covert cloak and dagger espionage against other species and nations: you would be wrong.

You might assume I am a weapons developer, but you would also be wrong.

Perhaps you think I spend my time wire-tapping on important calls between species and recording important information.

None of this is really the case.

In fact, what I do is quite safe and relatively simple, plenty of other non-humans are doing it of their own accord and plenty more humans do it on a regular basis. What I do is not illegal, it is not espionage, it wouldn’t even phase you.

If that is the case.

Why do so many of my coworkers go missing?

Why are there absent desks every few months?

Why can I not make any lasting friends?

Management always give excuses to those of us who are left.

They left for mental health reasons.

THey moved on to a different job.

They are moving up in the company.

They had to be let go.

All things generic and all things that wouldn’t generally raise suspicion… unless they happen so frequently as us.

You may be wondering at this point, what it is I do for a job.

Perhaps, you think, it is very boring and unfulfilling that I would go insane from sheer boredom.

No, I actually find my job quite interesting.

Perhaps you think my job forces me to watch very disturbing and violent things…. And I suppose that could be close to the truth, though no one forces us to watch the videos if we don’t want, and no one makes us read the material if we cannot handle it. In fact, there are those of us who specialize in that sort of thing.

I do.

I am a specialist in historical xenopsychology.

I study human history.

When I say that I study human history, I do not mean as in a passing fancy. I do not simply read their school children’s textbooks and accept everything I see as truth, no, every day , I come into work and it is my job, to learn about everything that has ever happened in human history, to the best of my ability.

It is my job to know the good, the bad, the ugly, and the monstrous.

I work from day to night, cataloguing and filling my brain with all the information I can before recording it as a lecture on aura drives, which are then stored away for future use in a deep backup system under the surface of this planet.

I have followed human history since the beginning of time.

And I have marveled at it.

Much of my research is flawed, I know. Human history has always been biased, history being shaped and molded by the winners of conflict. Much of what else I know stems primarily from scholarly work humans have done on their own species, looking back the centuries and making assumptions about what they were doing.

While this is a good insite -- humans trying to explain the behavior of other humans-- it isn’t necessarily correct.

For this reason, it is my job to study every piece of information that comes across my desk.

Due to a government agreement between the galactic assembly and the United Nations of Earth, I was given access to the rebuilt library of Alexandria and all of its electronic files which include photos and information on the original documents that they keep in sealed vaults below the library.

I have read every account of human history, and every second hand interpretation of human history that I could possibly find in my time working here.

I have read Darwin and his early theory regarding evolution. I have examined his evidence, which include images and diagrams of the human body spanning centuries. My determinations were made just the same as the rest of them. Humanity was a tree-living species that found its evolutionary niche through walking and the use of opposable thumbs.

This ability to walk, in tandem with the use of hands eventually gave rise to the slow swelling of the brain in comparison to other animals. Human evolved primitive tools, and even more primitive religions, societies and rules.

They developed art early on, painting on the walls of their caves, in the darkness of night surrounded by their fires.

I have read about their befriending of animals in that same darkness. Man’s slow molding of the wolf into the dog - a species designed specifically for the needs of man.

I have attempted to read every account of every atrocity ever inflicted on humanity.

I have read of wars, and battles, Marathon, Thermopylae, Kadesh, D-day, Vietnam, Korea, Russo-Japanese, World wars I, II, III,  and IV and the Panasian War. 

I have witnessed in images and first hand accounts the chilling discoveries of natural disasters gone back thousands of years. Pompeii, Mt. St Helens, Katrina, Tsunamis, earthquakes, the fire of london, 1887 yellow river flood, the 3130 California earthquake, and Haiti earthquakes. 

And I have studied and witnessed every atrocity man has ever committed on its own people. The Mongol hordes, the crusades, Mayan and Aztec sacrifices, The Armenian genocide, the Holocaust, mustard gas, 9/11, slavery in the America, the Trail of Tears, The Bataan Death March, the Berlin wall, Civil war, the French revolution, Nanjing, Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I tore a hole in humanity and looked inside to see your rot. 

I study the maggots that crawl under your skin.

Don’t confuse me with someone who fears you, or is even disgusted by you. You have committed thousands of horrors, yes this is true. But humanity is not a polished gem, it is an uncut stone marred by dirt and debris, but beautiful in a way that can hardly be explained.

You scrub away the rot only to find more underneath, yet you continue to scrub, in a futile attempt to better yourselves.

It is a beautiful thing if not in vain.

I do not judge you for your crimes because I have also seen your achievements. I watched you survive  the dark ages, I learned your philosophy from the greek world which brought the beauty of democracy and equity in later forms. I watched the enlightenment of the Renaissance, and have seen your beautiful artwork from each period of time. 

I have witnessed your great nations and empires rise and fall, Assyria, Byzantine, Rome, Britain, Egypt, Mongole, Aztek, Soviet Union, The chinese Dynasties and the Communist parties. The United States, and the Asian Co-Prosperity Collective

I have seen your bravery and your loss.

I have learned about the good that walks your earth.

Humans who stood up to tyrants.

I have even examined your stories of creation, of deities who molded humans from clay or dust, watched your world come into form in seven days, or ride on the backs of giant animals. I have seen the gods gift you with fire and learned the teaching of your martyrs over the centuries. Men and women slain and stoned or pulled away by spirits. I have learned of crucifixion, death and rebirth as well as reincarnation and a return to the very fabric of the universe itself.

I see everything.

I see everything. I see it all in my dreams laid out before me like a tapestry following each woven thread through the ages. I thought if I looked back, I could know as much as I possibly could. If I dug deep enough, I would be able to see your secrets.

And I have discovered you.

I see you hiding in there.

I know what you are.

Come out, come out.

And I won’t stop until it is all over and your cities crumbled into dust and bone.

…

…

I am being called into my manager’s office. Perhaps I too am ready to go up in the company.

...

I will be back soon…

Deus 

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 2 – The Decision

(Mando x f!reader)

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

Summary: The child taken, his ship destroyed the only one who can help him? A woman he sold into slavery several months earlier.

Notes: Wow wow wow! Thank all for the likes im glad ive gained some interest lets hope I can keep it! Comment or message to be added to the tagged list!

Tw: mentions of dubcon/sex, depictions of violence and coarse language

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 3.7k

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

7 months later

Mandos POV

Using all his wits and a touch of charm the Mandalorian had managed to make his way to a nearby town. Once there he’d likely be able to hitch a ride or win some kind of ship in a game of cards. He didn’t need a good one, just something to get him to Navarro. He makes his way to a more upscale bar, hoping its clients would be more lucrative with their belongings. Scanning the gambling hall he chooses his target carefully, opting for a rich looking idiot who had been trying to impress the man next to him since the Mandalorian had walked in. He takes his seat at the round wooden table amongst a variety of lavishly dressed characters. He had to find the child as soon as possible. If he wasn’t with the empire yet there’s no doubt he would be soon.

“Deal me in” He says, taking a seat between an Iktotchi and an Ortolan.

“Not so fast, what's your buy in?” the dealer asks.

“How about that helmet?” The Ortolan pipes up.

“No.”

“The creature then?” the Falleen across the table ponders reaching out to touch Anya, who had been at his side when Grogu was taken and has refused to leave it since.

“No” he says, batting her hand away and tapping on his shoulder piece “Will this do?” The dealer nods and they begin. In the second hand he ends up winning a ship from his target who was seemingly unbothered by the loss as he nonchalantly tosses Mando the keys, before leaving the table.

Twirling the key on his index finger he makes his way to the bar, hoping to gain some insight on how to go about finding Grogu.

“Quite a game, didn’t know Mandalorians played cards.” The older humanoid bartender stated, shining off a glass. With no response he speaks up again. “Can I help you with something , give me something to tell the kids if I helped out a Mandalorian.”

“If someone was looking to find something lost where would he go?”

“You have any idea what this thing is?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea where it is?”

“No.”

“Tell you what, there was a woman, from a forest planet somewhere on the outer rim. Hair as white as snow, an old language on her body, a face that’s hard to forget. She helped me find my youngest after she was taken by smugglers.”

“Vryssa?” The Mandalorian says slowly, causing Anya to perk up.

“Aye that’s the place. You’ve been?” the barkeep ponders.

“Thank you, here” he says handing over a portion of the credits won in his game of cards to the speechless keeper.

Exiting the bar shaking his head in disbelief, of course the one person who could help him track the kid was someone with a personal vendetta against him. At least he knew who he had to find and where to start looking. Opening the doors to his new ship he gives it a quick once over. It was roomier than the razor crest, but not by much, too fancy for his liking in all honesty. Nicer amenities though and a decent sized bed which Anya had made her way onto, it would be a better place for when he gets the kid back. It had an armoury, but nothing in it, at least not yet. He closes it and makes his way up to the ship's cockpit. Decent enough system, more of a flashy ride than a functional one, made for a decently skilled pilot by the looks of it. Locking in the coordinates for Coruscant he begins his search.

For two weeks he attends black markets around the galaxy until one day he sees him, the man who had bought you. He follows him cornering him in a nearby alleyway.

“What do you want Mando?” The Kel Dor responds.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“She was bought by you a few months ago. Not jogging your memory? White hair, eternal blood.”

“Oh. Her difficult one, had to break her in a bit.” The choice of words was less than favourable to the Mandalorian, but in favor of time he brushed by it.

“What happened to her?”

“ Sold her.”

“ To who?” He says getting impatient

“Gladiatorial ring on Geonosis , she was a big hit, sold her for twice what I had paid, moved into the big arenas quickly. I’ll take you if you want.”

“No, give me the coordinates.” Mando says

“Should be easy enough for you to get her. She's been broken in well, nice and obedient if you know…” He knocks the guy out before he can finish the sentence.

R-16, Geonosis, Outer Rim Territories

Stepping out of the ship it doesn’t take long for him to figure out where you are. Large projections of posters with you line the street, apparently you were fighting today. The sounds of the arena increase as he gets closer, as does the crowd of people awaiting the show.

“A Mandalorian, you here to see the fight? Gonna be a good one. Fan favourite tonight the huntress.” A native geonosian exclaims.

“Is she the girl in the picture? The white haired one?”

