#of rage stirring within him that is just waiting to be unleashed and that is both kind of disheartening as well as scary

[mad-hunts]

[vxxxb]

DEPRIVE ME [3] - Miguel O'Hara x Reader

[Synopsis] - After an incident that jeopardizes your position at HQ, Miguel O'Hara becomes a constant reminder of the high expectations and zero tolerance for mistakes within his ranks. Everything takes an unexpected turn when Miguel sees the potential in your abilities and decides to enlist your help for a more personal endeavor. [Notes] - Slow burn, strained relationship in the beginning, slight angst, eventual fluff. Reader is ethnically Hispanic, with race not specified. Part One | Part Two | 2.25k words

Fear.

It was one emotion Miguel believed he had long buried. So how had you managed to awaken it? So easily did you shatter the facade of control he had carefully maintained, unleashing the torrent of anger he so willfully suppressed. Miguel had smashed everything within his reach after you had left, rage utterly consuming him. Lyla was currently left to repair the damage. 

And now, as he saw you enter the training area, he couldn't help the flicker of annoyance surging through him; How could someone young and new to the responsibilities of being Spider-Man stir up such turmoil in his mind? 

"You're late." Miguel's voice was curt, filled with impatience.

You narrow your eyes, holding back a retort as you bit your tongue. "Hello to you too, O'Hara," You reply, tone laced with restrained irritation.

You maintain your composure, setting aside your belongings; You can't help the look you give him as you make your way over with crossed arms. You doubted this was what he meant by working together. "You do realize I have missions waiting for me," You tilt your head, "Missions you so pointedly assigned to me." You finish with a touch of sarcasm.

Of course, you had something to say; somehow, that irritated Miguel more. 

"Lyla took care of that," He manages to respond, making his way to the mat. "Now, come here."

Pursing your lips, you meet him in the middle; Your gaze swept across the empty room, a shudder running down your spine. There was an unsettling feeling that lingered in the air. As your eyes lock with his, you couldn't help but wonder what he was up to -- Just what game are you playing?

Miguel, on the other hand, found amusement in the situation. He carefully observed the way your eyes scanned the room, noting the involuntary tension that gripped your body as you approached him. The temptation to toy with your paranoia gnawed at him, but he didn't need fear from you. He needed your trust for what he wanted.

Without warning, his leg swiftly swept beneath you, knocking you off balance and sending you to the ground. "You're lacking focus." 

With a resounding thud against the mat, an involuntary groan escaped your lips. You remained sprawled for a moment, eyes fixed in a slight glare. There was no denying it; he was right. Your focus had been lacking. Glancing at his outstretched hand, you firmly grasp it, immediately pulling him forward. You take this opportunity to adjust your stance prepared to spar.

Raising an eyebrow, you raise your fists. “What? You suddenly want to train me?” You throw the first punch.

His eyes narrow with focus. “Not train, but hone,” He corrects, arm making contact with your stomach.

Son of a- 

You aim another strike at him, causing him to stumble momentarily. Of course, it paled in comparison to the forceful blows you received. Despite your agility to block, Miguel's punches carried undeniable force;  God forbid he take it easy on the first session, you roll your eyes. His movements exuded a mix of skill and controlled aggression. Each blow he unleashed carried the weight of his frustration, relentlessly pushing you to your limits. Yet, you met them head-on, refusing to back down. Your senses heightened, allowing you to anticipate his every move. Your body remained poised, ready to defend and counter, instinctively adapting your strategy to exploit any opening. 

Slamming him to the ground a grin spread across your face. You couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as you note the look of surprise on his. Truthfully, you hadn't anticipated that feat either. Still, your victory proved fleeting as he swiftly struck your legs from the side, causing you to fall forward. Miguel wasted no time recovering, rolling both of you over, hands pinning yours to the mat.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, your breaths coming in heavy gasps as sweat trickled down your neck. Your senses remained severely amplified, the sound of your heartbeats amplifying sporadically into your ears. Your eyes lock with his, gaze never wavering -- What was he thinking?

Miguel's eyes bore intensely into yours, his ears attuned to the same sporadic beats you were hearing. His eyes traveled down your face, capturing the soft sheen of sweat that coated your skin, the subtle flush of red tinting your cheeks. He observed how your chest rose and fell with each breath, following its rhythm. Still, what truly captivated him was the gleam of anticipation in your eyes, the lazy grin playing on your lips as you curiously studied him. Your reactions intrigued him; Were you genuinely enjoying yourself?

"All good, boss?" You quip, voice snapping him out of his thoughts, inquisitiveness getting the best of you.

Clearing his throat, Miguel nods, his grip on you slightly loosening but not entirely letting go. "You're not going to throw me off?" 

"In a minute."

"Right," He tsks, acknowledging your playful response.

Then it's silent again, the two of you waiting to see who makes the next move. Your gaze remained fixed on him as he closed his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. It was the first time you truly allowed yourself to look at him. Fatigue was etched on his face, and it went beyond the exertion of the sparring. Everyone in headquarters knew of Miguel's story -- the loss of his family, the decimated universe, and his unwavering dedication to his cause. Few dared to approach him; He was their boss, and that was that. So now, as you looked at him, really looked at him, there was a desire to understand him -- Just how much burden could one man carry?

"Why did you change your mind?" You finally ask, voice laden with curiosity.

Miguel's eyes snapped open, his mouth tightening into a thin line. His fingers subtly tightened around your wrists as he struggled to find the right words. You look at him expectantly, awaiting any explanation as to why you were allowed to stay —Nothing was making sense. A hint of disappointment creeps in as you realize his hesitation. Seizing the moment, you swiftly latch your legs onto his, flipping him over. Your eyes briefly scan his face before you rise to your feet, silently contemplating the enigma that was Miguel O'Hara.

"This can't be all you had in mind when you said I'd be working with you," You fold your arms across your chest, demeanor now serious.

Miguel's brows furrow, his jaw tensing at the shift in atmosphere. He stands, intending to speak but pausing at the sound of chatter filling the training area. You glance toward the entrance, nodding your head in acknowledgment as different spider people take place around the room. You look back to Miguel, patiently waiting for a response. 

"You know you've got some serious communication issues to work on," You remark sarcastically, highlighting the underlying tension between you two.

Rolling his eyes, Miguel walks toward the exit, motioning for you to follow. Stepping outside, the brightness of your surroundings and lively atmosphere contrast with the earlier morning stillness. You walk behind Miguel, taking note of his seemingly relaxed behavior despite the obvious avoidance in his responses. Now, you didn’t necessarily consider yourself impatient, just prone to anxious overthinking. And seeing Miguel walk so leisurely, especially in your company, made you question if he had ulterior motives for his behavior -- Motives that you remained unaware of.

In a moment of impulsivity, you shoot a web at the back of his waist and yank him to face you. As his body collides against yours, an instant wave of regret washes over you. The sudden attention drawn to the two of you triggers a round of whispers from those around you. You realize this was a mistake -- A bad idea.  Bracing yourself for a harsh reaction, you look up.

Miguel’s expression was controlled, consciously aware of all the gazes fixed upon the two of you. Retracting the web that bound him, he extends his claw, its sharp edge slicing through the sticky strand. Taking a deep breath, he takes a deliberate step back.

"Let's talk," he begins, his eyes signaling to the onlookers who had gathered. "In private."

You nod in understanding, following him into the control room. You watch as he pulls up two chairs for the both of you, taking note of the gravity of the situation.

"Well," you take a seat. 

Miguel let out a contemplative hum, legs spreading as he leaned forward. He watches you closely, searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. "Yesterday," He clears his throat, "Was that intentional?" 

You feel yourself tense, back straightening in response. Your leg starts to bounce, a nervous habit, and you find yourself cracking your knuckles to alleviate some of the stress. Frowning, you wait for Miguel to clarify.

"Was it on command?" He finalizes, seeking confirmation.

You nod slowly. "I mean- yeah, you were..." Your words trail off, not knowing how to finish. 

"Trying to hurt you."

"To put it lightly." 

Miguel huffs out a dry chuckle, attempting to ease any tension. You urge him to continue, eager to know where this was heading. 

"I want you to do it again," He says calmly. 

You blink once, mouth opening as if to speak before promptly closing it again. Was he genuinely expecting you to manipulate his senses? -- This has to be some sort of test. It's the most logical explanation you offer yourself as you give Miguel an incredulous look. Every fiber within you wanted to reject this seemingly absurd idea, but you found yourself unable to voice that; your hesitation doesn't go unnoticed by him. He frowns, swiftly closing any distance, body enveloping yours with his.

"Why?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

"Because you're the only one who can," He responds, voice equally low.

"Gonna need something better than that, O'Hara."

His eyes narrow, his body leaning more forward. "Miguel," He states, "De ahora en adelante es Miguel."

"Bueno, Miguel," You raise your head. "What are you truly after?" 

"I want to see her," He says, eyes raking down your face before taking hold of your hand. "Please, let me see her." He guides your fingers to rest over his eyes. "Please."

You can't help the way your eyes soften, feeling sympathy for someone who continuously caused problems for you. Somehow everything with this man was a constant whiplash. He had willingly allowed you to touch him, he who constantly made it a point to push anyone away. At this moment, he wasn't Miguel O'Hara, leader of the Spider-Verse. He was Miguel O'Hara, a grieving father baring himself like an open wound. Your fingers still tentatively hover above his eyes, your eyes closing as you lament the words that follow.

"I can't do it."

You feel his eyes clench.

"But," you continue, gently pushing him to sit, "I can help ease your pain."

Ever so smoothly, you place your hands on his shoulders. A glance up allows you to see his focused gaze on you. You let out a nervous chuckle, placing one hand on his temple; Effectively, you take away his sight. His body tenses, one of his hands tightly clasping onto yours, claws grazing you ever so slightly. Inhaling, you steady your free hand on his shoulder. "Relax..."

Gradually, a gentle warmth emanates from your touch, a soft and comforting embrace surging through him. You notice how Miguel's body relaxes into your touch, almost as if finding solace in the respite you offer.

"You need to let go, Miguel."

"I can't," He growls low, his voice filled with frustration as he attempts to resist the trance you cast over him.

You hold your ground, palms steadying. "You kept me for a reason," You emphasize. "And despite our complicated past," You huff out a small laugh. "I'm not going to willingly be the source of your torment."

Releasing your hold on him, you wince as you rub at your temple -- Probably should start using that ability more. From the corner of your eye, you notice Miguel standing, a hand running through his hair. You wait, expecting him to break the silence, and you rise to your feet as well.

"Don't mention this to anyone," He instructs.

"Wasn't going to," You cross your arms. "But in all seriousness, if you need my help, I'm up for it."

"And why would you?"

"Because," You drawl out, voice filled with gentle teasing. "You're still my boss, and the leader of this esteemed society," You near him. "And currently, you're a leader with performance issues." Your brows furrow, managing to stifle a laugh at the subtle innuendo. 

Miguel gives you a deadpan stare, not buying your whole compliance. 

"Oh come on," You roll your eyes. "At the end of the day, we're still Spiderman -- Spiderwoman in my case. We'll inevitably work together on official missions at some point." You turn to face him directly. "Besides, what better way to get on your good side than by helping you with this?"

You flash him a grin, extending your hand as a gesture of understanding. He glances down, a sour expression taking place.

"God, you're stubborn," You mutter, forcefully shaking his hand. "Anything else that needs to be discussed?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Alright then, if that's all," You pat his shoulder, making your way out. "I got some work to catch up on."

Part One | Part Two |

[A/N] - Pushed through and finished the chapter! Finally happy I will be able to write more flirty scenes after this lol. Feedback is appreciated! (Respectfully ofc)

Feel free to comment what you think, like, and repost <3

[Translations]

From now on its, Miguel

Fine, Miguel

Tag list:

@digipaw2-0 @alexisabirdie @keenzinemugstudent @dirtydiavolo @saturnknows @judeslostfinger @joyhdh @myconglomerateromance @lady-necromancer

[fishermcn]

scorned be the sea's daughters.

Beneath their feet the wooden vessels hum and groan with the din of their quarries' songs, and the gathered Fishermen steady their footing and test the tautness of their ropes, waiting with bated breaths for the tension to break and their hunt to begin in earnest. Hours spent not paddling nor steering but drifting on waters flowing to the whim of the Queen Below, the tainted riverways as much a slave to Her will as the raging sea from which She first dredged Herself from. Nary a breath out of turn is exhaled, nor a twitch of the muscle save for gripping ever more tightly the rigging tying the ragged band of hunters to one another, for all it takes for their quarry to sense them would be an errant ripple... so late is the hour of night and so dark is the evening without the moon that it'd been impossible to say when it was that they've arrived, the shores of the great lake out of sight even as they take to finally stirring the waters with oars to assume positions and lure out their prey.