“ Yes, and if you like what you see I’m sure a piece of that armour will get you a night with her, I’ve heard the trainer sells her off after fights.” The Mandalorian nods and heads off “How much for a ticket” he ask the seller,

“100 credits”

“For a fight?”

“For today’s fight? Yes.” Begrudgingly he pays the fee and enters into the dome. It is enormous, the revenue it brings in must be astronomical he thinks as he takes his seat.

Your POV

It hadn’t been an easy few months, but you were still alive. The handlers knew if they bled you all at once the value would decrease, and after having you fight and win over the fans, keeping you alive became more economically sound than killing you. Your most recent trainer, an older Duras named San Korliks, had gotten you into a slightly more dubious but very lucrative business. Turns out the rich love nothing more than spending the night with a victor. Between the fights and the suitors you’d have enough saved to live comfortably once you were out. Yes you were close to buying your freedom, 12 fights and a few more rich idiots and you’d be out of here. You’d find a planet with plenty of sand and water and settle down living out the rest of your days in peace. You could hear the crowd cheering from your cell, San would be here for you shortly. You stand up smoothing out the red tunic that had seen better days. It was shorter than you’d like and impractical for fighting, but your handler was right sex sells and it had kept you alive thus far. You move to the drawer of the cell, though tightly watched it was decently large and relatively comfortable. More wins meant better quarters. You pull out the gold plated armour clipping the chest plate, arm bands and shin guards into place before lacing up your worn down brown leather boots. Moving over to the small mirror you dip your hand into a bowl of burgundy paint smearing it down your face and onto your neck then around your well defined biceps. You're admiring your work when you hear a knock on your cell door.

“C’mon darling let’s give them a show” San says, he was nicer than your previous trainers, probably as you were bringing in the big bucks. You walk over to the cell door, he opens it and guides you to the enormous door that would soon open up to the arena.

“Try to let a little blood get spilled tonight, we need to sell some.” You nod, cracking your neck and stretching out your arms. “I also have some suitors lined up, high payers.”

“How many more till I’m out?” you question.

“ Just a few more darling, promise.” He says squeezing your shoulder. You hear the crowd chanting in the background as San leaves. You grab the spear left out for you, tossing it from hand to hand to gage its weight. You bounce up and down on your toes shaking out your body and calming your mind and preparing for whatever they were planning on throwing at you tonight. You repeat the number of days until you're free in your head. You could do this, you’d done it a hundred times now. Not that the killing gets any easier, but in order to survive you had to forgo morality. The doors open and the crowd erupts in applause as you enter waving to the adoring fans.

Mando’s POV

The loud speaker blares out over the crowd “ Tonight a special event, the huntress will take on not one, not two, but four opponents! Now to make it a fair fight, only one will be allowed to challenge at a time, but we have a lovely admixture of beasts and an extra special surprise for you all. The return of another fan favorite. Hang onto your seats folks, this is going to be a night you won’t soon forget” Four versus one, Mando thinks, as he watches you enter the arena, the odds definitely weren’t in your favour. He was prepared to jump in and get you out himself if he had too, you were his only chance at finding the kid after all. He hears a rumble of applause as a door across from you opens revealing a Rancor. He watches you closely, noticing how unphased you seemed by it. In no less than a minute he sees the spear fly from your hand hitting the creature right in its jugular killing it instantly. Not bad, he thinks, but it was just a Rangor, yes they were big, but they weren’t known for being strategic fighters. You pull the spear out of its neck, the crowd cheers seemingly alerting you to the presence of the Nexu that had appeared from the door behind you. It leaps towards you and he watches intently as you tuck and roll out of the way, spear still in hand, thrilling the crowd even more.

He wonders how much of the fight is a performance and how much of it was real. You and the Nexu circle each other, seeing you plant your feet he finds himself curious as to what your next move will be. You kick the dirt up causing the creature to charge again, as it leaps you take a knee lifting the top of the spear up, slicing the creature open causing its guts to fall down on you earning more zealous applause from the arena. He sees you stand up lifting your arms to get the crowd chanting, more showmanship. “What can you tell me about her?” he asks the couple sitting next to him. “Never lost a fight, and she’s beautiful, you need anything else?” They reply. He sees you wiping the creature's guts off your face when a door opens and a Terentatek appears, where the hell did they find one of those things the Mandalorian thinks. He sees your shoulders deflate, more so in annoyance, than fear based on the look on your face. It’s obvious you weren’t expecting a creature so large. After a few dodges and spear swipes the creature has you cornered, he sees you look side to side searching for an out, but there isn’t one, at least none he can see. Its mouth descends on you, seemingly engulfing you whole. The crowd is silent, it’s only then he notices he’s out of his seat. When had that happened? A glimmer suddenly appears from the creature's head as it gets brighter; he sees the spear had sliced through the Terentateks thick hide. The creature collapses and the skin on its head separates as you appear victorious. He sits back down observing you closely as you walk back towards the door from whence you came. The announcer's voice starts up again.

“Now for an extras special treat we’ve brought a fan favourite out of retirement, the demon slayer!” Just then the door opens and a Deveronian in head to toe black armour emerges wasting no time in launching his attack. He throws a dagger which catches you in the arm, the crowd erupts, the sight of your blood enticing them. He watches you intently as you bend over retrieving the knife off the floor and tossing it to the audience. Your opponent’s armour was thick, with very few openings in it. The crowd was getting excited, noticing that you had lost the spear to the Deveronian who had thrown it behind him.

You were the more skilled fighter, but the demon slayer was larger and stronger. He watches you try to make a pass. He thinks you’re in the clear but the opponent grabs you by the hair pulling you back into him as he brandishes another knife bringing it up to your throat. You bite down on his hand giving you just enough time to wrestle the knife from him no doubt slicing your hands open in the process. He doubts that this part of the fight was showmanship, both you and your competitor were evenly matched. It was anyone’s game. Your stunt had given you enough time to retrieve your spear. Just as he thinks you’ve gotten the upper hand he sees a mace extend out from one of the slayer’s sleeves, it sparks with electricity. If it so much as hit you, that would be it. The Mandalorian can feel his heart pounding finding himself wrapped up in the atmosphere of the arena as the creature approaches you swinging the mace. It wraps around your spear, the crowd is silent, they think it's all over, but looking at a nearby screen Mando makes out what appears to be a small smile on your face.

The mace wraps the spear and you pull back on it, hard, drawing the Deveronian in closer. As the electricity hits your arm you release the force from the pulling causing the spear to plunge up in-between the opening between the Devaronians chest plate and helmet killing him instantly. He sees you drop to your knees catching the falling opponent whispering something before laying him down on the floor. The crowd erupts in cheers, flowers and money are thrown to the ground, before picking it up he sees you circle back to each opponent kneeling on the ground for a few seconds before rising and moving on to the next.

“C’mon Mando” the people beside him say “blood auctions this way”. He follows them, but half the auditorium seemingly had the same idea and he was too far back to reach you. He sees you standing with your trainer as the blood spilled during the fight was sold to the highest bidder, the crowd intermittently grabbing at you. You’re quickly shuffled out the room. The Mandalorian exits through a back door, as he does he sees your trainer speaking to a Sephi. He hangs back, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away so as not to be noticed.

“Room 801. She’ll be ready for you in a half hour.”

“Perfect, makers, where will I go when she’s free? No one has ever compared to her” the client laughs.

“She’s not leaving, at least not for a while. Far too good for business at the moment. Hope’s what keeps her keen though. I oblige in her fantasies, so she can oblige yours ” The Duro gives the man the key and heads back into the arena. The man exits the alley bumping into the Mandalorian.

“Watch it Mando.” The Sephi says, pushing by him. As he pushes by, Mando snatches the key and makes his way up to room 801.

Your POV

“Hey San, how'd the rest of the auction go?” you ask, wiping off as much slime as you could in the small sink. “Good. I’ve put your cut in the bank for when you’re out. We have a client room 801, penthouse, he knows you apparently.”

“Half the galaxy knows me” you murmur “Do we have to tonight?” you ask, wanting to get out of your gear and go to sleep.

“C’mon he’s rich and not bad looking.”

“Fine” you sigh, not like you had a choice anyways. He chains your hands together and leads you up to the penthouse suite, at least you’d get to sleep in a large bed, maybe get a shower with decent water pressure. He unchains you and ushers you into the room, closing and locking the door behind you. You rub your wrists and crack you back stretching out your arms, you hear a cough. Weird, you think, clients were usually brought up after you’d had time to settle in. “I'm sorry I wasn’t expecting...” you say in your sweetest voice turning around. The tone is quickly dropped. The client was none other than the very person who had landed you in this situation.

“YOU” you shout, not thinking twice before charging at him, slipping a knife out from one of your arm bands and lunging for the Mandalorians neck. He grabs your wrists before they can make contact with him, bending them back causing you to drop the knife on the floor. He tries to restrain you causing you to panic accidentally using the force to throw him back against the wall. He crashed into the wall landing on the floor with a soft thud probably wondering what the hell’s just hit him. His hands quickly shoot up in the air, as you pick up the knife again pointing it at him.

“If you think for one second I’m going to sleep with you, you have another thing coming you stupid tin can, you’re lucky ...” you start but he cuts you off

“That’s not why I’m here.” He says quickly.

“ What?” you say, lowering your knife, but not your guard.

“ I’m here for your help.”

“ YOU want MY help? Makers you’re funny, you know I didn’t know Mandalorians could tell jokes.” you say sitting down on the bed across from him as he cautiously stands up, hands still in the air.

“I’m here to get you out” He offers.

“Why? what do you want from me?” you question

“Your help, the child he was taken I...” he pauses, you feel the sadness emanating off him, but you hold the knife true. “I need to find him before the others do, they’ll kill him.”

“Well should have thought about that before you lost him.” you say snarkily. Standing up you make your way to the door.

“Please, I can get you out of here.” He starts, you turn on your heel.

“Newsflash, I’m making my own way out of here just…”

“ ...a few more fights” he finishes for you. you look at him confused. “There never letting you out of here I heard your trainer he’s not letting you go. Something about being too good for business.” Was he telling you the truth? With the helmet covering his face it was hard to tell. From what your grandmother had told you, Mandalorians rarely lied, and deep down something was telling you to trust him.

“Bastard” you mutter moving away from the door. “Well i'll find my own way out.”