With such obvious baiting, they were not left waiting for long. The first man is dragged from the boat with a scream he can see but not hear, eyes bulging with terror and mouth agape as he disappears beneath the surface without so much as a splash. The second flails at the touch of clawed hands, lashing out with a shout that's choked with pain, then water as his head cracks against the boatside before joining the first beneath the dark depths. Another joins him, then two more as the beasts seize from amongst the ragged band most unwitting consorts, before their brethren respond-- knives are drawn and flint retrieved, and the midnight's shadows are chased away with the grinding of sparks into torchlight. They flare to life almost at once, illuminating the waters within their wide, loose circle only enough to see the distorted forms writhing just beneath as they dart to and fro. A chorus of their own rises to war with the siren's song, a hail of hellfire unleashed from the iron maws of blunderbusses and rifles, and their prey shake the timbers beneath their feet in rage and pain as their blood paints the water crimson.

Their wooden vessels groan with the sudden swell of the dread song from just below the surface, the brackish waters churning furiously with the fury they've willfully roused, and Samuel Whist breathes in time to every kick of the rifle. Even deafened by beeswax, even with the press of frantic bodies and the trembling of the rowboat, his aim strikes true time and again-- steady, breathe, release, and a Daughter bares pearlescent fangs in a snarl now forever frozen. Steady, breathe, release, and the scales of another are torn like wet paper as a bullet pierces her heart and keeps her from seizing another Fisherman.

Another bullet, another jerk of the rifle, another slain Daughter of the Queen Below, before the waters to his left erupt with sudden violence, hooked claws only just failing to maul his arm but shredding the firearm as though it's mere kindling. In the guttering torchlight her face might've been the picture of beauty, high cheekbones and full lips... yet they part to reveal a maw of shark's teeth to match the cruelty of her blackened eyes as she slithers aboard, and for the cry of the dread song that pours over them from her throat there could be no mistaking her for anything but a monster. Beside him, Grime clutches his head as tears of blood pours from his ruined eyes and Wren slumps forward without so much as a gurgle in death, and Sam's own ears scream from the strain even with the beeswax.

She lunges then, murderous melody still upon her cruel lips, and Sam lashes out with the edge of his saw-toothed knife even as he reaches for the pistol on Wren's corpse. Her spined tail lashes with the force of a rogue wave, flinging Grime into the hungry waters with the muffled snapping of bones and nearly capsizing the rowboat as her claws savage the prow, screaming in rage as a bullet punches a hole clean through her shoulder. Blood and sapphire scales scatter across the boat as another two shots bloody the beast before the Daughter closes the distance, and Sam only just manages to avoid getting his head taken off by her fierce jaws, the pistol knocked from his hand from the sheer strength of her. Another rake of her claws goes just wide of gutting him as he slashes in kind with his own blade, furious red lines drawn across his stomach with sickening ease even as the teeth on his knife wrenches another wail from the Daughter as it flays open hideous wounds along her side.

No way out, though. Her grip is iron as the Daughter seizes Sam on the next swing, wrenching his shoulder out of place before slamming him into the floor of the vessel, the howl of pain in his throat choked to death as the wind's driven from his lungs. Her expression shifts to something more harrowing than hatred as the curtain of her sodden hair obscures any sign or sight of hope, abyssal eyes almost demure in their hunger even as her jaws part and claws clench even tighter where they've bitten into his thin shoulders... before jerking, suddenly, confusion the last thing passing across the beast's face before slumping overtop of him as the thunder of another gunshot peals out faintly.

Wheezing, coughing, Sam scarcely has the strength to shove her off of him nor the moment to try before another boat bumps into his own none-too gently. A rough kick to the Daughter frees him up to take a shuddering wheeze of air before a familiar pair of hands, as calloused and rough as his own, all but heave him back onto his feet and into her chest.

"Carline." His voice is a harsh rasp, and the round of coughing that strikes him probably kills the already quiet affection in his voice.

"Sam." There's relief and concern and about a hundred other things all balled up and gummed up just beneath her thin layer of snark, thankfully. "Little too fresh with me, aren't you?"

"Shut up." He doesn't quite lean into her, but it's a near thing as the minutes pass, his breathing steadying and the coughing fit he'd been fighting tooth and nail dying back down. With a quick squeeze of her hand, he steps back, scanning the remaining vessels and the now calming waters shrewdly even as he starts rooting about for his knife. "Lose anyone?"

"Grim, Hook." He hears more than sees the slight shrug to her shoulders.

"Anyone important?"

"Nah, just bastards. You?"

"Grime... and Wren." He lets a frustrated sigh hiss through his teeth, soot-stained fingers smearing with blood as he tears a rag from Wren's cloak to cover up the corpse's empty eye sockets. "Stupid fuck. Told'm not to skimp on th'wax." His hands linger over Wren's pockets before crossing the dead man's hands over his chest with a shake of the head.

"Shit. Stupid bastard."

Sam feels her fingers just tangle in the tangled mess of his hair as Carline crouches beside him, shoulders just touching. He soaks it in, lets it and the sorrow linger long enough to ache, before shunting it back into its box to deal with later as what little Wren had to his name finds its way onto his person. "Blackhart still kickin'?"

There's a sudden, raucous cheer that echoes across the lake, led by a particularly loud and familiar roar. The dark green of Carline's eyes seem to gleam, the crow's feet accompanying her dry grin making her seem all the more amused. "Seems so."

Sam doesn't even bother giving voice to his thoughts, his flinty eyes saying more black oaths than he possibly could in a single breath as he follows Carline onto her markedly more intact rowboat, the morning light only just signaling the arrival of the day through the thick cover of clouds. With a rope lashed to the old ship, it isn't long before the two of them are paddling properly to join in the supposed success of another hunt.

[caffsy]

FFXIV writing #6 – Halcyon

Yusi caught Aras before he hit the floor. She wasn’t expecting his burst of mania, but if he truly was a remnant of Allag then that changed the entire situation. He was out cold, though, and she still needed to help him – she had agreed to do fix the situation to the best of her abilities.

The elevator was taking them to where they would head off the oncoming tide and Yusi needed to tend to the growing multitudes of pains in her body. She placed her backpack down and rested Aras’ head against it, it would be softer than the metallic floor anyhow. She used the rest of the ride to eat, drink, and meditate her mana.

Yusi pulled Aras’ arms around her neck and hefted him onto her back as the elevator ground to a half with an ear-piercing squeal of metal on metal. When relative silence returned, she listened out and followed the echoing rumble. The rumbling grew louder and louder until she could feel the sound through her feet as much as hearing through her horns.

Aras was stirring back to consciousness, Yusi felt through the stirring on her back. Things were starting to feel rather dire – she could not see any of the button-tables similar to the room before that might control the doors. The only thing lining the walls besides the patterned metal and lines of blue were pods or chambers – maybe cupboards, closets, or closed doorways to offices or whatnot.

“Aras wake up – please!” She shouted and jostled him further. She kept proceeding on foot, jostling more as the roaring grew in the hopes that he would be woken from knockout that she had provided.

At last, she found a doorway whose height was only comparable to the Dawn Throne itself, with a table just nearby. The roaring of the oncoming tide was immense and she could begin to make out individual waves crashing amongst each other – it was close. Far too close.

She dragged Aras to the console and began again to try and wake him. No such luck.

She wanted to be angry at him, but this was all her fault – she couldn’t make things worse by mucking things up with these levers and buttons. All these physical attempts to resuscitate him had failed so she had to try a magical solution.

She drew her sceptre of bone and gem, an implement wholly unsuited to the channelling of healing magicks, and began the lengthy incantation over the all-encompassing sensation of imminent hydraulic death.

Unlike what rumours said, raising spells could only pull an unconscious target back to their feet; and if casting a simple curing spell from one’s personal aether supply was akin to offering your hand for someone’s nutrition, performing a raising spell was like spilling your guts on the off-chance that someone else could make better use of them.

Thankfully unlike the outside desolation of The Burn, this facility had plenty of ambient aether for Yusi’s spell to gather into a grand burst of healing. It was still a massive burden, both physically and spiritually, to focus and gather so much, but possible.

She could feel the aether being sucked into Aras’ body, which was pulled upright with a flourish of conjured wind, and flopped down against the wall.

Aras was brought back to waking suddenly and in front of precisely where he wanted to be. He thought, for a moment, that it might have been teleportation – that was an option for moving between facilities, but was only used within facilities sparingly.

No, he had not been moved by magic, but the savage. The heat of rage was still within his bones but he was the bigger man – he could let this feud wait until he was safe from the rising and rumbling tide. He leaned over the console and pressed the blast door locking mechanism.

No budge. The button was just as stuck as the lever from earlier.

He growled and unleashed his fury as a two-handed fist strike.

The door began to close, but agonisingly slowly. The millennia – oh Xande it must be so many – had not been kind to anything mechanical here.

The tide had appeared within eyesight and it was still a roaring wall of water that would crush them as surely as if the ceiling fell on them. He momentarily took solace in the fact that any other survivors wouldn’t also be crushed to death, then his anger came back. No I am not dying here!

Aras looked around and saw Yusi – the savage – slumped against the wall, relaxing like she had not just forced him to do the actual work; but more importantly than the xaela herself – her sceptre.

“Get up, savage. I’m going to survive this and then you’ll–” he could not put his thoughts into words and pulled her up by the wrist holding her implement. She groaned at the effort, the weakling, and he snatched the sceptre from her hands. Aras was no expert at aetheromancy but even with the unfamiliar implement he could layer barriers of aether.

He smirked at the savage and tossed her back her sceptre.

Yusi was not as experienced as the elders that had originally tutored her in the myriad magical arts, but she could tell that the barriers were not going to hold against the water. Not long enough for the door to close, anyhow. She rushed close to Aras and desperately channelled a barrier of her own, a reinforcement to his myriad layers.

“From the heart of the mountain; to the eye of the storm; so do the waters flow till lasting bridges form!” She incanted in an ancient tongue, and the barriers locked together, fixing themselves to cooperatively carry the strain instead of all crumbling individually.

The cacophony of noises came to ahead at the collision of doors, water, and spell – the roaring maelstrom, the squealing mechanism, and the ominous cracking of the barrier drowned out all other sensation before the flow slowed and ceased. The blast door held against the tide and locked itself into position and the water roared off elsewhere, to fill the rest of the deep subterranean facility.

Aras gave Yusi a sneering smile and said, “that’s the start of your reparations,” but his heart clearly was not in the same place as his expression showed.

“Can you tell me about your empire?” She asked.

“Oh I can – and you better remember every detail.” He said, “Because it was peerless on the Star.”

The dreg of an empire spoke of his homeland, of the beauty and the knowledge, and the wonders that they had made of the Star and its inhabitants. And the explorer far from home, whose own ancestors had been pillaged for test subjects, listened and remembered.

The both of them were sopping wet and exhausted down to their very souls, and so very alive.

[thewheezingwyvern]

Heres a challenge. Pixie/fairy Dabi, or even angel dabi! Something uncharacteristic for his personality xD

Oooh Nons lemme tell you I had a blast with this one. Tickled my brain just write that I was able to just bang this out in a few hours. Gotta give a shout out to @trafalgar-temptress for  helping me brainstorm on this. Really helped me get my creative juices flowing juuuuuuuuust right.

ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕪

Yandere!Angel!Dabi x F!Reader

Kinks/Warnings: Noncon (implied and groping), imprisonment, kidnapping, nudity

As you can see by the warnings this is dark adult content. Minors DNI.

The first time you had ever seen him, it was next to Shouto and the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Brilliant hued sapphires that were more vivid than the sky. Ethereal almost. But every time thereafter they seemed to glow a little brighter. A little darker. A little less holy in their shine. They were almost too much to look at, blinding as they were bathed in sacred light. Shouto especially. Even his feathers shone almost like mirrors catching and magnifying the moon’s rays until they were searing.

But Touya, his light was more muted. Still bright but easier for your eyes to handle. That should have been a sign to you, for the easier an angel is to look at, the farther from grace he has become. And Shouto’s older brother became easier and easier to watch with every passing meeting. By the time you learned the truth about him it was already far too late.

The first time he saw you, it was hatred that pulsed through him. Always the favored one, you were just one more pretty thing that his brother got to have. Another way that Shouto was “better” than him. Thoughts of murder curled in the front of his mind, watching your broken mortal body fracture beneath his rage until you were nothing but a splintered wreck for Shouto to see. Until he noticed that you looked at him far more than his perfect sibling. That was the single drop of poison that bloomed in the wine, steeping him in more greed, lust and envy than he had ever tasted before.

In a way, you were the final shove to Touya’s fall.

The crashing sound of tumultuous waves against a rocky face was the first thing to greet you when you woke. Brine and breeze drifted in and wrapped around your prone form huddled under a thin blanket. The air was filled with a moan, a mournful howl that seemed to be crying for you as you stirred. You were no longer at home in the safety of your own bed, that was apparent when you drew more into consciousness and found yourself curled on a pile of thick pillows. But the detail that struck to your heart that you weren’t home was what you saw first.

Golden bars inlaid with pearl. 

They wove intricately into a gorgeous dome, twisting into a cage to keep you confined as the ocean crashed in the background. Beyond the confines of your prison you could see the open mouth of a cave that you had been tucked away into, one that opened out to face the wide open sea. Even from your spot tucked back in the corner you could tell that it was far too high for you to risk jumping even if you did manage to escape your cage. Your prison should have been a dank, dark and wet place but there were braziers placed in various nooks, burning with holy fire to help sheath the cave in a warmth that kept it cozy.

Lanterns were strung into the roof, also flickering with sacred fire to help ward off the damp. There was even some chairs, a plush rug and an exquisite tapestry strung up on the far rocky wall. Had you not been locked up, silver shackles also twisted around your ankles to further trap you, you might have enjoyed this space as a little hide away from the world. There wasn’t much to do since you were alone and the cage was far too strong for you to force open on your own. So all you could do was wait.

When the sun was sinking beyond the line of the horizon, Touya finally appeared. A dark glee curled in his chest when he saw the sheer look of relief that washed over your face when you caught sight of him. Already he could taste the hope bursting from you, a sweet little treat for him to savor before he got to rip it from your grasping hands. You collapsed against the cage, fingers wrapping against the bars as you peered out at him with teary eyes.

“Touya, I’m so happy it’s you! I don’t know how I got here but I’m glad you found me! You have to get me out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll let you out.”

Hope was also the thing that blinded you from the wicked glow in his eyes, the slow lap of his tongue across his lips at the thought of you realizing far too late that you were trapped by him when he held you against him. Relief was the next thing that blinded you when he unlocked the cage, completely glossing over the detail that he had the key in his pocket. Touya folded you up into his arms when you collapsed against his chest, sobs wracking your body, feathered wings arching to cover you. 

“Shouto must be worried sick!” you muttered into his chest, “How long have I been gone?”

“Two days. He’s losing his mind right now.”

Your face was buried into his chest so you couldn’t see the razor grin that had split across his gorgeous face. For good measure, he cupped a hand to the back of your head, murmuring soft comforting words to you as you quaked in his arms. It was important he savored this. It was going to be the last time for a long while before you would willingly touch him again. 

“Please take me home…”

Touya chuckled darkly, “Awww you don’t like it here?”

He watched you lift your tear stained face up, staring up at him with bewildered eyes. A thumb swiped gently at the stroke of your cheekbones before hooking down to trail along your jaw. Confusion mottled your expression before the first prick of fear flickered in your eyes. The way your mouth hung open made him want to kiss you breathless, crush you to him until you were pounding at his chest to let you go and even then go further.

“No! Why would I want to stay here in a cage?!”

“But you look so pretty in there, Dollface.”

The dark angel captured your wrists in his hands as you started to back away from him, hauling you closer. Fear burst even brighter in your eyes, your whole form quaking in his grasp. The sight made his cock twitch, breath panting ragged from his lips as you squirmed.

“T-Touya? This isn’t funny! Take me home.”

“Sorry babes. This is your home now.” the way all the hope withered in your eyes when you realized he was your captor had his blood running hot, “Poor little Shouto is just going to have to do without.”

Touya dipped his dark head down before he started leaving scorching hot kisses to your exposed neck. You trembled and thrashed but you just did not have the strength to break free of him. Just how he liked it. Roughly he whipped you around and pulled you back to chest against him, hooking his left arm around your arms to imprison them behind your back. A whimper escaped you as his free hand closed over your neck in a warning grip before sliding slowly down towards your collarbones.

“St-stop it! Touya, please!”

“God’s not here, sweetheart. So you don’t have to pretend to be so pure and innocent now. I saw the way you kept your eyes on me more than Shouto. He was too bright. Too pure for you to handle. Fact is, you craved a bit of darkness didn’t you?” he whispered wickedly into your ear, a hand groping at your right breast through the silky shift you were clad in, “My brother doesn’t deserve you and I’ve decided that I’m going to keep you. You’re mine now.”

A finger and thumb pinched your nipple through the silken fabric, pulling a choked cry from your throat. A rock hard cock rutted against the curve of your backside, summoning up his own groan of pleasure. At first he had wanted to steal you away from perfect little Shouto, the shining son, out of spite. To take away one of the things he wanted the most and wreck you. But the more time went on, the more Touya wanted you for himself. Why break such a delicious creature when he could just take you and keep you? It would stroke the wicked green eyed devil that had started to grow within his chest and also lash out the prodigal son.

“Touya please don’t do this!” you begged, a loud moan escaping you when his hand shot down to rub against your clit, “Ah-! Please! I-I won’t tell anyone if you let me go-”

The sounds of your begging unleashed a clash of emotions in him. On the one hand, hearing your voice break and plead him made his dick twitch against the curve of your ass. It was a delicious little sound and he wanted to hear more from you. But it also sparked a deep rage in him. Touya went through all of this trouble, stealing some of Heaven’s prized metal work to fashion a cage for you here. Spent months scoping out the perfect place to keep you so you couldn’t escape and no one could find you. He had even taken the extra steps to try and make it comfortable. 

“Ingrateful whore.” he snarled, tearing open your shift to bare your form to the seaside air. Any trace of gentleness he had shown before evaporated when he shoved you face first against the side of the gilded cage, “Take a good long look at this cage. Because this and me is the closest you’ll ever get to those pearly fucking gates again.”

You wondered where it had all gone wrong. Wondered how he could do something so awful to you and his brother. He was an angel, one of the holy ones, it wasn’t supposed to be this way at all. Shouto made it easy for you to forget that they could fall just like anyone else. That they could be fallible and prone to corruption.

Afterall, every demon is an angel that’s fallen from grace.

((Want to participate in Arcane April? Check out my post here about the event and send in your requests! One day left!))

[interstellarflare]

My Queen || Ares

-PART ONE-

Warnings: Blood, gore, swearing, violence, slight angst, slight adult content.

Author’s Note: This series takes place after the events of the show. I recently just finished watching it and I absolutely love it. So I hope you all enjoy. Gif by @wintersvldiier​

Summary: After Zeus’ death and Hera’s disappearance, Olympus needs a new Queen. And for some reason, the Gods chose you, a mortal with a strange and destructive power that not even they themselves understand. With the God of War tasked as your protector, things start becoming a little difficult as Ares’ stubborness drives you crazy, whilst your compassion and kindness inspires him to see the world around him in a different light.

After the Titans had been defeated, and Hera had disappeared entirely, the gods were left without a ruler. Without order, especially after Zeus’ sacrifice. From a young age, you had always known that you were different. A strange power lived within you, coursing through your veins like a coiled snake, waiting to strike and unleash pure devestation. You fought beside Heron against Hera and the Titans, as they unleashed their might upon Mount Olympus.

It was in that moment that you had the unfortunate pleasure of fighting the God of War himself, Ares. For a mortal, you were exceptionally strong. You were nimble and fast, his forcefull and heavy attacks useless against your swift footing. But he was the only one of the gods to notice that flicker of power within you. It was faint, but he could feel it wrapping itself around you, protecting you from his surely fatal blows. He could see the silver flames dance within your gaze, a cold and dangerous fire that could surely decemate everything in your path should you wish it to.

And so after the fight was over, the gods returned to Olympus with you and the rest of Heron’s alliance in tow. It was quiet for a few weeks, as everyone helped rebuild their beloved home. But Ares, along with Apollo, Hermes, Athena and Poseidon, spend their days struggling to decide who should rule in the absence of Hera and Zeus. The Pantheon was in disarray, no one could agree on anything that was presented, and Ares was losing his patience. His mind wandered back to you, and that destructive force within you. He had never seen anything like it before, and it made him curious. You were no demigod, that was for certain. If you were, surely someone would have figured it out by now, and one of the other gods would have claimed you as their own. No, you were something much more than that.

In his daze, the Fates appeared to the Pantheon amidst their heated discussion. It was unusual, as they never left their tower. Ares honestly didn’t think they could. The elder of the Fates claimed that if Olympus was to become prosperous once again and returned to its former glory, you were the wisest choice to rule. The power that stirred within you was the key to defeating Hera when she returned to retake Olympus. Not if, when.

And with that decided, Ares found himself watching you from afar as you spoke with Apollo, your arms flailing about you as you protested in exasperation. Even though the Fates were rarely ever wrong, he couldn’t help but disagree with their judgement. A mortal as the Queen of Olympus. How ridiculous. To make things worse, Poseidon had ordered him to be your protector, your guard if you will. As the God of War, he supposed it was fitting that that duty would fall to him. But that didn’t mean he had to like doing it. You were so small compared to his godly size, your head reaching just beneath his shoulders. Mortals were weak and frail, even with that power within you, you could still be easily broken if you weren’t careful.

As he leaned against one of the marble columns of the Pantheon, someone moved to stand by his side, a small gust of wind following. “I thought you had matters in the mortal realm to attend to” Ares growled, folding his arms over his chest as his gaze remained trained on your form which now sat peititely on the marble balcony next to the Sun God. Hermes grinned “I did, so far I haven’t heard a whisper of Hera’s next movements. Even the Underworld is silent”.

“So the bitch hasn’t died of her wounds then?” Ares replied boredly, finally turning his attention to the god beside him through the corner of his eye. He watched as Hermes stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “Need I remind you that you fought beside her, and did nothing to stop her when she resurrected the Titans...” Hermes responded lowly, his expression turning into a glare “who’s to say that you won’t do it again?”.

Ares whirled, pressing his forearm against Hermes’ throat and pinning him to the very column he had been leaning against. The entire Pantheon shook at the force, a deep rumble echoing across Olympus with a mild ferocity. “You know damn well why I chose Hera’s side over Zeus’. How many times has he sired one bastard too many? He had promised all of the gods that he would never do it again, and then we find out about his beloved son, Heron. Admit it, brother, you at least felt some sort of betrayal-”

“Let him go!” Your small voice shouted, bringing him out of his blinding rage. Ares whirled once again, his eyes landing on your small form which stood beside him. For a fragile mortal, you were either foolish or brave enough to stand next to a powerful, seething god such as himself. You glowered up at him, standing as tall as you could with your hands clenched at your sides. It was a feeble attempt at looking intimidating, and it made Ares laugh. In his dark amusement, he released Hermes and turned to face you, staring down at you with a dangerous smirk. “It will take more than an intimidating glare to be queen, girl...” He taunted, standing up taller even though he towered over you anyway “you must back it up with some fire, stand up to someone like you mean to destroy them with a simple raise of your finger”.

His blood tingled in response to the silver embers that swirled about your (eye/colour) hues. He could feel your power writhing, threatening to lash out and do exactly as he had suggested only moments before. It seemed as though neither of his brothers had noticed, neither of them could feel whatever lay dormant inside you pushing and tugging at the chains that you had so carefully forged to keep it leashed. So why could he?

With along and heavy sigh, you closed your eyes and breathed deeply, your power ceasing to a steady but low hum in his ears. “What do you want?” You questioned lowly, your tone as cold as the fire that so brightly burned through you. Ares felt his chest tighten as he spoke, a warning to be cautious, a warning that told him that there was definitely more to you than meets the eye.

“I have been assigned as your protector, Y/n, whether you wish it or not”.

[jadequeen88]

Crimson Canopy

The last thing you thought you’d be doing that day was seducing a god-like, mythical creature... 

PAIRING: Harpy!Hawks x Female!Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: oral/penetrative sex, praise kink (if you squint), wing kink, (it’s all pretty vanilla)

AS WITH ALL MY WORK THIS IS NSFW. ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS PLS

This is an AU with no quirks. Humans live a long side mythical races and creatures that they abuse for the most part. You’re part of a secret organization that saves and protects them. 

**************************************************************

Sweat dripped into your eyes as you reached the top of the trail. Panting, you wiped it away with the back of your hand. Wishing (not for the first time today) you’d gotten your ass out of bed earlier so you’d be out of the afternoon heat, you take a long drink from your insulated water bottle. You knew you had patrol duty today, but you still thought it was a good idea to stay up trying to drown your depression with bourbon.

As your breathing slowed, you pull out your phone to see a new message.

Bre: “Done yet? It’s really hot out! Did you find anyone/thing that was injured?”