“Please” he says, taking a step towards you, causing you to lift the knife up again. “You wasted your money coming here, leave.”

“I didn’t pay”

“What?” you respond and he looks over to you . “You’re not the client?”

“No” he says dryly, as if the answer was obvious. The tension is cut by a sudden knock at the door.

“Shit, you have to hide” you say dropping the knife and pushing the Mandalorian in the direction of the bed.

“Where should I hide behind a curtain?” he deadpans

“I am not in the mood for jokes right now, get under the bed” you say lifting up the bed skirt.

“No”

“Yes” you say pointing ferociously under the bed.

“No”

“Fine, but you have to go somewhere or we're both screwed.” You say turning around to get the door. As you open it you start “look I can explain.”

“ Explain what?” The Sephi asks, pushing past you taking a seat on the bed. “You’re performance out there was almost as enticing as you” you turn back to close the door looking around the room in an attempt to locate the beskar clad man. “We’ve met before, remember?” he asked, as if you would.

“Hard to forget such a lovely night.” You lie, sitting down next to him realizing you were going to have to talk your way out of this one. “Listen, tonight’s been rough, and I want to be at my peak performance for you, we can reschedule for another night” you say stroking his cheek. The Sephi grabs your wrist, harshly. “ No, I paid for it now so I’ll get it now” . Just then you hear a blaster go off and the guy drops. The Mandalorian appears from behind the curtain

“Seriously.” you say, “I was going to deal with him”

“And I wasn’t going to sit and watch it happen,” he responds re-holstering the blaster.

“They’ll use this to keep me here forever” you say, more sad than angry.

“They were doing that anyway” the modulated voice says. “Come with me” he says reaching his arm out, “now or never”.

Standing up, you push past his hand and walk over to the dead client laying on the floor. Kneeling down you rummage around for his wallet before throwing it to the Mandalorian.

“Let’s get out of here” you say

“Here” he says, taking off his cape and offering it to you. You wrap it around yourself.

“I look like a goddamn Jawa” you say, making note of how long it looks on you.

“Come on before your handaler comes back” he says. The two of you make a swift exit, creeping through the back alleys until you reach his newly acquired ship.

[livelivefastfree]

have you been working on any new fics?? (your stories are wonderful, ive drowned myself in polyburners thanks to you 😔 its a good place to be)

Not really anything new, although I’ve been picking away at some older ones that I never finished!  Namely the plot-heavy sequel to my telepathic soul-bond superhero AU, the intimidatingly complicated sequel to Save A Horse, Ride A Dragon, and my Burnerswap AU where the villains are all our new Burners and the Burners are villains.

Unfortunately since I’m a nurse work has been kind of stressful recently and also my brain only likes to focus on one thing at a time which is currently original novel things.  So process is pretty slow, haha.  But I’m glad I could bring more people into the polyburners fold!

I do feel bad that I haven’t had the energy to post much for a while; revamping my burnerswap doc is the most recent thing I’ve gotten work done on, so here’s a little bit of scene-setting!

Deluxe is a mass of spires and platforms, shimmering in the sunshine outside Red’s window.  Red stares up at the ceiling, at the pale golden glow of sunlight on the pale polymer.  He can hear the sound of someone loudly imitating an electric guitar, and faint thumps and thuds through the wall; Duke is taking his traditional lengthy shower and using up all their precious hot water.  From the smells drifting up from downstairs, Jacob is already up and in the kitchen experimenting.  Kaia is probably upstairs on the roof, tending to her plants, and Abraham had to go back down to the undercity last night.  His absence is a hole; no sound of him talking to Jacob in the kitchen, working out irritatingly on Red’s balcony, yelling at Duke for using up the water.  There’s always something slightly off, a little bit wrong, when part of their team is missing.

Red sits up, buckles his patch on over the remnant of his left eye, and pushes himself up out of bed to see what’s for breakfast.

Jacob is stirring something in a pan when he Red arrives.  There’s a heaping basket of miscellaneous vegetables on the counter next to him, so probably Red’s in for some kind of veggie abomination this morning—but it’s a veggie abomination Red doesn’t have to make and then burn, and he doesn’t really have a sense of taste anymore, anyway.  Red drops into a chair, and Jacob piles up a plate of fried vegetables and sets it wordlessly down in front of him.

It’s quiet for a while. Red eats as much as he can manage, and Jacob knows him well enough not to frown when Red has to push the plate away half-eaten.  

“Quiet night?” he says, eventually.

“All quiet in the pit,” Red says, and goes to the cooler to fish out a nutrient shake instead.  “No calls from Abraham.  No alerts, no bots, no Dragon.”

“Mm.”  Jacob shakes his head, making an unconvinced grumbling noise.  “They’ll come.  They always do.”

Red can’t argue that. He stayed on the edge of the platform until the small hours of the morning, looking down into the dark city far below, watching every gleam of light and flicker of movement, waiting for the first flash of red glass eyes or matte metal claws.

The others drift downstairs eventually, one at a time; Duke grimaces at the vegetable mess, but Kaia piles in with every sign of enjoyment.  Red sits back and listens to Jacob and Duke bicker, Kaia’s laughing jabs at both of them indiscriminately, and lets the sunlight soften some of the harsh, nauseated fatigue.

He doesn’t realize he’s beginning to drift off, but when his comms light up red with an urgent chime, it startles him badly enough he almost drops his drink.

“Come in,” Abraham’s voice says, flat and low.  “Red.”

“Copy,” says Red, and pushes himself up, already moving. The rest of his team reorders around him, Jacob heading for the garage, Duke and Kaia immediately running for their rooms, their weapons.  Red picks up his gloves, feeling the circuitry inside thrum hotly against his palms. “Incoming?”

“How did you guess,” says Abraham dryly.  “Three Climbers.  Two on North Side, one coming up from the East.  And she’s sending up the Dragon.”

Red falters in mid-step, then growls and heads down the staircase to the garage, taking the steps two at a time. “Can you make it up?”

“I can try,” Abraham says, but Red knows that tone to his voice, rough and grim.  “I think she’s targeting the medical complex on platform 18.  Don’t get distracted.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Red says, and Abraham gives a brief bark of a laugh and then cuts the call.

--

Deluxe looks beautiful in the sunlight, if beauty is something to pay attention to; Red has seen it a thousand times, growing up from the old undercity of Detroit like an indescribably huge tree made of silver and marble.  The platforms that make up the city itself look almost fragile from a distance, hovertech and superlight polymers, gleaming with solar panels and greenery.  The massive support structure that holds the city up grows dirtier and more patchwork as it descends into the bristling thicket of ancient, blocky concrete buildings.

Whole civilizations have made their homes on the platforms along that winding trunk.  Around its base, built onto the rooftops of old skyscrapers, Red can see the distant gleam of the Casino King’s sprawling compound, gaudy with red and gold floodlights.  There are urban legends about an entire lost city, one that made its living in among the building-sized struts and cables themselves, before some unspecified calamity cut all communication with them short.

Some of the midway settlements are against Kane, some of them are only indifferent, but Red can only assume that trying to bargain her way through was too much trouble.  Kane took matters into her own hands, and had her R&D invent the Climbers.

Red has eyes on one of them now; a long, low shape, slinking across the platform.  Six-legged, with four glowing eyes each, moving with an unnerving, artificial grace—the mechanical nightmare-offspring of a wolf and some kind of insect.  The tips of their claws hum faintly, lit up—plasma-cutter edges, sharp enough to sink into the polymer like hot knives through butter.  Red is a platform above them, out of their field of vision, but he’s seen the way the things scale vertical surfaces, faster than anything that size should be able to move.

As Red watches, one of them opens its mouth, showing hundreds of needle-sharp fangs lit hellish red from the inside, and lets out an awful, scraping snarl.

“I’ve got eyes on one,” Red says, keeping his voice low.  

“Yeah, yeah, we see ‘em over here too,” Duke says, tight and sharp with bravado.  “Easy.  Let’s get it done!”

“I’ve got your back,” Kaia says.  “Let’s show these things what—”

“Hey, Red,” says a voice, and something taps Red on the shoulder.  “Tag.”

The moment of shock is enough to freeze Red in place for a single fraction of a second, and that’s a hesitation he can’t afford.  A blunt edge slams into his ribs, knocks him over off his feet; he rolls, comes up on his feet again and sends out a blind shockwave of energy—throws himself to one side as a staff sweeps past where his ankles were, and this time when he lashes out he feels the impact strike true.

The Dragon of Detroit takes the hit and lets it bowl him backwards, turns the motion into a back-handspring and comes to a skidding halt, shaking overgrown brown bangs out of his dark eyes.  He’s laughing, smiling as wide and wild as he always does; the deep scar that stretches crookedly from his cheekbone to his chin twists his smile into something just slightly crooked and bitter, but his laugh sounds irritatingly, insultingly genuine.

“Chilton,” Red snarls, and the man spins his staff behind his back and sweeps a bow, grinning.  

“I’m guessing you’re not interested in doing this the easy way, kid,” he says, and Red clenches his fists, lightning crawling up his arms.  “Yeah, I didn’t figure.  Can’t say I didn’t try.”

“The fuck I can’t,” Red snaps, and Chilton huffs out a breath and shakes his head, ever-present smile never fading.  “If you really cared about not hurting anybody you wouldn’t be working for that—”

It’s the flicker of Chilton’s eyes that gives it away, and the faintest sound of scraping metal; Red dives to one side on instinct, just in time to avoid the snap of jagged metal jaws and six sets of wickedly-clawed feet.  He comes up swinging, lands a few solid hits; the Climber shrieks as one of its legs spasms and cracks, red lightning and dented metal grinding in one of its back legs.

“Backup!” Red snaps into his comm, and then there’s only the fight.

He’s being distracted, he knows it even while it’s happening, but he can’t break his focus away long enough to care.  Chilton is gone, he has to be raiding that medical compound, and Red is stuck here, fighting some stupid robot—

“Heads up!” yells a voice, and Red glances up and then back-pedals abruptly as a huge, blocky shape comes rocketing off the next platform up and drops like a comet onto the Climber’s head.  The back half of the bot gives a meaty crunch as Jacob’s construction rig lifts back off of it, leaking nasty, thick, black fluid as it tries to drag itself forward on its two remaining legs; Red steps forward, grimacing in distaste, tears a dented plate away and buries his hand in the things neck to deliver one final, merciless jolt.  The Climber whirrs, gives a gurgling growl, and finally goes still.