You: “Not done yet. Got a late start. No sign of any traps set off so far. I’ll text when I’m done.”

Bre: “Good news! Stay safe :)”

You slide your phone back into the pocket of your cargo pants and sit on a nearby stump. From this vantage point, you could use your binoculars to scan the wooded valley below for anyone who needed help.

As you scanned the area, a thought you’d had a million times before flirted through your brain. “I really am disgusted by my own species most days.” If humans weren’t so ruthless, greedy, and arrogant, you wouldn’t have to be out here in the first place.

You were part of a secret rescue agency that saved endangered mythical creatures and races of humanoids from poachers. Whether it was unicorns murdered for their horns and blood, wood elves captured for horrific genetic experiments, or griffins murdered just for existing, humans were relentless. Although, most of the human population grouped elves and other intelligent humanoids into basically being animals themselves. Despite the fact that these races had their own languages, customs, art, and social hierarchy just like humans. The lack of empathy on the part of your race made your stomach turn and your blood boil.

It didn’t take long to spot your first victim. But this seemed... different. The cries were not fully human, not fully animal, but completely full of rage. And the wind! It was as if a small cyclone had suddenly rose from the ground and threatened to swallow the small patch of forest in the valley. You had no idea what could be causing the commotion, but you did know it was caught and needed help. It needed help fast. A lot of poachers had cameras or alarm systems to alert them when a trap was set off. You knew you had a small window or time before things got dire.

You expertly navigated your way down the hillside, having made a crude path over time on your patrols. Within a couple of minutes, you approached the ring of trees that were being violently shaken by the forceful wind.

When you looked into the chaos, you could see enormous, crimson feathers beating wildly into the air. Your eyes widened in wonder and horror when realization washed over you.

“Holy shit.... A Harpy....”

They were so rare and so removed from human society that many believed them to be fairy tales. But what you saw in front of you was definitely real. The creature beat their wings so furiously you couldn’t even make out the rest of their body. The growls and cries of rage still pierced the air as the wretched creature thrashed against its metal wire trappings.

It never got easier seeing just how brutal these traps were. A simple bear trap would be a mercy in some cases.

Not knowing a better way to get the creature’s attention, you let out a loud, high whistle.

The massive wings froze and you were able to see flesh between them. The harpy’s skin was crisscrossed with thin, metal wires that began to dig angry, bleeding cuts all over. A pang of despair rang through your chest. You noticed a golden blonde head slowly turn to face you.

For the second time today, you were absolutely astounded by what you saw in front of you.

A MALE Harpy! You knew enough about the creatures to know that only about 1 in 20 babies born were male. You’d never in a million years expect to come face to face with a Harpy. Let alone a male.

Once the shock wore off, another realization fell over you. He was absolutely, drop dead, gorgeous.

His long golden tresses hung wild around his face and his amber colored eyes burned through you. He had the chiseled jaw line of a Greek god and you couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

You quickly snapped out of it when you realized why you were there. You had to save him.

You slowly circled around to face him, palms out showing you weren’t a threat to him. He wasn’t buying it, though. You knew if he wasn’t bound by metal wires, he’d be eating away at your throat right this second.

Once you were face to face with him, you were able to appreciate the full extent of his terrifying beauty.

His perfectly sculpted chest was bare and bleeding from struggling against the wires of the trap. His mouth was pulled into a snarl, baring sharp canines and you were absolutely sure they could slice through you in a second. The only article of clothing he wore were a pair of woven cropped pants. They were made in an intricate pattern. The anthropologist in you wanted to ask what the material was made of and how it was woven... until a half growl, half whimper brought you back to the reality of the situation.

Your eyes trailed back up to meet the Harpy’s honey-golden irises. The pain in them made your chest ache.

“H-help.... p-pl-please...”

You froze, shocked that this mythical creature was actually able to communicate with you. Most elves you came in contact didn’t speak English. How could a Harpy, an even rarer species, speak it?

You didn’t have time right now. Questions could wait until later. You quickly swung your bag off your shoulder and pulled out your wire cutters.

The closer you got to the creature, you could notice tremors through his body. Especially at the base of his large wings. His right one was bound in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

You held the wire cutters out in front of you and made eye contact with him.

“These will cut the wires. Okay? This will help.”

You made sure to use the word “help” since he seemed to understand that.

You received a curt nod, his golden, feathery hair flopping into his eyes a bit more.

After snapping ten of the vicious wires loose, he was able to remove himself from the rest. You noticed his hands had long, black nails that were reminiscent of talons. You looked curiously at his feet to see if he had talons. You always heard that Harpy’s had long, nasty talons for feet that they’d gut their prey with. You were slightly (pleasantly) surprised to see perfectly normal feet wearing plain, deerskin moccasins.

You heard a deep, rumbling chuckle and looked up to see him laughing at you while rubbing at his sore biceps.

“You expected horrible talons that I’d use to gut you with, no?” His eyes widened and he exposed his sharp canines when he said “gut you”. Something stirred in the pit of your stomach and you stiffened with surprise.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry! I’ve just... I’ve never met a Harpy, much less a MALE Harpy and you know, we hear so many rumors. I’m just fascinated by your species and culture and-“ you were silenced when he clasped one of his large hands over your mouth. He looked around, obviously sensing something you couldn’t.

He pulled you into a bear hug. You barely had time to register what was happening when the Harpy growled “Hold” into your ear.

With one thrust of his powerful, crimson wings, you were above the tree line. That’s when you heard a gunshot. The Harpy shot forward with incredible speed and didn’t slow down his speed until you were over the next mountain. When you were well away from the danger of the poachers, his wings flapped a little lazier and you were gliding along the air currents at a more relaxing speed.

After the initial shock wore off, you became more aware of your surroundings. You clung to the male like a koala hanging onto a tree. Your arms wrapped around his back tightly and legs around his waist, linking your ankles so you wouldn’t fall.

You immediately blushed as you noticed how hot the flesh of his arms were around you. One arm was positioned under you grabbing your outer right thigh. The other arm gripped your upper back, his strong fingers digging into your ribs right under your breast. You stiffened, embarrassed at the warmth growing between your legs. It’s not like you could really pull away.

You shift your hips nervously, hoping to make your position less awkward. The Harpy caught on to this subtle gesture and you felt his chest rumble against yours. Was he... laughing at you?!

“Excuse me... umm, Harpy... sir. Is something funny?” you ask, growing redder in the face by the second.

“Hawks” he purred in your ear. This did not help the growing heat your body was producing.

“What?”

“Name. Call me by Hawks. It is easier for a human to say than my birth name.” his voice was deep and he spoke with a musical lilt to his voice that was hypnotizing to you.

“Oh...” you trailed off, losing the train of thought you’d had.

There was a long pause before he continued speaking, as if he were pondering the right way to frame his thought.

“Amusing... it is.. amusing to me how easily a human female is....” he trailed off, searching for the right word. “Aroused” the last word was purred directly into your ear.

A shudder went through you and just as you were about to unleash a flurry of curses on him, you felt a jolt as his feet landed on wooden planks.

Hawks leaned forward and let you down gently. You could see you were on a balcony in the top of a massive tree. Branches concealed any evidence that there was a structure built into the tree. You followed the Harpy (or “Hawks” as you now knew him) into a small cabin like structure. Inside was one open room set up like a studio loft. You were amazed at how human everything felt. One wall was lined with bookshelves (guess that’s how he can speak English). There was a small kitchen area and on the opposite wall, a neatly made bed. You didn’t know what to expect a Harpy’s home to look like, but it wasn’t this.

You had so many questions to ask, but didn’t know where to start.

Any questions you had fell silent as the angelic Hawks turned to face you. Two slow steps forward and he was inches away from your face. You froze as his inquisitive eyes trailed your face. From your hairline down to your collarbone. He looked very serious; like he was studying a text book.

Hawks held up one of his hands and gently ran the tip of his index finger down the bridge of your nose. His soft touch ghosted over your lips causing you to involuntarily part them slightly. This caught his attention and his head cocked slightly to the right. He leaned in and you thought he would kiss you, but his face found the crook of your neck and he buried his nose into your warm flesh. You felt him breathe your scent in and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

“You do not stink, human.” Hawks spoke into your skin.

“Umm. Thank you?” You questioned, not knowing if you should be offended or not.

“As children... we learn that humans are vile and evil. But you...” hawks trailed off, nuzzling his nose into your neck. "You are my savior”

Warmth spread through your chest and without thinking, you tangled your hands into his golden mop of hair and massaged his scalp. You felt his hands gently touch your hips and his beautiful wings encircle you both.

“Most of us are vile and evil, Hawks,” you whisper into his hair, breathing in his woodsy scent. “But some of us try to do better.”

As you continued to massage his scalp, you could feel a humming against your neck and a slight vibration running through his chest. Was he... purring?

Now was your turn to giggle. His face met yours with an embarrassed expression this time. He pulled away and his wings drooped slightly.

You cupped his face in your hands and touched his forehead to yours to ease his discomfort.

“That was a beautiful sound...” you whisper against his lips.

His liquid gold eyes met yours and you froze wondering what would come next.

Slowly, Hawks nuzzled his cheek against yours in a tender gesture. The purring noise quietly started back up and you returned his soft nuzzling gesture.

The earthy, warm smell of his skin was hypnotic. You sighed, wondering what his lips would taste like under your tongue. As your thoughts started spiraling further into your fantasies, Hawks froze.

“Taste...” he whispered, “May I taste you, human?”

Your eyes met again.

“Yes...” you whispered, mere centimeters from his face.

Hawks planted his lips onto your collarbone. After a soft kiss, you felt a long, languid lick trail all the way up to your shoulder. You bit your lip to stifle a moan.

Hawks was obviously not concerned with you hearing his reactions, because a low growl/moan escaped his lips as contact broke and he licked up your neck just as slowly.

The second lick made you shudder and your voice escaped before you could bite it back.

The purring sound got louder and he nuzzled your ear with his nose. The grip he held on your hips tightened and he pulled you in to meet his body. You gasped as you felt the bulge rubbing against your thigh.

“CHRIST he’s huge...”

“Hawks...” you choked out his name in a whisper.

He met your gaze. He was smiling sweetly and his eyes were wide with excitement. You paused and looked from his bookshelf to his face. Then, your eyes traveled around his walls. They were littered with paintings of humans (mostly women) and a lightbulb clicked on.

You grinned slyly and he looked confused.

“You have a human fetish....” you growled seductively.

His eyes widened and his cheeks turned red. His embarrassment only turned you on more. Realizing you had an advantage over the god-like being gave you an abundance of confidence.

“Please sit,” you gesture towards his bed. Slightly confused, he follows your direction.

You walk over and stand in front of him. You hold his hands and look into his eyes.

“First thing’s first. My name is Y/N. You should probably know my name before we begin.” He returns your soft smile.

“Y/N.... I like it.” Hawks says softly.

You melt hearing your name on his lips. Still holding his hands, you place them at the hem of your shirt.

You tremble slightly, in complete disbelief. Seducing a rare, mythical being wasn’t even close to on your mind when you awoke this morning.

“You can undress me if you’d like” your voice cracks and he senses the nervousness in your voice.

Hawks grabs you around the waist and gives you a reassuring hug, burying his face in your stomach.

He pulls away and stands to face you. You raise your arms to make it easier for him to remove your shirt. First your shirt, then bra, then pants are removed. You’re standing face to face with Hawks in nothing but your panties.

He sits back on the bed studying you then kneels in front of you on the floor. Your heart does a somersault in your chest as he grabs your ass.

Hawks plunges his face between your thighs and breathes in deeply. You shudder and moan as you feel his sharp nails dig in to your flesh.

He looks up at you, pupils so dilated you barely see the gold irises.

“I will try to be gentle... human” he pauses and smiles showing canines “Y/N”

Hearing him growl your name causes your knees to weaken and Hawks is quick to hold you up in his firm grasp.

With speed and precision, he takes your panties in his mouth and rips them off, tossing them to the side. Before you register what happened, you’re tossed onto the bed and have you legs draped over Hawk’s broad shoulders.

The Harpy’s wings fly open blocking almost all the light in the small room then slowly descend to tuck behind his back. You watch, hypnotized by the beauty of them. He notices and sports a prideful smile.

“Maybe this is part of their mating ritual? Remember to ask him later...”

Your inquisitive thoughts were ripped from your mind as you felt Hawks’ tongue enter your sopping wet hole. Your hips bucked into his face as a guttural moan escaped your throat.

He begins lapping at you gently, drinking you in. Then he pulls away meeting your gaze.

He takes a finger and experimentally rubs your swollen clit. You throw your head back and nearly scream out with pleasure.

“This... is a human female’s pleasure point. Yes?” He smiles, knowing the answer by your reaction.

“Shit, FUCK, yes... ahh, yes it is. But it’s very sensitive and has to be handled gently” you try to talk while he’s still rubbing small circles around your clit.

“Mmmm...” he hums removing his finger. You feel his arms wrap around your thighs then his soft lips wrapping around the sensitive nub.

Your body rolls upward to meet his mouth. This causes Hawks to resume the involuntary purring from earlier. Feeling the vibrations from it nearly sends you over the edge. His speed gradually increases as you reach your climax.

“Hawks!” You scream out his name as you come, tightening your thighs around his face.

He looks up at you, your slick glistening all over the lower half of his face. A wide grin showing sharp canines spreads across his face.

“That was.. orgasm?” He asked, massaging your thighs.

“Yes. Oh fuck yes it was...” you pant.

Hawks licks his lips proudly then pounces on top of you enveloping you in a strong embrace. You bury your hands in his hair and giggle as he peppers your neck with kisses.

You gently grind your thigh into his his crotch eliciting an animalistic growl.

“When a human female orgasms,” you purr into his ear, “it means her body is ready to take the male,” another slow grind into his bulge, “inside her...”

This sent Hawks completely over the edge. His pants were off with lightning speed and you felt the head of his swollen member at your entrance. His wings flex out again in another impressive display. As he slowly enters you, his wings draped over your bodies forming a cocoon of crimson feathers.

You writhe and moan as he plunges into you, inch by delicious inch. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him into you. This awakens something in Hawks. He growls and plunges into you.

As he ruts into you mercilessly, you feel sharp canines begin to bite into your shoulder. The mixture of pleasure and pain causes you to cry out.

“OH FUCK, Hawks... yes!” You scream, clawing into his shoulders.

This causes him to bite hard enough to draw blood and his pace quickens. Without thinking, your hands trail inward to pet the downy feathers at the base of his wings. This set Hawks over the edge.

Throwing his head back, he growls and you notice a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. You take it as a good sign and begin massaging the base of his wings. A shudder runs through his body and his eyes roll back into his head.

Feathers trembling, Hawks cries out as he releases inside of you. Your hips roll into his as you ride the wave of your second orgasm. Your walls clamping around his cock causes him to whimper and sink into your chest.

Once you both even out your breath, you wrap your arms tenderly around his waist and massage his muscles.

“So...” you pant looking into Hawk’s golden gaze, “ your wings?”

He turns red and grins sheepishly.

“A Harpy’s pleasure point.” he whispers, gently touching his lips to yours. You realize this it the first time you actually kissed him and close your eyes relishing his velvety, plump lips.

“Mmm...” he hums before breaking the kiss, “Y/N... you are the most...” he stops to run his tongue along your lower lip, “delicious creature...”

Your smile widens as you kiss him again. This time, your mouths part and tongues touch gently.

“Hawks, you’re amazing,” you whisper, relishing the taste of him lingering on your lips.

Hawks nuzzles back into the crook of your neck and resumes his hypnotic purring.

“My... savior...” he breathes. Your hand strokes his golden locks as you feel him drift off to sleep.

A smile lingers on your lips as you drift into sleep under a canopy of crimson feathers

[dr3amlandst0ner]

prompt: “okay so basically tubbo snaps goes crazy n shit nukes everyone but forgets about michael who’s sitting alone in that small room cold and alone the explosion kills him instantly but he dies thinking his parents forgot about him”

listen to ‘fourth of july’ by sufjan stevens while reading (its worth it)

tubbo was never one to lash out, but when he did it was bad. its like he bottled up all his emotions and just kept them deep down, some would called him a ticking time bomb.. one wrong word on one wrong day and off he goes unleashing all his emotions all at once on whoever was the unfortunate soul to be around him.

he obviously didnt like this and did his best to try and express his emotions went he felt them but growing up with a dad like schlatt… well expressing your emotions wasnt always easy or even liked. but tubbo was trying to learn..

hn this specific day although, it was hard. with dream being in prison and just finally getting his son back after months of not having him, well today was stressful to say the least.

tubbo was off on his own in their house, michael was in his room as he normally is when ranboo comes in frantically telling tubbo he needs to leave. he needs to go help fight, dream has attempted to break out again unfortunately… this wasnt the first time this happened but normally everyone got him under control and tubbo didnt need to get involved.

“TOMMY GIVE ME MY DISCS OR I SWEAR WHEN I GET OUT IF HERE ILL-“ dream yelled “YOURE NEVER GETTING OUT DREAM, YOULL ROT AWAY LIKE I DID IN EXILE” tommy shouted back. tubbo and ranboo got there just on time to hear the shouting and see the fighting.. tubbo could feel this was going to end badly, he hadnt blown up on anyone is so long he could feel the anger and hate for dream just stirring deep within him.

tubbo was ready. he was ready to fight, he had been waiting for weeks to unleash his anger on dream and now is the perfect timing. dream trying to get free, no one being able to stop him. today was the day. the end of dream and all his terrors…

michael always got confused when his dads would leave, he never understood them. whyd they have to go? why couldnt he come with? did they not like him? were they embarrassed of him? these questions flowed through his mind while sitting there. just waiting for them to return.

tubbo was his normal self while fighting. nothing had yet him off.. yet. in the midst of the fight dream yelled “as soon as i get out im coming for michael”. thats what broke him. hearing those words come out of the man who stole his son previously, thats what broke him.

anger filled him, ranboo of course trying to calm him a bit as to not let him tale dreams last life said “tubbo calm down, hes not getting out of here and hes not taking michael. we have a save place for him remember?” but nothing could calm tubbo down. all he felt was rage, remembering everything dream did and said, remembering what schlatt always said “if someones threatening you or your families life.. end them”

tubbo knew he couldnt kill dream on his own, even if he tried it would be too risky— hes on his last life as well. he didnt want to risk it, as much as he wanted dream gone he didnt want to risk his own life as well. he decided he could shoot off a fake nuke to scare dream a bit, thou no one could know he was doing it

amongst all the fighting he slipped off to the base.. the base which held all the supplies for a war in case one would start again. ranboos attempt at calming him down didnt really work fully, when he finally got to the control room all he could think is about dream and how much pain hes caused everyone. he needed him gone. forever.

without thinking he pushes the button, the button that would end everyone but him. he wasnt thinking about his friends, their houses, his husband or son… he realized his mistake as he watched out the window as the nuke hit. desecrating everything and everyone.

ranboo along with the others were confused as to were tubbo went and what he was doing, but ended up forgetting about it until they hear it. the rumbling sound of their fate. ranboo knew what was coming, he knew he couldnt stop it. he needed to get back to michael, before the nuke his and wiped out all of them.

michael still siting in his room, decided he was going to go stand on the hill, to see if he could see anything. completely disobeying the rules his dads set, dont go outside alone. he was a kid, he wanted to know where his dads were. he got outside and on the hill just in time to see the flash, the last thing he would ever see. since it was farther away from him he had to stand and watch as everyone perished.

ranboo was running. as fast as he could. using everything in his power to run fast to get to michael,, to save him. he got to michael, not in time. he knew michael would die alone and thats what hurt the most. not that his husband was the cause, no, just knowing his son would die alone with no one hurt him enough.

tubbo knew everyone was dead by now. a nuke like this would kill off everyone even if they had all three lives. there would be nothing left. after the nuke went off, he went outside to see if there was any sign of life. none. just rubble and dust. he needed to check on michael, he always told michael to go to the basement if he heard a loud noise, he hoped and prayed that he did. while running to his house, he see ranboos body. on the ground, with a book beside him which read “im sorry i couldnt get to michael, hes on the hill”. thats when tubbo knew michael didn’t survive.

running up to michaels burned body was quite possibly the worst thing tubbo had done. he was so broken, he killed his son. his son died thinking his dads didnt like him, he died thinking his parents were embarrassed by him. all tubbo could do was cry. cry and yell.

eventually, time went on. tubbo built a shrine to everyone that was killed. even one for michael and ranboo. eventually he realized he needed to add one for himself. he did, that hurt a lot.

by midday he decided today was his day. today he would join michael, ranboo, tommy, wilbur, everyone. even schlatt and dream. and by sunset he was gone. lying with the others

*not proofread* anyways i hope yall cry /lh :)

[jonnyparable]

Cottage Hills : The Red Chamber Part VIII

The Beast Within

A scream pierces the night. Won, the last Firethorn, cries out in terror. With the full moon out, Olkan transforms before their eyes into his Werewolf form. He breaks free from the ropes, and in the confusion, Won, frightened and horrified by the spectacle before him, doesn't see Moguai cowering at his feet and trips over him. He loses his magical grip on the ropes, which fall limp at everyone's feet. As he falls backwards, The Black Cup flies out of his hands and rolls to Zack's feet.

As the bottle rolls over and taps his metallic feet with a tiny clink, Zack looks down and remembering that Won only has enough ingredients to make one, decides to take advantage of the chaos and quickly neutralise the poison the only way he knows how. By ingesting it, and storing it within his body. Zack opens the bottle and downs its entire contents. But something immediately goes wrong inside of him and he can hear his insides dissolving. Zack falls over as he feels himself malfunctioning. With his last ounce of power, he utters Olkan's name.

Zack :

"Olka... Olkan... I love you...."

The poison is so potent, it corrodes Zack from within and his systems are unable to withstand the corrosive effects. Zack shuts down. The air becomes still as the sound of metal falling on the ground rings sickeningly through the night.

The Beast Unleashed

Olkan rushes over and holds Zack's stiff body in his arms. He touches his cold metal shell and Olkan feels as though his own heart has just fallen of his body. He feels himself losing control, and with everything within him, he lets out a long, painful howl that echoes terrifyingly through the woods.

Olkan:

"Zack!! Speak to me!! ZACK!! "

Won:

"My potion! He drank it all! The meddling fool ruined everything! NO! "

Olkan gently puts Zack down. He gets up on his feet and he's shaking with fury. His eyes are dark with rage. He flexes his claws, bears his fangs and with a deep, bone chilling growl, he looks directly at Won.

Olkan:

"YOU! What.. Have.. You done? I'll kill you. I'LL KILL YOU! "

Won gulps as he looks into Olkan's terrifying face, all hatred and fury. His teeth bared. His claws glinting in the moonlight. He looks manic, like he wants to rip Won into shreds on the spot. Won, for the first time in a long time, feels pure, genuine fear.

Won:

"Mog-Moguai.... D-do s-something!"

Moguai:

"Uhhh Hehe, well, it's been nice. But you know how much I hate dogs. I believe this is where I take my leave. Goodbye!!"

Moguai, wanting no part in this particular dogfight, decides to make a run for it and with a leap into the night sky, he vanishes into thin air, back into the shadowy realm from which he came.

Battle in the Mist

Won finds his feet and as Olkan steps closer, he gets up and runs into the mist. Olkan roars in animalistic fury and chases after him. Wally tries to stop him but he's too fast. He goes after them, following them into the mist.

Wally:

"Olkan, wait! Mary, stay here with Zack! I'll go after Olkan!"

Wally runs through the mist and can hear the blood curdling shrieks of Won screaming out in terror, and the growls and snarls of Olkan. He follows the frightful sounds and he soon catches up to them and sees Olkan standing over Won, ready to strike.

Olkan:

"You will pay for what you've done, vile trickster! My claws will make sure of it! Tonight they will taste your blood! Every drop of it! "

Won:

"Please, no! Have mercy!"

Wally :

"Olkan! No! This is not what Zack would have wanted! "

Olkan, hearing Wally's voice suddenly comes to his senses and slowly lowers his claws. He looks at Won whimpering and then looks over at Wally. In his rage, he had almost done the unthinkable. He had almost become a mindless killer. A beast. He turns to walk over to Wally. Suddenly, Won springs up on his feet and with a flick of his wand, fires a blast of green toxic fire at Olkan's back.

Wally :

"Olkan! Watch out!"

With his Werewolf senses and instincts, Olkan deftly dodges the attack, but just barely. The fire singes his side. Olkan may have heightened reflexes but Won's magically enhanced speed and power makes up for Olkan's brute strength. The two of them face each other.

Won:

"So this old dog has a few tricks. You may be able to dodge some of my attacks, but he certainly can't!"

Won cocks his head over at Wally, standing defenseless a few paces away.

Olkan:

"Coward! Wally, go hide yourself, leave Won to me!"

Won:

"You know, people have disappeared in these woods before... Your meddling may have saved the town this time, but I will have my revenge, sooner or later. Tonight, none of you shall leave these woods alive!"