“Jumpin’ Josephat,” says Jacob, from inside the clunky, ugly cube he calls a hovercar.  “You still in one piece down there?”

“Where’s Chilton?!” Red says, and then jerks and looks up at the sound of a laugh, echoing off the white walls and walkways around them.  

The Dragon is standing at the very edge of the platform, silhouetted against the sky; he makes eye contact with Red, brief and grinning, one hand on the side of a stolen transport pod. Then he throws off a brief, mocking salute, and launches himself backwards off the edge of the platform into thin air, vanishing over the edge.

“Criminy,” says Jacob weakly, because Jacob is an 80-year-old man in a 20-year-old body.  

“Fuck,” Red hisses, and slams a fist down on the ground, leaving lightning-jagged scorch marks across the white polymer.  Takes a few breaths and repeats, “…fuck,” soft and hoarse, poisonous in his mouth.

“Yeah,” says Jacob, and his boots thump softly as he slides down, his hand settles carefully on Red’s shoulder.  “C’mon. Let’s get back to the others.”

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Six

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, male-on-female violence, description of injuries, PTSD, mentions of medical talk? Sloooooow burn ahead. Fluff!

A/N: guys guys GUYS! Get ready for a lil fluff! The balls gonna get rollin’ and its a non-stop ride now. I hope you all enjoy, any and all feedback is appreciated! <3 Happy Valentine’s Day!

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Ow. That’s the only thought going through your head. Your eyes open and judging by the IV’s in your arm, you’re in a hospital. The events that landed you here start flooding your mind. You remember the HYDRA base, the agents, and the pain, but where is everyone? Where’s Steve? Sam? Where’s Bucky?

You sigh, Bucky.

He’d been so mad at you for ignoring him...a commanding officer. You’re in a huge amount of trouble—no doubt about that. You decide now isn’t the time to think about that, after all you were just shot.

You wanted to know if you’d dreamt him carrying you into the jet. If it was all just delirium from blood loss when you thought he was caring for you, assuring you that you’d be okay. You wanted to see him. Hell you needed too.

“Shit...” you seethe. Your right arm is in a sling and your shoulder is bandaged tightly. You scoot attempting to shimmy your body up so you could sit up some more. The sound of the door opening caught your attention, and when you saw him walk in you almost fainted.

Sergeant Barnes entered your hospital room, two water bottles in hand, dressed in black sweats with a tight, black cotton shirt. He’s being quiet as to not wake you. When he realizes you’re up he freezes, though. Unsure if he should be there at all.

“Hey...” you practically whisper. He says nothing, but takes this as an approval of his presence. There’s a chair next to your bed... right next to your bed. So close that the arm of the chair is indenting the side of mattress. Bucky grips the chair and moves it out from the bed a foot or two, then sits in it.

“Where am I?” You ask him quietly. It is then you notice that his jacket had been hanging on the chair he moved from your bed. Had he been here while you were asleep?

He opens the top of one of the water bottles, and hands it to you. “You’re at the compound. This is the med unit.” He speaks softly.

You take a sip of the cold water, relishing the hydration it gives your body. “I didn’t even know we had a medical unit on-site.” You say in an attempt to make conversation.

He stops to lock his gaze on yours. “And you wouldn’t have, had you just listened to me last night.” He sounds annoyed with you already, but also worried.

“Sam was in trouble. Steve didn’t respond to his distress call and neither did you, I did what I thought needed to be done.” To you it was simple. Your friend was in trouble, and you helped him.

“You defied a direct order, Ella.” There he goes, using your name again. “There could be serious consequences to that. If I wanted to, I could have you dismissed from the Cadet program all together.” His tone was serious but he wasn’t threatening you, he was just stating a fact.

You cleared your throat, before looking at him and fiddling with the head of your shirt. “Is that what you want?” You ask.

Why wouldn’t that be what he wants? He makes it pretty clear you’re a huge thorn in his side, and he doesn’t enjoy your company. This is an easy out for him, get rid of you and ease his work load in the process.

He smiled softly to himself. Smiled? Was that a smile on those perfect lips?

“No,” he said softly. “I just—“ 

Bucky was cut off by a tap at the door, causing him to stand quickly and move away from you even more.

“Knock-Knock...” You knew that voice. “Hey Ella, how are you doing?” Steve asks, sitting at the edge of your hospital bed.

You smile at him, unsure of what you’ve done in your life to deserve such a good friend. “I’m okay I promise. I’m just so sorry for all the trouble I caused.” You glance to Bucky, who’s gaze seemed to be locked on your shoulder.

“Can we get you anything?” Steve asks sincerely.

You shake your head, “I’m okay. I swear, I’m not looking forward to the scar this is gonna leave, but at least Sam is okay.”

Sergeant Barnes’ demeanor changed suddenly. You felt the tension in the room build and you didn’t like it. Why does he do this when other people are around?

“Sergeant Barnes,” you call to him, when his eyes meet yours you feel you heart do back-flips. How can someone be so gentle one moment and so cruel the next?

“Thank you for staying with me, and for helping me last night. I don’t know what would have happened had it not been for—“

He interrupts you, “Get this straight, Cadet. Out there—that’s the real world. The threats were dealing with are real,”

His eyes shift between yourself and Steve, who is looking at his friend with disappointment.

“The consequences are too. You get hurt, or worse...” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “The shit storm comes down on me, and people wonder why I put up with a recruit who can’t follow a simple instruction in the first place.”

Your heart falls into your stomach. “All I can do is apologize, Sergeant.” What else can you say? He clearly doesn’t wanna hear excuses, so there’s no point in trying to defend yourself.

“Despite all that,” Steve starts, “You did great out there. I don’t know if Sam,” He looks to Bucky, “or any of us would be here if you didn’t take the initiative.”

A small smile creeps across your lips, “Thanks, Cap.” The wound in your shoulder starts to throb from your elevated blood pressure. You grit your teeth, adjusting yourself on the cot.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything?” Steve asked, guilt painting his word. He rested his hand on yours, earning a stern glare from Bucky. You watch him subtly out of you peripherals, his jaw was clenched as was his metal fist.

You close your eyes momentarily, wrestling with the pain you feel in your shoulder.

“I’m alright. I just need...time.”

Bucky scoffed. “Time? You need to learn to listen to orders.”

“Buck—“ Steve started, removing his hand from yours.

He continued, “You wouldn’t be in a hospital if you could follow a simple command. You risked everyone’s safety because you’re too stubborn to do as you’re told.”

My eyes narrowed at Sergeant Barnes. Why does he do this? He treats you so differently when Steve is around, and you’re about fed the-fuck up.

“Ya know what? You’re absolutely right.” You say firmly, attempting to stand from the bed.

“Ella, just relax. He didn’t mean—“ Steve interjected.

“No Cap, I know exactly what he means.” You got to your feet; pride being the only thing hiding the pain from your face.

“Sergeant Barnes has made it very clear from the beginning what he thinks of me. What was it you said a few weeks back? Oh right, that I’m incompetent, I’m lazy, and I’m spoiled. I’m a rookie who would run from a fight the minute it started.”

Steve’s thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking at his friend. He subtly shook is head at Bucky, who kept his eyes locked on you, jaw tightly clenched.

“Guess what Sarge,” you say with disdain, gesturing to your shoulder. “I didn’t run did I?”

Bucky doesn’t speak, and his gaze on you is unyielding. “From now, keep your two-faced ass away from me.” You felt that all too familiar sting prick your eyes as you rip the IV from your arm. “You don’t know a God damn thing about me, Barnes.”

You pushed by them both, finally allowing the hot tears to stain your face as you head for your room.

“Mother...fucker...” You groan. You’re attempting to change your bandages, but unable to get it wrapped fully around your shoulder. Even with a mirror, it was impossible to do using your opposite hand.

You almost had it when a knock at the door made you jump. “Shit! Yeah, what is it?” You call, looking to the door.

The door opened slowly, revealing a casually dressed Bucky on the other side of it. You turned your back immediately, tending to your bandages again.

“What do you want?” You sneer.

He was quiet for a few seconds. You almost didn’t think he was going to say anything, until that familiar, irritated sigh passed through his lips.

“Christ, let me help you.” He said taking a few steps into your room.

You groaned. “I do not need your help.”

He scoffed. “Fine. Wrap your bandages poorly and get that wound infected.” He knew you wouldn’t protest, and shut your bedroom door.

You sigh, rolling your eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck. You stood from the seat you had taken at your desk, walking up to him with as much attitude as you could muster and shove the gauze into Bucky’s chest. The force doesn’t move him an inch. “Just hurry up.” You command.

He unrolls the gauze, ripping it with his teeth when he deems it long enough. Bucky looks at the half-assed job you did on yourself and let’s out a chuckle.

“What is so damn funny?” You ask, annoyed to your core.

“Nothing, I just think it’s ridiculous you’d risk losing an arm for the sake of your pride.” He jested.

“What, not something you’d recommend?” You joke, nodding to his metal appendage.

He lets out a breath of laughter, “Not exactly, no.”

Bucky undoes you’re bandages, watching the pain form on your face as he moves over the open wound.

“Shit...” you intake a sharp breath of air causing him to pause. He watches you grip the edge of the table so hard, your knuckles go white.

He softly grips the spot above your elbow. “Just...take a deep breath. I’ll move as fast as I can.“ Bucky’s voice coaxes the tension from your muscles, and you relax.

Doing as he says, you inhale deeply through your nose and out through your mouth. Bucky attempts works quickly, seeing the discomfort in your face. The rough tips of his fingers cause chills to go through your body. He notices, and you hear him swallow hard.

The skin he passes over is burning, calling out for him to touch you again. You feel his warm breath on your neck, as you shudder. His body heat keeping your muscles relaxed.

“Almost done. Keep breathing.” He whispers in your ear. The smoothness in his voice coats your eardrum like honey, sending your body into a hypnotic buzz.

When he finishes he places his right hand on your bicep. His thumb stroking the smooth skin of your arm a few times. “All set, Els.” He speaks, using his nickname for you again.