Mary, meanwhile, checks on Zack. He isn't stirring, and Mary doesn't know if Gray will be able to fix him. Thinking of Zack's brave sacrifice moves Mary to tears. Mary is not alone, however. From behind a collapsed wall, she's being watched by an unknown figure, she hears rustling in the leaves and quickly turns around, and...

[crystalbahamut]

become the night

FFXIV Write Day 6: Avatar

Summary: Eulmore has captured its most hated villain. If they want you to be the Warrior of Darkness so badly, then perhaps you will oblige them.

Author’s note: AU thing (I guess?) where WoL is captured by Eulmore having defeated maybe two or three Lightwardens? I’m not sure. Also it’s definitely more AUish in that WoL can better channel the power of the light. I just like the idea of using the dark to filter it– sort of moon-like. I don’t know where this came from but it felt like a neat idea, even if I could only manage a small snippet of what feels like could be a larger whole.

Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, some violence, unspecified/ambiguous WoL/D, not dark knight main but dips into it, playing a little bit loose with aether/magic abilities

Words: 1,469

---

“Is the food not to your liking?”

Vauthry is a disgusting man taking advantage of people within and without his city and yet treating you to a saccharine tone like an honored dinner guest. And, as a most exceptional dinner guest, you are sat next to General Ran’jit and attended by no less than eight guards with various sharp objects just waiting for you to breathe wrong.

The situation doesn’t tend to work up much of an appetite.

“I don’t eat food prepared by people I don’t trust,” you say.

“Oh come now. If I wanted you dead, you already would be,” Vauthry says and takes a long swig of his wine.

He would think that. But if you hadn't had to sacrifice yourself to keep Ran’jit from getting Minfilia, you wouldn’t be here, and you know that. “Why am I alive then?” you ask. “I loathe you and I’m fairly certain the feeling must be mutual, given how far you’ve gone to keep me from killing the other monsters blighting this world.”

“No no no,” he says and sets his goblet aside. “You are simply…misguided. The Crystal Exarch has been feeding you lies and false promises, but I will teach you the truth. Here, have some wine; it will relax you.”

“No thank you,” you say, words clipped as you remember the last time you had a glass. Trauma aside, if someone wanted to poison Vauthry, you don’t think you’d mind.

“Stubborn.” His voice is barely raised but he slams a hand upon the table, making everything on it jump. “How will it serve you to deny me? You are here whether you like it or not; if you submitted to me I would make you a citizen of this city. Do you have any idea what people are willing to do for such an honor?”

“I do,” you say. “And if they truly knew what they were walking into you would be left with no sacrifices to your petulant temper.”

He stares at you for several moments– potentially you used too many big words– before he bears his teeth, shouts, and slams his fist against the table a few more times before grabbing a meol loaf and thrusting it at your face. “I’ve had enough– eat!”

You lean back but he presses forward. “Eat, damn you!” he says and pushes it against your face as you can lean away no more with hands holding you in place. You turn your head to get away from the bread that the light inside you reacts to. You don’t know what that means but it feels wrong in a way that turns your insides. However Vauthry is bearing down on you and he reaches in with his other hand to hold your nose.

So you oblige him.

Your teeth sink in to the base of his thumb and he howls. His flesh is pale, putrid, spongy…

…sickeningly familiar.

He rips himself away, leaving you with a tainted taste of sour blood just before the guard rips you out of your chair, slams you to the ground, and descends upon you.

By the end of their assault you wouldn’t claim to have much dignity left, bleeding on the floor as you are, but Vauthry is still whimpering about his bandaged hand so by comparison you’d say you’re doing all right.

There’s a knock on the door and Vauthry composes himself. “What is it!” he barks.

The door opens. “M-my lord,” the servant whimpers. “The- the Crystal Exarch is at the gates. In his words he demands an audience with you, to speak of the wrongful imprisonment of his warrior– his words, not mine!”

“Feh.” Vauthry sneers down at you. You let your eyes close and continue to steel yourself for what is to come. “I’m half-tempted to throw you from an airship and watch you break at his feet. But you may be of use yet. You– bind and bring them. You– tell the guard the Crystal Exarch is hereby an enemy of Eulmore and is to be executed on sight.”

The servant confirms his orders in the most simpering way possible and Ran’jit, finally, speaks up. “My lord, we need not truly negotiate, but we could make him return Minfili–”

“I don’t care about the girl,” Vauthry spits out. And then literally spits. “We have the Warrior of Darkness and the Crystal Exarch’s futile plans will never succeed without them. The girl will fight and die like all the others and a new one will be born. You can have the next reincarnation; the current one is too much trouble.”

“…My lord,” Ran’jit says, somehow deferential and seething with rage both.

As your hands are chained behind your back you feel a familiar calm settle into your bones and seep through your blood. Warrior of Darkness indeed. For a while the title didn’t feel right; you were a Warrior of Light taking the power of the light and everything about you felt too bright and burning. The Warrior of Darkness was a convenient title– a children’s story, a religious figure, and you felt sacrilegious ever even thinking about taking the mantle.

But now. Now the light is dimming as you allow an old friend back into the shadows of your mind and you feel yourself deaden to the world with only Fray’s echoing chuckle in your ear, even as you are dragged to your feet and paraded out to a terrified populace. Vauthry speaks to his people to– inspire them? Cow them? You aren’t truly paying attention. Not until he turns to you and asks, “And what would you say for yourself, villain?”

You look amongst the crowd, making sure not to linger on familiar faces. They don’t feel wrong, they don’t feel deserving of your wrath, and so this is not the place to make your stand. And you’re not a politician. Not an inspired speaker. However the things you have been through have given you just enough experience to know how to stir people. For better or for worse.

“Night is coming whether you like it or not,” you say. A little pull, a little pitch-black glamour, and all across the room you drape all the aether you can muster to…‘turn off the lights,’ so to speak. There are a few shrieks and shouts, and a chorus of gasps– even from Vauthry himself. You look right at him. “So you had best get used to the dark.”

---

“By the Twelve, you’re a right mess.”

You crack open one eye. The other one is too swollen to budge. “Thancred?” you ask with a throat too dry to nearly speak. “What are you doing here?”

He scoffs and starts picking open one of the manacles. This is unexpected– and entirely too soon; you haven’t yet healed enough from the last beating to carry out your plans. “I got in here once already; you can’t think they’d keep me out now?” There’s a clicking sound and Thancred works with more careful motions. “I’ve simply been awaiting my opportunity. Nice little lightshow, by the way; it–”

“Thancred, did you find–” Alphinaud’s gasp is joined by another and both twins exclaim your name.

“I’m all right,” you say as Alphinaud’s healing magic begins to settle into you. It prickles, but after a few moments you can blink open both your eyes, and open and close your now-free fist. Perhaps everything can go ahead as planned.

Alisaie watches you sharply, and when you’re unshackled and healed up enough to start walking towards a collection of old weaponry, she says your name warily. “We should go.”

“Not yet. There’s something I have to do,” you say and dig through the pile until you find a greatsword.

“My friend you are barely healed,” Thancred says and holds out his hands. “We must return to the Crystarium and regroup.”

“We won’t get a chance like this again.” You give the sword a few swings. It’s far from perfect, but it will do. Until you find a guard with a better one. You turn towards your friends. “You don’t have to come with me.”

They look like they might refuse. Thancred looks like he might try to bash you over the head and just steal away, but whether he relents because he wants to or because he senses he can’t win, you aren’t sure. Either way he shrugs and smiles. “Very well,” he says. “Just answer me honestly, my friend– are you certain you feel well enough for this?”

“Yes. In fact…” You turn towards them, light pulsing beneath your skin and ready to be unleashed with the darkness already gathering. Stars and moonlight, there is a place for it, and you will show it where to go. “For the first time, I feel right.”

[jedi-order-apologist]

- I know ol’ Palps is a big doodoo liar pants but one of his line stuck out to me and I’d like to share my thoughts. He says “The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power.” Now, we obviously (hopefully) know that’s bullshit but I think it gives an interesting look into Papa Palp’s (and by extension, the Sith’s) philosophy on power in comparison to what we know about the Jedi. Hear me out. (1/3)

- The Jedi value and seek things like knowledge, wisdom, self-control, justice, and love. To them, these are powerful, however, these things are typically not associated with power—true power—in either our culture or the Sith’s. Be that as it may, in pursuing these things, the Jedi actually do gain power as it is traditionally defined, almost unintentionally. Jedi have combat skills enough to dominate most life forms in the galaxy, can influence the minds of other sentient beings, (2/3)

- and eventually even achieve immortality. These things are supremely powerful according to most definitions and yet they are not the type of power the Jedi actively seek for their own sake. But the Sith do seek them. And although they have the first two, the most of coveted of them—immortality—still eludes them. So from a certain point of view, Palps is right in saying both groups seek power. However what power means to each of them are very different. (3/3)

You could look at it that way, yeah - the Sith seek power to control others; the Jedi seek power to control oneself, and Palpatine either doesn't understand the difference or he's disingenuously conflating the two to manipulate Anakin (or both). But I think it goes further than that - the Jedi have power, yes, and they work towards developing their individual power as a means of using it responsibly, but they aren't obsessed with it or with gaining more like the Sith are. The Jedi have (or at least strive for) a healthy, cautious, balanced engagement with power - neither insisting on being powerless nor focused on being the most powerful there can be, but instead accepting where their power lies and how they can put it to use in the service of society, not over society.

I think Yoda's confrontation with Dooku in Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, where he challenges Dooku to turn him to the dark side, is an excellent demonstration of the difference in this attitude towards power between the Jedi and Sith:

“You want me to tell you about the power of the dark side?” Dooku said wonderingly.

Yoda had the dragon’s eyes again: half closed, gleaming under heavy lids. “Strong, strong the dark side is in this place,” he murmured. “Touch it you can, like a serpent’s belly sliding under your hand. Taste it, like blood in the air…Tell me of the dark side, apprentice.”

“I’m not your apprentice anymore,” Dooku said.

Yoda snuffed: laughed: stirred the air with his crooked stick. “You think Yoda stops teaching, just because his student does not want to hear? Yoda a teacher is. Yoda teaches like drunkards drink. Like killers kill,” he said softly. “But now, you be the teacher, Dooku. Tell me: is it hard to find the power of the dark side?”

“No. The lore of the Sith—that is another matter. But to touch the power of the dark side, to begin to know it, all you have to do is…allow yourself. Relax. We carry the dark side within ourselves,” Dooku said. “Surely you must know that by now. Surely even Yoda has felt it. Half of life, dark to balance light, waits inside you like an orphan. Waiting to be welcomed home.

“We all desire, Yoda. We all fear. We are all beset. A Jedi learns to suppress these things: to ignore these things: to pretend they don’t exist, or if they do, they apply to someone else, not us. Not the pure. Not the Protectors.” Dooku found himself beginning to pace. “To know the dark side is merely to stop lying. Stop pretending you don’t want what you want. Stop pretending you don’t fear what you fear. Half the day is night, Master Yoda. To see truly, you have to learn to see in the dark.”

“Mmmmmmmm.” Yoda hummed and grunted, eyes nearly closed now. “The dark side, power would give me.”

“Power over all. When you understand your own evils and the evils of others, it makes them pitifully easy to manipulate. It’s another kind of push-feather,” the Count said. “The dark side will show you the stiff places in a being. His dreads and needs. The dark side gives you the keys to him.”

“Hmph. Very fine that is, but Yoda has power,” the ancient Master said, examining his hairy toes. “I live in a palace bigger than this one, if I count the Temple as a palace. Dooku is a master of armies: but Yoda is a master of armies, too. So far, we are even.”

“Is there such a thing as too much power?” Dooku mused. “For instance,” he continued carefully, “there was a day when your power was clearly greater than mine. Today, however, I have waxed as you have waned. You stand in my citadel. I have at my command servants and droids and great powers of my own that I think would overwhelm even you. It is possible that at a single word, I could have you killed. And without you, how long would those dear to you last? I could have them, one by one: Mace and Iron Hand, Obi-Wan and precious young Skywalker, too. Surely you would feel safer if this were not so.”

Yoda cocked his head to one side. “Like Anakin, you do not?”

“Perhaps he reminds me too much of myself at the same age. Arrogant. Impulsive. Proud. I realize humility is high among the Enforced Virtues, the ones no one acquires by choice; but that being said, if Fate is looking for an instrument to humble Skywalker, I confess myself willing to volunteer.”

Yoda reached behind his back with his stick, trying to scratch a spot just between his shoulder blades. “Power over beings, need I not. What else can it give me, this dark side of yours?”

“What game are you playing here, Master Yoda?”Yoda smiled at the use of the term Master—curse him—and shrugged. “No game. Wasteful, this war is. Even you agree. Sent you the candle, did I: you know there can be coming home for you. Know this, both of us do, and if come back to the Temple you wish, I will take you there.”