You spin around to see he’s mere inches from you. “That um, that’s perfect.” You whisper. Your eyes flicker over his lips, and his do the same to yours. 

He’s so handsome. You think, Ya know, when he’s not being a total dick.

He stands to his feet quickly, breaking the intimate trance you shared. He disposed of the used bandages, and you realize that you indeed needed more help than you were willing to admit.

“Thank you.” You mumble in his general direction. You hated this, how you wanted to forgive him for all the horrible things he said to you and about you.

“You’re welcome.” He says softly.

Another moment of silence passes between you two. This is the Bucky you wanted all the time. This Bucky was kind and gentle and actually cared about you, or at least he made it seem like he did.

“So why did you come here? To my room? The last time you were here, you made it clear you didn’t wanna see me again.” You ask.

“That’s not true.” He said quickly defending himself. “You left the med unit before you were suppose to, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well as you can see, I’m fine.” You retort.

He looks at the ground for a moment. “I’m glad.”

You nod, as a sigh escapes your lips. The way he affects you isn’t insignificant. It means something, at least to you.

“Bucky, what are we doing?” You ask softly.

He doesn’t protest as you use his name, but rather looks at you confused. “What do you mean?”

You stand with a scoff, “This! I mean here you are, in my room...again. We’re alone and it’s private and it’s intimate so you’re being,” he steps closer as you fumble over your words, “I don’t know, you’re being the guy I wish you were all the time. When we get around people and it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.”

He takes a step towards you again.

“I wanna know where I stand with you.” You say shyly.

He swallows hard, “This is the second time you’ve been hurt on my watch.” His face was pained as he looked at your wound.

You reach out for his hand instinctively, trying to show him that it’s not his fault. When your hand grasps his, he gently pulls you into him, playing with your fingers for a moment.

“I don’t know how to stay away from you. I’m trying, Doll. Really I am. Every time you’re around me you’re in danger and this,” he gestured to you shoulder, “This just proves it.”

He’s holding your hand with both of his now, “I want to keep you safe.”

“I’m okay, Bucky. I promise.” Is all you can say.

A breath of laughter leaves his lips, “You’re always okay, aren’t you?”

You smile, and nod. “I am...but I’m better when you’re around. Like this,—this feels...”

Bucky held you closer, encroaching your small frame with his. He’s mere inches from you now.

“It feels right, Buck.” You say, look up at him through your lashes.

He drops your hands gently, and cups your cheek with his right, holding your waist with his cool left one.

He swallows hard as he presses his forehead to yours, “I know it does, Doll. I know.”

You’re gripping his arms as he holds you. His eyes closed, breathing deeply. 

“What are you doing to me, Ella?” He whispered so low, if he wasn’t holding you, you wouldn’t have heard it.

A small smile graced your lips, “I could ask you the same thing, Sarge.”

Bucky holds you like that for a moment or two, before he gently lets you go and takes a step backward. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

He sighed thoughtfully, “Don’t think because you’re injured it excuses you from training. You may not be able to do hand to hand combat, but we will train your non-dominant arm to do everything your dominant one can.”

Ah, there he is. Reminding you once again that he is your commanding officer and you are his...burden.

Despite his words, a smile graced your face. “Y-you’re training me?”

He nods, and you notice the corners of his mouth turn up. “Yes. At least that way I’ll be able to keep an eye on you, and try and get some of Sam’s sloppy habits outta your head.”

“What time?” You ask happily.

He looks at you. His cerulean eyes mapping your shoulder up to your face. He reaches out and strokes your cheek with a smile, “7 A.M. Not a minute later.”

You stand from the edge of your bed, “Sir yes Sir.”

“Goodnight, Els.” He whispered.

You smiled softly, “G’night, Buck.”

That night, you had the best sleep you’ve had since being here.

...and so did Bucky.

Chapter Seven: Left

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (2/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2.7k

Warning: Angst

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely feedback, I truly appreciate it! This series might turn out to be 15 chapters long unless I decide to tweak it. But anyways, I hope you enjoy this next part!

Part 1

There was a stillness in the air once you opened your eyes, a stream of daylight blinding you as it slipped past between parted curtains. Your head throbbed excruciatingly, but your body felt numb. When the bright light subsided, you glanced around the room but saw it as a blurry haze. Slowly, your vision settled, only then realizing where you were.

You were in the hospital.

You blinked once, then twice, trying to recall what had happened, but nothing was coming to mind. Deciding that your memory would return eventually, you took a moment to survey your surroundings. You couldn’t do much else, not when you have an IV needle hooked into your arm and were also attached to a monitor.

Fresh floral arrangements decorated your space, bringing some much-needed vibrancy inside the dull and gloomy room. In one corner, you caught sight of a sleeper chair with a white blanket folded neatly on top of a pillow. You wondered to yourself who would choose to stay the night, sleeping on that small uncomfortable recliner.

Other than those, there was nothing else remotely interesting about the room. As you laid in bed, you matched your breathing to the lulling sounds of the machine beeping at your side. You stared up at the cold white ceiling, counting each gray speckle that you could find on the panels above. You had reached fifty before you were startled by the door opening, a nurse then stepping inside the room.

“You’re awake,” the woman commented, quickly walking over to your bedside. She was around the same age as your mother, perhaps slightly older. Her graying hair was tied neatly into a bun with a few loose strands framing her face. Her kind eyes glanced over yours, and you felt calmness washing over you. “My name is Sam. I’ve been checking up on you for quite some time now.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat was so dry that your voice came out as a rasp. The nurse took notice and immediately filled up a cup of water from a nearby dispenser then brought it over to you.

“Thank you,” you said once you finished drinking.

“You’re welcome, dear,” she responded, taking the empty cup from your hand and setting it to the side. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you answered her after thinking the question over. Aside from that and the pounding headache, you were also confused. You still didn’t know why you were in the hospital.

“It’s the pain medication. The drowsiness is one of its nasty side effects, but it does the job,” she spoke, giving you a gentle smile.

“It’s a good thing I can’t feel anything else right now because my head alone is killing me.”

With a nod, Sam then went on to check your vitals. Judging by her relaxed attitude, everything seemed to be just fine. She jotted down a couple of notes on her clipboard before her attention returned to you. “I’ll let your doctor know that you’re awake, but it’s really a miracle that you’re up right now.”

“Why do you say that?” You asked her curiously. “How long have I been out?”

“Three weeks, dear,” she informed you, much to your surprise. “You got into a pretty bad car crash. Don’t you remember?”

You shook your head slowly, a puzzled expression appearing on your face. “No, I don’t.”

Sam sighed, clicking her pen closed. Her smile suddenly fell, and it worried you. “I’ll fetch Dr. Henderson so that he could do a full evaluation on you.”

“Okay,” you told her as she fluffed the pillows behind your head and smoothed out your blanket. “Are my parents here?”

“Yes, they are,” she nodded her head. “Your father’s waiting right outside while your mother and your partner are downstairs at the canteen. Don’t worry, I’ll let them know that you’re awake. They could all probably use some good news right now.”

Sam’s smile returned, reassuring you one last time before she headed to the door. That’s when you realized what she had just said.

“Wait, excuse me,” you called out, and Sam stopped in her tracks. “I-I don’t have a partner. Not anymore, at least.”

She furrowed her brows as you stared at her quizzically. Maybe, she might have mistaken a family friend for one, but you weren’t sure. You had just broken up with your boyfriend a month ago, but for a good reason. He was an asshole who had made your life a living hell, and it wasn’t until recently did you find the courage to end the relationship. Because of that, you were fairly certain there was no way he would be here along with your parents.

“Sure, you do, honey. I mean, that’s who he introduced himself as,” Sam replied. “He never stops talking about you, and it’s very obvious that he loves you. Ever since you got here, he’s never left your side. You definitely got yourself a keeper.”

“But I don’t… that’s impossible,” you mumbled. Again your mind tried searching through your memories, but doing so only triggered a searing headache, making you groan out in pain.

“Darling, you need to relax,” Sam warned you. “You may be awake, but you’re still healing.”

Once the migraine passed, your eyes welled up in tears. It was frustrating to not know what was going on. It felt as though chaos was swirling inside of your head, and you couldn’t understand why it was happening.

“Shh, honey, it’s okay,” the nurse murmured softly, calming you down. “Do you want me to turn on the tv? Maybe you should watch something while I get the doctor in here. It can help ease your mind up a little.”

“Alright,” you muttered, and Sam plugged in the television, handing you the remote.

She excused herself shortly after as you surfed through the channels available, trying to find a show or a movie to distract yourself for the time being.

Coming across a live weather report, the broadcast had left you baffled. The reporter talked about the temperatures in Los Angeles this week, which was unusual since you were living on the other side of the country. Not to mention, the date shown on the graphic on the bottom of the screen was wrong.

July 11, 2020, it had read.

But wasn’t it the winter of 2015?

---

Keanu had gotten used to the stale taste of cafeteria food though he didn’t have that much of an appetite to begin with. He would usually order the day’s special, eat one or two bites of it before pushing it off to the side. He must have lost ten pounds already from skipping meals these past three weeks.

“Keanu, sweetheart,” your mother Nancy began, noticing that once again, he wasn’t eating. “Y/N needs you to be strong for her when she wakes up.”

Letting out a sigh, his eyes then flickered up to the woman sitting across from him, a slight frown on her lips. She was right, of course, but he just couldn’t help it. Every time he visited the hospital and saw your unconscious body, it was like a piece of him wilted away each day.

Truth be told, Keanu was much worse in the beginning than he was now. He had spent the first several nights sleeping in your room, or at least, he attempted to. It was difficult staying asleep when every night, he was forced to relive the night of your accident. Unfortunately, it would always end up the same way with you losing your life, and Keanu not being there at your side.

The media had caught wind of what had happened and made it much more stressful not only for Keanu but for your family as well. There would always be paparazzi waiting by the entrance of the hospital, ready to bombard him or your parents with invasive questions and take pictures of them. Security had done the best they could to keep them off the premises, and Keanu felt horrible for subjecting your parents to one of the downsides of fame.

But both your mother and father had been understanding, and they didn’t want Keanu to worry more than he needed to. If it weren’t for them, he would have never left the hospital for any reason. They had convinced him to go home each night, reassuring him the best they could that you would be there the next morning.