“Very kind,” Dooku said dryly. “Decent of you to give me an arm to lean on.”

“Always catch you will I, when you fall,” Yoda said. “I swore it.”

Dooku flinched as if stung.

“But another way to solve the war there is. If you will not join with me, perhaps join with you I should. Tell me more,” Yoda said testily. “If power over beings need I not, what else can your dark side do for me?”

“What do you want?” Dooku snapped. “Tell me what you want and I will show you how the dark side can help you achieve it. Do you want friends? The dark side can compel them for you. Lovers? The dark side understands passion in a way you never have. Do you want riches—endless life—deep wisdom…?”

“I want…” Yoda held up the flower in his hand and took another sniff. “I want a rose.”

“Be serious,” Dooku said impatiently.

“Serious am I!” Yoda cried. He bounced to his feet. Standing on the desktop, he was almost as tall as Dooku. He held the flower imperiously toward his former pupil. “Another rose, make for me!”

“The dark side springs from the heart,” Dooku said. “It isn’t a handbook for cheap conjuror’s tricks.”

“But like this trick, do I!” Yoda said. “The trick that brings the flower from the ground. The trick that sets the sun on fire.”

“The Force is not magic. I can’t create a flower out of thin air. Nobody can—not you, not the Lord of the Sith.”

Yoda blinked. “My Force does. Binds every living thing, the Force I understand.”

“Master, these are games of words. The Force is as it has always been. The dark side is not a different energy. To use it is only to open yourself to new ways to command that energy, that have to do with the hearts of beings. Want something else. Want power.”

“Power have I.”

“Want wealth.”

“Wealth I need not.”

“Want to be safe,” Dooku said in frustration. “Want to be free from fear!”

“I will never be safe,” Yoda said. He turned away from Dooku, a shapeless bundle under a battered, acid-eaten cloak. “The universe is large and cold and very dark: that is the truth. What I love, taken from me will be, late or soon: and no power is there, dark or light, that can save me. Murdered, Jai Maruk was when the looking after him I had; and Maks Leem; and all the many, many more Jedi I have lost. My family they were.”

“So be angry about that!” Dooku said. “Hate! Rage! Despair! Allow yourself, just once, to stop playing at the game of Jedi Knight, and admit what you have always known: you are alone, and you are great, and when the world strikes you it is better to strike back than to turn your cheek. Feel, Yoda! I can feel the darkness rising in you. Here, in this place, be honest for once and feel the truth about yourself.”

At this moment Yoda turned, and Dooku gasped. Whether it was the play of the holomonitors, beaming their views of bleak space and distant battles, or some other trick of the light, Yoda’s face was deeply hidden in the shadows, mottled black and blue, so that for one terrible instant he looked exactly like Darth Sidious. Or rather, it was Yoda as he might have been, or could yet become: a Yoda gone rotten, a Yoda whose awesome powers had been utterly unleashed by his connection to the dark side. In a flash Dooku saw how foolish he had been, trying to urge the old Master to the dark side. If Yoda ever turned that way, Sidious himself would be annihilated. The universe had yet to comprehend the kind of evil that a Jedi Knight of nearly nine hundred years could wield.

From the shadows, Yoda spoke. “Disappointment like I not, apprentice,” he snarled, in a wicked, wicked voice. “Give me my rose!”

To Dooku, there is never enough power. It's a goal in and of itself, and he's convinced he can have anything as long as he has enough power, even impossible things like never again being afraid, and he frantically shifts around the goalposts when Yoda picks apart the flaws in his logic.

Yoda, on the other hand, recognizes the limits of power and is satisfied with that, with what he has. And it's Yoda who has the much healthier outlook, here, who "wins" this debate. He doesn't turn to the dark side (what Dooku sees at the end of the excerpt is only a vision), and he renders Dooku very conflicted about the dark side (at least until Anakin shows up, and Dooku is so offended by Anakin's existence and his own conviction that Yoda likes Anakin more than him that he throws a fit and jumps right back into the dark side).

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 25)

The drizzle grows into a hideous storm. Thunder vibrates the framework of the small in.

“We’re lucky that we did all of our trading yesterday.” Min-Ta muses.

“Would have been a hassle in this weather.” Hao-Bai agrees.

Azula keeps to herself, eyes fixed upon the harbor, upon the boats that bob precariously against such aggressively tempestuous waves. And she finds that her mind is wandering again. Wandering to a time when she had insisted that her command held more value than the whims of the tides. In retrospect, she understands why the man was so hesitant to port--steel or wood the waves can tear it to ribbons.

And she finds herself torn between being thankful that she had stayed just a day longer to help the couple and wishing that she were well out into the ocean. The ocean where the waves would pull her under and into darkness. A darkness that is kinder than the sort that she knows. The sort that stirs within her. She thinks that she would rather find herself battered by the waves than by the thoughts in her own mind.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Min-Ta asks as she rubs circles upon her baby bump. “And powerful.”

Azula nods, “storms are...fascinating.”

“You’re a lightningbender, aren’t you?”

She nods.

“You’re a force to reckon with then.” She laughs.

And Azula wishes it were true. Had she been a force to reckon with then she wouldn’t have been reckoned with. She wouldn’t be in this village… “how long do you think it will be before the storm passes?”

The woman shrugs.

“The folks who tend the docks seem to think that it could be a good week before the waters are safe to sail. A seasoned sailor told ‘em that clouds like these mean that it’ll get sunny and then stormy again at the snap of your fingers.”

Azula nods. She supposes that she will have to get used to syrup and the smell of resin. It isn’t such a difficult task; the scents are cozy enough and she is in pleasant company. Comparatively speaking, this inn is akin to her palace. She lays back, rests her hands upon her middle, and closes her eyes. It has been such a long time since she has slept on a real bed. Even if the sheets and pillows are slightly tattered and worn, it is the most comfort she has had in ages.

She lets the relentless batter of the rain lull her to sleep, with any luck, when she wakes, the soreness in her muscles will have alleviated.

.oOo.

There is a duration of sunshine, but she can see concrete clouds on the edge of the horizon. A second onslaught waiting to be unleashed. Despite her apprehensions about the coming storm, she follows Hao-Bai along the gravel path.

“This place is one of my favorites.” He gestures to a ramshackle looking eatery. “It’s where I met Min-Ta.”

Azula furrows her brows, “is this your birth town?”

“Indeed it is. I was here when it was just a handful of small timber houses.”

Azula nods. And how the place must have changed. A few timber houses has become a decently sized village with several inns, restaurants, and shops. She comes to find that the people who live there are a friendly bunch with a sense of community that is hard for her to fathom.

When the storm gives pause they gather at the center of town to exchange stories and meals. To give gifts and make banter. By now she thinks that she should be used to being the only firebender about, and yet she still feels out of place and out of sorts. Everyone here seems to know everyone and she knows no one at all save for Hao-Bai and Min-Ta.

Nobody says it but she can feel it; they don’t want her here. It is her eyes, her golden fiery eyes. There is no place for a firebender in a village like this. She is a match surrounded by firewood and they know it. They regard her like such--with fear based respect.

They offer her meals and lodging not because she is traveling with Hao-Bai and Min-Ta nor because they enjoy the stories she tries to share over meal times but because they regard her as a volatile thing, an explosion waiting to happen and claim everything they adore.

And suddenly she feels as though she hasn’t changed at all. That she is the same woman who left her mark on Omashu and Ba Sing Se. The same woman who swears by and lives for intimidation. They certainly tread around her as though she is.

She knows that it is nothing more than a stereotype, but it stings all the same. Stings when, deep in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she will ever be rid of who she used to be. Deep in the back of her mind she thinks that she is one more tragedy away from regressing, from letting her heart grow ugly and cruel again. Shielded. Stony.

.oOo.

It is her last night in this village. And it is a gorgeous night. The clouds have finally cleared away. The last roll of thunder had boomed an hour or so ago, she can only see the storm as a series of flashes far off over the open ocean.

And this is where she stays. Alone on the beach, the lively chatter and music feels just as distant as the storm clouds. She props herself up against a decent sized boulder and stares up at the stars. She wonders if the stars can bring her closer to the spirit world, if she could look into them and coax a conversation with her old friends and lovers. With Atsu and Caihong and the child she never got to meet.

She remembers hearing about cosmic energy and its influence on the universe. She wonders if this cosmic energy has arranged itself in a position to specifically antagonize her…

“There you are.” Hao-Bai chuckles. “The wife was getting worried.”

Azula shrugs. “I’m alright.” She isn’t sure if she is lying or not. Sometimes she is alright. Sometimes she is able to put Wujing out of her mind. Sometimes she is able to make herself feel grateful that she had gotten even just a small taste of what it was to have a home and loved ones. Sometimes she is able to shape a new future for herself in her mind.

Tonight isn’t such a night. Tonight she isn’t okay. Tonight she would like nothing more than to run out to the waves and let the tides pull her away…

“Why don’t you join the rest of us?”

“They don’t want me there, Hao-Bai.” She frowns. “They don’t want firebenders around.”

The man is quiet for a while. “You have the wrong impression. They know that  you don't mean any harm, that you’re just passing through.” He pauses again. “The people in this village are...kind to a fault. They don’t want to get attached to someone who is just going to leave them. It hurts too much.”

Azula nods, “in other words, they’re an intelligent people.”

Hao-Bai chuckles, “you have a long journey ahead of you, come back and enjoy a meal and good company while you can. I have a surprise for you.”

A long journey. He doesn’t know the half of it. Or maybe he does, maybe she has given him just enough hints for him to know that she has been on a journey for some time now.

She follows him back to the village to the lively music and the tantalizing scents of kebabs and fruit platters. To the everpresent odor of syrup and resin. Min-Ta greets her with a hug and gestures for her to have a seat near the bonfire.

She must admit that she is impressed by the size of it; she hasn’t seen such a hearty and large blaze since the last Fire Nation festival she’d attended.

“We’re just about to begin story swapping.”  Speaks a man, an elder who she assumes is the host.

She nods, “why don’t you share a little something before you leave?”

Maybe it is because she knows that she won’t be staying long enough for pitting looks or maybe it is that she needs to alleviate some of the pressure. But she shares the story of Wujing’s collapse. The tale of why she can’t stay in the Earth Kingdom any longer.

She thinks that she has well and killed the mood until Min-Ta confesses that this is her third pregnancy. That she fears for it because she had miscarried the first two. And the liveliness dies away for a swapping of tales each as dismal as the next.

And she understands what Hao-Bai had meant by kind to a fault; it is nothing like the Caldera City and nothing like Wu-Jing. These people cry together. These people laugh together. They hurt and rage together. They love and joke together.

And sometimes they do it all in one night.

Hao-Bai hands her a pipa. “I carved it myself, out of the first tree you helped cut down.” He explains. “Play it when you have something that you can’t express with words or when you need something kind to think about.”

By the spirits she could use something kind to think about. She isn’t practiced by any means, but she plays a song. The only one she has ever heard played on a pipa. These people laugh together, cry together. And they make music together.

In a night they had mourned for one another and by its end there was music and jokes. A sense of lightheartedness.

That night she learned that each little town has its own special flavor.

.oOo.

It is almost mesmerising to watch Azula interact with Caihong. The way she cradles the girl against her chest and strokes at her hair. The way that her light voice softens further still when she assures the child that she is safe now.

He is plenty aware of Atsu, plenty aware that she has probably helped tuck the boy in time and time again but until now those were just words on parchment. Just visuals in his mind like a charming fictional tale.

“You live here?” He hears Caihong ask.

“I live here.” Azula confirms.  

She seems to perk up, “yer a palace gardener! Ya didn’t tell me that you was a palace gardener!”

“I’m not…” she trails off. “It’s a hobby, not a job.”

“Then how come you get to live in the palace?”

Azula is quiet for a while. “I’m the princess, Caihong. I’m supposed to live it the palace.”

Caihong tilts her head and then shakes it. “Nope, yer Rikka.”

“My name is actually Azula.”

She shakes her head again. “Nope. Rikka.”

Azula sighs. “I suppose that you can keep calling me Rikka. But other people are going to call me Azula because that’s my name.” She pauses and with a hint of a devious smirk adds, “and you’re going to look ridiculous because no one else here knows that I was ever called Rikka.”

Caihong narrows her eyes, “no, yer ridiculous. And also yer dumb. So there.”  She folds her arms and sticks out her tongue. And yet the child makes no attempts to wiggle her way out of Azula’s grasp. In fact she nuzzles herself closer.

To himself, Sokka quirks a brow. Children are strange little beasts. In one breath they hate you and in the next they’re begging for bedtime stories and lullabies. This child has just been rescued from a slave trade and she is being difficult. And somehow, Azula seems to take it better than he would have.