Keanu listened and did just that. He was able to get some sleep in as the nightmares started to die down. He would ride his motorcycle for hours on end to clear his mind, and it had been meditating. Slowly, he was getting much better dealing with the aftermath. Still, it was only the uncertainty of the situation that continued to perturb him.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been hard, you know. For all us, I mean.”

Nancy nodded, setting down her fork on the tray and looking at Keanu sorrowfully. “I know my daughter, and she’s a fighter. I’m sure that she’ll get better, and it’s only a matter of time. But the last thing she would want is for you to get sick because of her. She wouldn’t like it if you stopped taking care of yourself, Keanu.”

“Yeah,” he agreed after pondering for a minute. “She wouldn’t like that.”

“Good,” Nancy smiled as she pushed her tray next to Keanu’s at the edge of the table. “The food here isn’t the best. Let’s go out and buy lunch somewhere else instead, hmm? My treat, and you can’t turn down free lunch.”

“No, ma’am. I can’t,” Keanu chuckled as he stacked the trays before getting out of his seat.

The two of them had reached the exit when your father Peter came running down the hall. His chest heaved heavily as if he had sprinted all the way from the fifth floor to the first.

“Peter, what on earth was that all about?” Nancy asked her husband as Keanu held him steady. “You know, there are elevators in this building.”

“It’s our baby girl. She’s awake,” Peter panted, his eyes filled with so much joy that Keanu could feel it radiating from him. “Y/N’s finally awake.”

---

“Are you sure, Keanu?” Peter questioned him as he stood in the middle of the doorway. “You’re practically family, I can tell the doctor that.”

“It’s okay, go,” Keanu waved him off with a smile before sitting down in one of the plastic chairs right outside of the room.

Dr. Henderson had just finished evaluating you but had asked to speak with your parents first. It seemed a bit of an unusual request, though he didn’t want to overthink it. He was okay with giving Nancy and Peter time with you first. They were your parents, after all.

As he sat there out in the hall, Keanu cracked a smile for the first time in weeks. The last three weeks had been hell for him, and he was ready to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Very soon, he would finally be able to see your open eyes and hear your sweet voice. Keanu was already coming up with what he was going to say once it’s his turn for him to see you, and he wanted the first words for you to hear from him was that he was sorry.

It took a while until Dr. Henderson stepped out of the room, leaving you with your parents. Keanu got up from his seat, a thank you ready to roll off his tongue until he noticed the solemn look on the doctor’s face.

Just before he could ask if something was wrong, Peter appeared from behind him, his hand coming to rest on Keanu’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Son, we need to talk,” Peter spoke with a downcast gaze. “It’s about Y/N.”

Keanu eyed your father nervously as he gestured for the two of them to sit. “What is it? Is she okay?”

Peter released a deep breath before shaking his head. “She’s doing fine physically, but mentally, there’s something wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Retrograde amnesia,” Peter stated, glancing at the tile floors beneath his feet. “Dr. Henderson said that she needs to undergo tests to confirm it, but he thinks she’s likely suffering from it.”

“Amnesia?” Keanu’s voice faltered as the word fell from his lips. “What did she forget? The accident?”

“Yes,” he revealed, pausing for a brief second before continuing. “Y/N can’t recall the accident nor anything from the last five years. Not a single memory, Keanu.”

Five years? That meant… No, it couldn’t be.

“What’s the last thing she can remember?”

Peter looked at Keanu regretfully. “She remembers breaking up with her ex Eric and moving back with us. This was way back in—”

“February,” he finished, shutting his eyes as he felt his chest tightened. “That happened in February 2015.”

Keanu was at a loss for words. Here you were now, finally awake after spending weeks in a coma, only to have five years worth of your memories erased. He could only imagine how confused you must be not knowing what had happened. There had been a significant amount of changes in your life within that time frame—moving to LA, getting a new job, meeting Keanu.

The last part hurt him the most. You had forgotten him and all of the memories you had together. Right now, Keanu was nothing but a complete stranger to you, and thinking about it made his heart feel heavy. Of course, he wanted to be there to help, but at the same time, he didn’t want to overwhelm you. What if you didn’t want him around? What if you pushed him away?

Keanu glanced at Peter, the question slightly trembling out of his mouth. “Did the doctor say it was permanent?”

“He doesn’t know. There’s a chance that it could be temporary, and the memories would resurface later on. But, it could also end up being permanent.”

Leaning back against his seat, Keanu ran a hand over his face. The silence which followed gnawed at his insides as nausea churned in the pit of his empty stomach. “I’m a part of those memories she’s lost. She won’t remember the last five years we’ve spent together. Y/N won’t even recognize me if I walk in there.”

“Keanu?”

Nancy calling out his name caused him to glance up. She stood before him with red eyes, cheeks still stained with tears. “Do you want to see Y/N?”

The answer was obvious, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it out loud. “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense, dear. Perhaps all Y/N needs is to see you, and she’ll remember everything again,” Nancy suggested with fervent hope flashing across her face.

“Maybe,” Peter shrugged, sharing a glance between Keanu and his wife. “It’s up to you, son.”

Keanu didn’t want to be disappointed, but he needed to at least try. He was reminded of the promise he made on the night of the accident, that no matter what, he would never give up on you. Pushing aside his fears, he stood by the foot of your door and opened it before stepping over the threshold.

Instantly, his gaze met yours as you sat up from your bed. Seeing you awake made him feel so relieved, and he had to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. All he wanted to do was cross the room and gather you into his arms, hoping his touch would bring back the memories you’ve forgotten. But Keanu decided against it, choosing to linger closely by the door instead.

“Y/N?” He spoke your name in a soft tone, waiting for any reaction to come.

A pause. From the hospital bed, you looked at Keanu with merely a blank stare, not even the slightest flicker of recognition showing in your unwavering eyes.

“I’m sorry, but... do I know you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the room was silent enough for him to hear your words.

You should know him, but you don’t.

You don’t remember him at all.

Part 3

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness​ @meetmeinthematinee​

[ectodog]

it’s the 4th anniversary of the premier of vld which of course means i have assembled a rough timeline for my descent into voltron special interest hell. it goes something like this:

- june 10 2016: vld season 1 premiers. i am none the wiser

- january 20 2017: season 2 comes out. this fact is irrelevant to me

- august 4 2017: season 3 happens. still not entirely sure what a “voltron” even is

- mid-august 2017: one of my friends cosplays keith. that’s cool. who’s keith?

- october 17 2017: season 4 arrives. that’s fine i guess

- march 2 2018: season 5 has entered the building. i am vaguely aware that i have known people who watched it at some point. the fandom is apparently “terrifying” but i survived homestuck, so i scoff at the concept and go on with my life

- june 15 2018: season 6 drops. i see a bunch of cool gifs and pretty fanart. coupled with the hype i have absorbed from the lead up to it, i wonder if i should give the show a watch

- june 16 2018: i start watching vld. two (four) episodes in and i love it. i can already tell i’m a hunk kinnie, and this brings me no end of joy

- june 28 2018: within two weeks, i have caught up entirely. i am thriving in the post-s6 hype

- july 20 2018: at sdcc, the Big Reveal happens. shiro is gay. he is a disabled main character of of colour in a wildly popular show for kids, and he is kind and brave and the pinnacle of masculinity, and he is gay. no matter your shipping opinions, this is incredible news and it’s hard to Not ride the high, so why bother trying? they show a trailer and announce the release date for season 7, and within hours a bunch of booted recordings of s7e1 are floating around online

- july 23 2018: my interest level has gotten to the point where i need to make a separate twitter for it, so i do. (fun fact: as of today, less than 2 years later, said twitter has over 7300 posts on it. my main, 4x that old, has ~30k)

- august 10 2018: season 7 is online at 1am my time. im selling at an artist alley all weekend, starting the following morning. i binge half the season anyway before passing out, and completely avoid the internet until i can watch the rest later that day

- october 5 2018: at nycc, the trailer for s8 and release date are revealed. i immediately book the announced day off work because i know i will want to watch the entire thing at once the second it’s out

- mid-october 2018: “leaks” of s8 start appearing online. pretty much no one in the fandom believes them, because no one Likes them. they seem ridiculous. people start making “leakverse” fanworks to feed some of the finale anticipation into, including me. no one really thinks they’re plausible at all

- december 14 2018: season 8 airs. i post a quick but heartfelt fanart before gearing up for 1am. it starts, and i cry. the first time they form voltron, i cry some more. things keep happening, and i keep getting tears on my screen, and i have to pause and start it over and over, but i live tweet the whole thing anyway. the leaks were... real. i come out of it unsure how i feel, exactly, but i am exhausted from the marathon and so immediately pass out

- the same day, after some sleep: im upset and confused as to why the finale season was so hollow. i see im not alone. it’s a rough week, feeling like something i love so deeply let me down so much. i realize it’s only been 6 months since i got into it - but, clinging to a deep sense of betrayal, i cry some more anyway

- the immediate aftermath: there are petitions and accusations of censorship and conspiracies about where the “real” s8 is. it’s hard not to get caught up in, or at least dragged down by, the lack of hype. no one who worked on the show says anything for days, weeks, months. fix it fanwork starts cropping up, and i surround myself in them. none of the excitement from before is there, not the same way it was. i start a new and highly ambitious piece of art out of spite. it’s left unfinished

- january 2 2019: lion forge releases the third volume of vld comics. no one really cares. i certainly don’t

- the intermediate aftermath: it becomes clearer by the day that the season was, simply put, a failure and a flop. no one liked it. kids cried over it and parents had no idea how to explain it to them. the fandom and community dim for a while, but i keep immersing myself in the trove of fanwork that already existed, and i start trying again to make some of my own

- may 29 2019: lion forge comics announces that they are not renewing their license to make more vld comics. that, coupled with the abysmally rated final season, seems to be the nail in the coffin for this iteration of the ip. there won’t be anything else official for vld. somehow, this sparks a renewed interest in me. despite everything, im more dedicated than ever before to preserve and proliferate my good experiences. i know this won’t be a blip in my history as a fan, so i’m determined to be happy with it, as best i can be

- the rest: is, as they say, history. as of now, i have something like 20 fanworks of my own in progress for vld. my ao3 bookmarks number in the 100s, and my to-read list is at over 250. ive made a concerted effort to be more active and engaged in the fandom, because it came so close to fizzling out, for me and maybe for everyone, but it’s brought me so much goodness that i cant and Won’t let that happen, not without a fight

it’s been just under 2 years since i decided to watch voltron on a whim. and it has honestly become a central part of my interests and identity in that time - but for the majority of it, it’s been because of fandom and fanworks, and that’s maybe what made it stick so well to begin with: the creative, varied, amazing parts of it that no network mandate could have offered on its own

this started as a way to catalog my journey into and through vld but honestly it kind of became a love letter to the fandom (at least, my corner of it). that’s what’s made these last years so special - what’s made them simultaneously fly by and feel like a solid constant. a dedicated, talented fan base who are capable of so much more than the constraints of the source material

it’s amazing to look back on, and incredible to keep looking forward to. we’ve all been told - “go, be great”

we have been, and continue to be. like the stars, and like my love for vld, it’s inevitable

so thank you all for the years of “great”. 🖤

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter four

Story summary: Through all the struggles and triumphs of the Noldor, Angrod and Edhellos hold on to their love and their faith in each other.

Despite the title, there is more than romance in this fic.

Chapter length: ~2,200 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, family, some fluff and angst, mild sexual content, the Noldor and their fall and their triumphs, canon compliant

AO3 link (first chapter here)

*

Chapter IV //  The land of pines

From the northern slopes of Dorthonion Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin, looked out over the fields of Ard-galen, and were the vassals of their brother Finrod, lord of Nargothrond; their people were few, for the land was barren, and the great highlands behind were deemed to be a bulwark that Morgoth would not lightly seek to cross. – The Silmarillion: Of Beleriand and Its Realms

The first few years in Beleriand are hard though nothing alike in hardness to the treacherous ice that Eldalótë still walks on many nights, only to rouse within the warm hold of Angaráto's arms. His bare skin against hers is a blessing that quickly grounds her in the moment.

She breathes in the smell of him and lets herself fall to rest again, in search of better dreams.

*

There is little need for a gilder in the first, hard years and decades. Eldalótë instead makes use of the spinning and weaving skills that her mother-in-law taught her. It is good to be of use, and like all of her family, she lost long ago any notion of being above hard work because of royal status.

 Working at her loom that they purchased from the Sindar for one of the treasures Findaráto brought with him, Eldalótë cannot help thinking of Eärwen weaving white sails for her father's fleet of white ships. For her sake, and for Elenwë's who became as close a friend to her as their husbands are, she stays as far away from Fëanáro's sons as she can. She is glad, though, that Findekáno saved Maitimo from his torment and that the fractured Noldor are working together towards shared goals again. Under the leadership of Nolofinwë, she believes they can prosper in this new land.

 But though she is as polite with everyone as she always is, she will not forget the particular part that Fëanáro and his sons played in their coming here. There will always be a shard of the Ice in her heart for them.

*

 She stays behind when Angaráto goes to the kingdom of Doriath as Findaráto's messenger.

 'I assume it is best that you do not flaunt your Noldorin wife in case he would count that against you', she says. 'But do take Artaresto with you. He looks more like you than me, and speaks Valinorean Telerin as well as if it was his only tongue.'

 'I am loath to leave you behind when I journey to lands unknown to us', Angaráto replies.

 She rummages in her trunk. 'The grey-elves and our own scouts say that the way is safe', she says over her shoulder. 'And I shall not be lonely, or if I shall, Aikanáro shall be equally lonely, the constant companion that he is to you, and he and I can keep each other company.' She finds what she was looking for, a golden ribbon for his golden hair.

 Angaráto snorts. 'I will never stop wondering how you did not grow tired of his 'constant companionship' decades and decades ago. I feared it at the beginning of our marriage.'

 Eldalótë smiles, and tells him to stay still. 'I could not have married you if I didn't like him too. And –' she ties his hair neatly back so it will stay off his face when he rides '– he is my brother too. For many years now.'

 Angaráto turns and kisses her. 'I am glad. When the time comes to decide where we will settle, Aikanáro and I would like to share lordship of a realm.'

 'Of course.' She pokes him in the chest. 'But do not kiss me while we talk of him!'

*

 Angaráto is angrier than she has seen him since the betrayal of Fëanáro when he storms back into their tent from the council of lords, much earlier than she expected to see him.

 He paces around the tent, furious, fuming, but silent. Eldalótë asks whether it would make him feel better to shout and he replies bluntly, 'I shall not, or I'll be no better than the thrice-accursed sons of Fëanáro.'

 Eldalótë understands. 'Which one was it this time?'

 'Carnistir, again.' Angaráto sighs, and sits down next to her. 'He insulted his brother who agreed to me being sent to Elwë as messenger, and me, and my mother all in one short angry rant.' He tells her what exactly was said, and adds, 'It stings my honour and pride that he should insult my parentage so when I and my brothers and sister have fought through all the same hardships as Nolofinwë and his children, and indeed through more than he has!'

 Eldalótë shakes her head. 'Maitimo will no doubt rebuke him as always, but how we shall settle these lands and fight our battles together with Carnistir and his brothers who are more like him than Maitimo, I do not know.'

 With the help of great distances, it turns out. Maitimo sends Carnistir to settle in the eastern land that lies at the feet of Ered Luin, and Angaráto's land is to be much more westward.

*

 They ride to their new realm with eager hearts, and a few hundred eager followers of Arafinwë who have chosen to come to the highlands of Dorthonion to live under Angaráto and Aikanáro's rule. Most of them are bold warriors who acquitted themselves well in battle and prefer staying closer to the threat of Morgoth should he send his troops forth in battle again to going further south with Findaráto. A smaller part of them are grey-elves who want to leave the land of Mithrim where they had loss and sorrow.

 Eldalótë would have preferred a land more to the south and west, close to the people of Círdan who look favourable upon the kin of Olwë. But Findaráto will keep all that land, for Angaráto and Aikanáro volunteered to take on the watch in the northern highlands.

 As they ride there, this time it is Aikanáro who carries their father's banner in honour of Angaráto as the older brother, though they have agreed to be equal lords.

 Eldalótë keeps a tight hold on her new horse's bridle. Like their other horses, she was a gift from Maitimo, or Maedhros as he has quickly taken to calling himself. In amends, he gave many of the horses he brought over on the swan-ships to Nolofinwë – Fingolfin, now – and Nolofinwë distributed them among his lords.

 Eldalótë's horse is a young mare. She is a little skittish but manageable and shows promise, and Eldalótë certainly wasn't too proud to accept a noble beast of Valinor. It has been wonderful, one of the most wonderful things since their arrival here, to ride out with her husband and son and feel the wind on her face and the power and speed of her horse under her.

 It is even better to be riding to their new home. The scouts and grey-elves have told them that the highlands east of Mithrim and south of the green plain of Ard-Galen are rather barren, growing mainly pine, and rainy like Hithlum. It will be home, nonetheless, their first home after a long time of journeying. It will be the realm that Angaráto dreamed of, long ago in a different land, and Aikanáro too.

*

 Once they are settled in the place of their new home and begun building their citadel, Minas Avras, Eldalótë and Angaráto decide to give each other new names rather than deciding the forms of their names themselves.

 They both want to keep their most-used names and only translate them but in the language of the grey-elves, there are alternative word-forms as well as binding sounds in the place where two elements join together to choose from.

 'Edhellos', Angaráto whispers against the heated skin of her neck one night, and lowers his head to kiss her breast. 'It flows soft and sweet on my tongue, like you do.'

 'Ah.' She arches under his exploring tongue. 'Ang - oh - Angrod.' He pauses his ministrations of her for a moment, and she explains. 'It sounds as much like Angaráto as possible and I want it to, because despite everything that has changed, with me you are as you always were. Strong and sure and oh,  oh   –' He has continued his way down her body and she can hardly stay still and certainly not speak apart from gasping out his names, old and new.

 She tries to tangle her fingers deep in his hair like she loves to do but it is harder to do these days. He cut it short on the Ice and has kept that way ever since. It doesn't even reach his shoulders.

 Edhellos misses the abundant golden fall of it, but she understands. The long cold road changed them all, and that is all right. She has hardened too. Besides finding it more difficult to forgive and acceptable not to, she raises her voice more often now and joins in conversations where she may have stayed still and silent before. Angaráto still sometimes speaks for her like he always has, but only when they have spoken of it beforehand in the quiet of their own chambers, in their own private moments that become ever more precious year after year.

 She is more protective of what she has now, being aware of all that she can lose.

*

 Edhellos did not see her husband or other family members fight in the first battle at the Lammoth that took place soon after their arrival in Beleriand. She stayed at the rear of the host at Finrod's request, put by him in charge of the others who weren't fighters of first rank and would only engage in battle if necessary. It turned out to be necessary, and she fought as well as she could; well enough to survive while some in the van who were more valiant at arms perished, including the fearless youngest son of Fingolfin.

 Even in Dorthonion Edhellos doesn't become as adept at fighting as her family, though she keeps practising. She can defend herself but not well enough that it would make any sense, still, for her to take part in battles by her husband's side, in the sharp front point of the attack.

 She has always prided herself on her common sense. The price of it is accepting things she rather wouldn't, like letting Angrod ride to face possible death so far ahead of her.

 She sees her family fight later, from horseback on the side of a battlefield with her bow in hand, on a hill high enough to see everything that happens. It is a revelation. Aegnor, her gentle-hearted brother, roars like a lion and his eyes shine bright with battle-rage. It leaves no doubt in the hearts of the enemy that this is a child of the Light that they abhor; and they quiver before him, and Aegnor with his spirit of wrath cleaves them with his sword that soon no longer shines, dripping with gore.

 Angrod and Orodreth fight side by side, father and son working violence together efficiently and mercilessly, their moves as graceful and coordinated as any dance performance and as strong and precise as a smith's strike on the anvil. The golden rays on their shields catch the light of the sun and strike the eyes of the enemy half-blind.

 When it is Edhellos' contingent's turn to fire, she with her fellow archers shoots arrow after arrow until their fingers go numb. The enemy falters and fails under the rain of arrows and the swift blows from the long swords of the Noldor.

 The singers will call it the Glorious Battle, soon, during more peaceful years when there is plenty of time for songs.

*

 Dorthonion makes Edhellos happy in peacetime.

 The crags and the pines remind her a little of the times when she was young and newly married and Angrod took her along on the long wanderings he and his brothers went on in the summers in the north of Aman, north of Formenos even, where the treelight was weaker and the nature barren at the rocky foothills of the Pelóri.

 The wanderings took place in the summer because it was warmer even there then, and they made long treks because it was before any of them had children or any responsibilities that they couldn't abandon for weeks.

 In Dorthonion, Edhellos once climbs one of the highest pines on the highest tor that still supports growing trees. It is a clear day.

 She looks to the north and sees the dark shape of the great peaks of Thangorodrim that hides the fortress of Angband, ever pouring forth smoke that forms a stain on the wide blue sky.

 Between that place of abhoration and Edhellos' land lie the grassy plains of Ard-Galen. The sight of the green land always warms her heart. The grass there grows tall and strong despite the proximity of Morgoth's stronghold, and it feeds the growing horse herds of the Noldor. Fingolfin has sent many young horses to Dorthonion, too, valiant war-steeds descended from the horses brought over from Valinor.

 She looks to the south and sees the land that Angrod and Aegnor and she rule: encircled by mountain peaks, craggy and wooded, and dear, with its fair, tall trees and clear lakes that reflect the full beauty of midday and night skies alike. She and Angrod have many times ridden to such a lake and spent a night there, enjoying starlight and each other.

 As she looks over it all, breathing in the lovely scent of pine needles, she can understand a little of the desire for conquest and exploration that drove her husband and brothers and sister-in-law. This is her land, and she is its lady.

* A/N: The fifth and last chapter will be posted on Sunday.

[nctrenjunie]

Bad habits~ Jaehyun(M)

Author: Sera

Genre: Smut

Comment: So it´s already over 1 am in my timezone so I didn´t upload it on his birthday but yeah fuck it.

It became a bad habit.

You had a lot of bad habits; biting your nails, staying up late, not getting enough sleep, provoking another bad habit of yours, replacing water with coffee so you could stay awake. But your worst bad habit was him. Jaehyun.

It started as a mistake. The first time you met him you weren't sure if he was real. You sat with your best friend at your favourite cafe, your third coffee that day, warming up your hands from the cold weather outside the cosy shop. Your friend was rambling again about her co-workers fight last week when you noticed him walking in the cafe. Your eyes met, he looked like a total prince mixed with boyfriend material. His reddening ears didn't get unnoticed while you stared at each other. Feeling shy, he was the first one to look away. Your eyes still on him, paralized by his beauty you noticed him looking for something, more likely for someone, until your eyes met again looking to the person seated in front of you. 

He started to make his way in your direction, looking between you and your best friend. Also noticing his presence now, she stood up, falling in his arms kissing his lips. Both of them taking a seat in front of you. Your eyes met again, your friends voice bringing both of you out of the trance she didn't notice.

“ Jaehyun this is Y/N, my best friend and Y/N this is Jeahyun my boyfriend.”

She was way to excited introducing both of you, hoping that you could get along with him.

“Nice to meet you Jaehyun.”

It has already been month. At first you thought the feeling you had around Jaehyun were just yours and his uncomfortableness around each other from not knowing the other one that well. But the more you got to see him, the more you felt into him. Your best friends request to meet every weekend with both of you didn't really help. 

It scared you so much. You knew you were falling for him and you knew you are gonna get hurt from the fall but it just felt so good, the adrenaline kick you had from falling deeper and deeper. The winter ended and spring started, the meetings with your best friend and Jaehyun became more irregular. Everytime you met her she started to complain more. You couldn't quite set why but their relationship had hit the hard rock floor. They just fought every time they met bringing you too think why both of them stayed in such a toxic relationship.

You remembered it clearly. The day you saw him again. Some of your old college friends wanted to meet up again, bringing you all into a nightclub. You sat at the bar, ignoring the other mens hitting on you while you looked around the crowd. You couldn't quite strike if it was the alcohol in your blood that made you feel so confident but you were already on your way to the dance floor.

He looked a little drunk, as same as you. You wondered why he was at a club seeming to be alone here. You stopped in the middle of the dance floor, rethinking your decisions. It was his appearance that made you continue walking to him. The red lights falling on his skin while a drop sweat was running down his jawline from the heat of the club. You tapped his shoulder. His smile plastered over his face from the alcohol faded as he turned around looking into your eyes, shocked to see you. You started.

“Hey, its been a while.”

He looked at you perplexed. The feelings he suppressed every time he saw you coming back. He knew it was a mistake but it felt so right. He took your hands, putting them around his neck, his hands falling down again pulling you closer to him. His eyes were looking right into yours. You felt it again. You were falling deep into it, as same as him.

“Please. Let me feel you, its okay if it's just for today Y/N. I've missed you and it feels so empty without you.”

“Ive missed you to Jaehyun.”

You already fell. His lips crashing onto yours, pulling you even closer to his heated body. He wanted to feel every bit of you, the surroundings totally forgotten. His tongue licked against your lower lip, asking for permission that you gradually gave him. You were the first one to pull away from the kiss, taking a deep breath, looking back into his eyes.

“Let's go somewhere else.”

The drive to his apartment didn't take long, both of you still feeling impatient to feel each others warmth. Entering his apartment, you start to remember. It's been a while since the last time all three of you watched a movie in his apartment, remembering your best friend. You were about to back out until you felt two muscular arms wrap around your waist from behind, bringing you back to the desire you felt. You needed him and he needed you. Both of you having the same thoughts. Even if it's just for this one night, you hoped it could fill the empty gape of affection you needed from him.

The next moment you were pressed against the wall. The kisses he pressed against your lips, rougher than the kisses you exchanged in the club. Jaehyun pressed your hands against the wall, kissing down your neck. His lips landed on your collarbone making you moan. You started to whine, wanting to put your hands in his hair. But Jaehyun held the grasp around your hands tight with a smirk, sucking hickeys on your sensitive skin. Kissing him back you started to feel his boner in his jeans. Your hands started to resist against his grasp, letting your hands go, he stopped kissing you. You looked him in the eyes, kneeling down in front of him. You unbuttoned his pants making them fall down on the floor with his underwear. You were surprised by his size, making him smirk while his ears got red again. Your thumb started to touch his tip, precum leaking out. You started to rub your hand up and down his shaft, your eyes still on him. Jaehyun started to moan as you kept on going. You put your mouth around the tip of his cock and started to bob your head down a little. Looking up at him, Jaehyun threw his head in his neck, the feeling overwhelming him wanting to feel you even more. Your movements were slow until his hand took you hair, pulling you away from his dick. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. You looked even more mesmerizing like this. Pushing you down on his dick again he started to control the tempo. His moans started to grow louder while you started to gag around his dick as he pushed his dick deep down your throat. He wanted to feel more. Bobbing you faster on his dick he came in your mouth, pulling out of it. You swallowed his cum while his eyes met yours, looking satisfied by your actions.

Jaehyun pulled you up, flipping you over his shoulder he carried you to his bedroom, throwing you on his king size bed. After taking off his shirt, he got down on the bed. Climbing above of you, Jaehyun positioned himself between your legs. Your eye contact didn´t break, as he started to undress you, taking of your clothes and your undergarments. His right hand caressed your cheek as his lips met yours again. His left hand kneaded your breast while his right hand started to wander down your torso, stopping at your hip.

“Touch me Jaehyun.”

With your words, Jaehyuns hand wandered down to your pussy, sliding his fingers up and down your clit, while his thumb put pressure on your clit. You started to moan loud, bringing him to slip one finger into you. Your hands went into his hair, pulling on it because of the pleasure he made you feel. Jaehyun added a second finger bringing you close to your high. He stopped abruptly. You looked up, your tired eyes meeting his, as he started to talk.

“I want you to cum around me baby.”

The nickname made you blush, still feeling a little dirty because you shouldn't be the person to be called that by him. Looking up, Jaehyun already put the condom on, getting closer to you. His lips crashed onto yours as he started to push into you, your moans getting muted through the kiss. Both of you pulling away to breath, moans coming out of your mouths. You pulled him closer to you as he started to fuck you faster. The warmth of your bodies making it even more heated. Screaming his name you felt your high approaching again from the pleasure he gave you earlier. Jaehyun pulled you closer to him, hitting your sweet spot. Moaning his name you eyes rolled back, cumming around him.

 Coming down from your high, Jaehyun started to ram into you, chasing his own orgasm. Your hands went down to his neck, pulling it to your lips. Your tongue started to slide up his neck and you started to suck hickeys  onto him. Jaehyuns thrust began to become sloppy as he came. Falling onto you, Jaehyun pulled out, standing up to throw away the condom. Laying down next to you, both of you started to breath in the same rhythmus.

“I think I love you Jaehyun.”

“Me too, Y/N... I love you too.”

Both of you fell asleep. You were the first one to wake up the next morning. You wanted to feel regret but you couldn't. Still, you got up, grabbed your things and went out, going back to your daily routine. Jaehyun felt the same. He wanted to regret cheating on his girlfriend, even worse with her best friend but he couldn't, it felt to good, to right to see it as a mistake.

It has already been a week, both of you got back to your daily lives, when both of you agreed to meet, to talk about it. And that's how it started. Your secret meetings. Yes, at the beginning it was only sex. But both of you started to show the other one the feelings they had for each other. It just became a bad habit, meeting him. Worser than your coffee addiction or your sleep problems. You don't wanted to see it as a habit but you were addicted, as same as him. Addicted to the affection both of you gave each other.

It felt so good being with him, just his presence. But it felt so dirty and wrong,thoughts about your best friend coming up while riding her boyfriend. You wanted to tell her. She also had bad habits. Pretending like her relationship with Jaehyun was ok, trying to fix something that was already broken. She knew something was off, asking both of you separately if you had time, both of you declining, with an excuse. 

You already had a bad feeling in the morning, as you walked to the coffee shop you first met Jaehyun. Looking for your friend ,she sat at the same table you always sat. Walking to her you notice another person sitting in front of her. Jaehyuns eyes meet yours. Your friends eyes follow Jaehyuns gaze, landing on you. You looked at her, a faint smile greeting you. Sitting down, she started.

“I think we should talk about it.”