“If you say so, Caihong.”

“Mmhm, I do say so.”

“What do you want for supper, Caihong? Do you want me to try to make turnip stew how your grandfather did?”

“No one makes it like grandpa!” She declares. “But you can make turnip stew, Rikka.”

“Alright, come on then.” She hoists herself to her feet. .oOo.

Her mind is full to bursting and she thinks that the only thing keeping it from doing so is Sokka tagging along next to her. She has too much to think about. Too much at once. Caihong’s face is a gift and a destroyer in one. She is more than grateful to have the child back, a child she cherished as much as Atsu and Juro. But staring at that face is like staring at the past. At everything she has lost and worked hard to put behind her. Staring at that face is cutting open an old scar that has only just begun to heal.

And so, as she stirs the ladle around the pot, her mind goes back to something else. Another thing that disturbs her but not quite as deeply; she had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed bringing the slave trader to his knees. Enjoyed the taste of battle and victory on her tongue.

Perhaps this wouldn’t trouble her so much if she hadn’t been so sure that she had left that side of her behind. But it is still there. It is always there. It will always be there, waiting to emerge.

She swallows hard, she thought she had changed. She thought that she was better. But she is still angry. Angry and ready for war. She can make all the changes she wants but she will always be ruthless at her core.

And now, combing Caihong’s hair and stirring the stew between brushstrokes feels like an imitation. A mockery of motherhood. It feels false, however genuinely she cares for the girl who kicks her small legs at the air.

She scoops a liberal amount of stew into the bowl and sets it before Caihong, “don’t eat too fast, it’s…”

Caihong shoves the spoon right into her mouth.

“Hot.”

“It’s fine.” Caihong insists through watery eyes.

Azula ruffles her hair. “How about you take it a little slower.”

“I can handle it!” She declares. But she doesn’t pick the spoon up again until the steam stops rolling.

“Thanks Rikka!” She declares between spoonful.

Azula forces a smile, while her stomach drops. Agni, she wishes the girl would stop calling her that. It hurts in such a particular way. “Did I make it like Ojihara did?”

“Mmm mmm, nope! Not even close! But yours tastes good too.” She grins.

Apparently the kid is more resilient than she. Or maybe she thinks that her father and grandfather will be coming back too. It is just one more thing for Azula’s mind to do circles around.

“Well, now that you’re all done I think that it’s time for bed.”

.oOo.

It is twice as disorienting to see Azula tucking the child in. To see that soft smile as the girl giggles and laughs, “this bed is huge!”

“And it’s all yours tonight.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” Sokka asks.

“You have room?”

“No!” Caihong shouts. “Rikka’s gonna stay with me! I don’t wanna be alone.” She tugs at Azula’s sleeve.

“I’m giving you this whole big bed and you’re telling me that you want to share. Since when do you like sharing?”

“Since now!”

“Alright. I’ll stay with you.”

The child is beaming again. This time she throws her arms around Azula. The princess smiles and scoops her onto her lap. Quietly, she reaches behind her and finds the badger-mole. She plops it onto Caihong’s lap.

“Bao!” She yells with delight.

Azula nods, “Bao will keep you company while I get ready for bed.” She looks up. “Sokka is here too but Bao is a lot smarter.”

“Hey!”

She brushes her fingers over his hand as she exits. And he wishes that she hadn’t left him. Now the girl is staring at him with those big bright green eyes and all he can do is manage a toothy and awkward smile that coaxes her to say, “you looks stupid. Are all waterbenders weirdos?”

“I-I’m not a weirdo!” He throws his hands up.

“Mmhm, you are.” She gives a firm nod and then gives Bao a shake. “Bao thinks so too.” She hold up the stuffed animal and in a much lower voice says, “that’s right Caihong, water guy is a weirdo.”

He folds his arms across his chest as the girl continues to have a back and forth with the stuffed animal about how he is a ‘strange and silly man’. He wonders if the girl has always been so blunt.

Azula returns several minutes later barefaced, with her hair in a ponytail, and tucked into a very cozy looking night robe. She sits herself upon the mattres. “Did Sokka behave?”

“I guess.” Caihong grubles.

Azula quirks a brow. “And what about Caihong, did Caihong behave.” She opens her mouth but Azula cuts her off. “Or did Caihong call Sokka a weirdo several times?”

“Caihong didn’t do that! Bao did!”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Yup, Rikka, it’s right.”

.oOo.

Caihong’s sleep talk serves as a backdrop to the chaos in her mind. To the turbulence that threatens to break forward. Perhaps Sokka has sensed it too because he has made himself comfortable in a chair at the corner of the room.

She rubs her hands over her face. She could have had this. She could have had it  every night with Atsu and Juro. She could have been so happy and so very nearly untroubled.

She could have been a mother leading a perfectly quiet and mundane life. She could have been Rikka. But she is still Azula; life is forcing that much upon her while flashing in her face who she could have become.

And she resents it. She resents life. She resents the person she is.

She rubs her hands over her face, she knows that she shouldn’t resent the person she is. Before, Hajime and Seukhyun had assured her that she is a good person. Sokka reminds her as much now. Deep down she is beginning to struggle to see herself as evil through and through. Deep down she is able to piece together all of those small deeds that seemed to mean so much to people like Min-Ta and Hao-Bai. And deep down she is well aware that she has been defying her upbringing and the monster that life is trying to fashion her back into--the path that it is trying to put her back on.

Deeper down she is still afraid that all of her hurt and pain will come back and bring the worst of her back. Deeper down she is afraid that she won’t be able to stop it. Deeper still she is afraid that the process has already been set in motion.

She is scared.

.oOo.

Sokka wakes late into the night to the sound of music. The charmingly melancholic tune. It has the feeling of watching a warship depart and then return battered and broken. The same energy as a light rain that sets the world a glimmer while ruining a sunny outing.

It is beautiful and broken. Depressive and joyful.

He makes a point of rustling his clothing as he walks so that she doesn’t jerk when he sits upon the mattress and wraps his arms around her middle. In a few final notes, the song dies away.

She puts the pipa aside and leans into him. He wants her to talk, to give him a problem to walk her through but he doesn’t think that she is in the mood for conversation. So he  instead wipes away several silent tears and holds her hand until she finally falls into a much needed sleep. He finds himself toying with her hair until he too is able to drift off.

The pipa melody lingers in his dreams.

[barnesandco]

White Feathers and Melting Wax

Bucky’s trigger words are redefined with Sam’s help.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 7029. Square filled: “Mutual Pining”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, questionable food preferences (blame Hasan Minhaj), slight language, nightmares, slow burn, fluff that will make your teeth ache, cliche ending.

A/N: This one is dedicated to @searchingforbucky because I saw her post something about how much she loves SamBucky, which gave me an idea for my SSB, and one thing led to another, so long story short, this story is for you, Meg. Thank you for providing an invaluable and unimaginably difficult service to our fanfic community - you’re a real gem. 

It’s Armageddon. Hell on Earth, as if its crust has been made to split open, and all that fury and heat and horror, alongside creatures that nobody could conjure in their worst nightmares, is pouring out. Taking revenging for millenium upon millenium of imprisonment, it is biting and scratching and clawing its way through the best of humanity, bringing out the worst of humanity – the murder, the anger, the rage – in the process. Wakandan skies, once bluer than the surface of Lake Tiorati on a July day, are raining ash and smolder. 

Sam’s arm is bleeding. A particularly agile alien caught the bared portion of his bicep – stupid, stupid, uniform design – and blood drips as he tries to increase his altitude, and find a better angle. Steve notices him from over the shoulder of his own opponent – of course he does, Steve never misses anything – and frowns in a moment of concern that the enemy recuperates in, because Sam is now a more visible target, but he is also good at math. The risk-benefit calculations are telling him that it’s worth it, and the glint of gun-metal fingers he sees in the distance, the owner of which is struggling to cope with half a dozen demons, confirms that.

Barnes is doing the best he can, teeth bared as he attempts to fend them off with a very impressive, but near-empty machine gun and a dagger that’s doing more harm than good. Moments away from defeat, and from an unholy death. His hair is nothing but a second skin sticking to his face and scalp with sweat and monster slobber. Should’ve tied it back, Rapunzel, Sam has time to think before landing in the thick of it. Growls and roars and snarls mix as he manages to join backs with Barnes, both at each other’s six, until nobody can tell which battle cries are animal and which are human. He must be longing for a fight like the one at Leipzig now.

Within minutes, the horde has thinned, but not ended, seemingly infinite in magnitude and strength, and they’re still fighting. The pain from his arm has dulled to an aching throb, lulled into faint numbness by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and has joined the other innumerable wounds that litter his body. He can hear Barnes’ gun behind him, like bass-boosted fireworks. It’s a square dance – an intuitive one rather than practiced, because he knows his partner as well as he knows what else the cosmos might hold for them - his back against Barnes’ as they parry and spar with each of their individual opponents. A twist and a turn, a lucky, peripheral glimpse at someone trying to blindside the other resulting in as short a tight-lipped nod as they can afford to convey their gratitude.

Sam’s stomach is sinking, he wants to throw up in the face of the evil creature he’s fighting; the scent of ozone an impending warning. They seem to have understood that the winged man and his metal-armed companion are a threat, and a ring of them has coordinated to close in around them. Sam finds a gap in which to press the for emergencies only button on his control panel at the same time as Barnes’ unleashes a series of small grenades in his arm.

The wings leave Sam’s back and turn to lethal blades, spinning like a deadly boomerang around them, and his ears ring when the grenades detonate. In the eye of the storm, Sam and Barnes are safe, but shooting adrenaline-deaf and fear-blind, the battle overcoming their every sense and soul. When the smoke clears, there is a moment of quiet amidst the terror, where sparrow brown meets ice blue, framed by blood spatter, and they quirk the sort of intrinsic, basic, smile at each other that can only emerge from overcoming something inexplicably tremendous as one unit. But then the moment ends.

Barnes shouts – an unintelligible sound of shock - and the sky cracks like an egg.

--- 

Bucky wakes up in an open field, the sky the color of egg yolks, golden, glistening, nourishing. For a moment, he thinks he’s still in Wakanda, the threat miraculously eliminated, but then he gathers enough strength to sit up and note the absence of obsidian skyscrapers in the distance. He can’t evaluate any other landmarks before his eyes lower to the ground he’s lying on and realize that he’s not alone. Scores of bodies litter the grass; his stomach flips and writhes, and he turns onto his hands and knees and heaves up the contents of today’s – is it still today? – breakfast. Closes his eyes to shut in the water that elicits. When he opens his eyes, the vomit is gone.

Moreover, his hands are clean. Not a trace of blood, dirt, and death on the metal or the accents that run across it like tributaries of a golden river, nor on the white skin of his human limbs. In fact, it looks like it’s been scrubbed pink, his epithelium infused with roses. There is no risk of tears now, the surprise so visceral he knows not how to treat it. It doesn’t lessen when something stirs, in the corner of his eye, and he stills the scream in his larynx just long enough to recognize the shape of Sam Wilson, his dark-brown skin shimmering topaz in the sunlight they seem to be laying in. A sigh of relief – intuitive, subconscious - loosens Bucky’s shoulders. He’s not as alone as he might have thought. Sam is confused, too, and he stands up quickly, reaching for a gun that isn’t there. 

Bucky waits, knowing better than to scare him as he reorients himself, and watches as Sam grapples with the black trousers and shirt he finds himself wearing instead of the weapons he’s seeking. Others move, and Bucky – not knowing where this cold peace that fills his lungs is coming from – finds it prudent to speak up now.

“Wilson,” is still all he can say, but it’s enough. That one word, two syllables, six letters – sufficient to erase the taste of rusted blood from his mouth. Sam turns to him as others call for their loved ones, the amber gold of his irises meeting his icy ones. Bucky doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know how he got here, he’s so tired dammit, but if this man – this man who has defied law and land for the people he trusts and the values he holds, this man who he knows nothing about besides the fact that he has a moral compass like the North Star – if this man has his six, they can fight their way out. Sam’s eyes and Bucky’s brain tell him that this isn’t heaven or hell or purgatory. They’ve both seen too many prison walls to not recognize more, be they grey concrete, the insides of their own skulls, or a vaulted arch of sunshine above their heads.

---

Clouds have built and gone grey-black, iron heavy, and are preparing to mourn the loss of a good man, but not a single tear escapes Sam’s eyes the day they bury Steve. Old, feeble, fulfilled Steve, that is, who passed on to wherever noble souls go. Bucky couldn’t make himself give the eulogy, so it was, like the mantle of Captain America, passed on to Sam. Sam, who has spent every other day of the past year on the porch of his house with Steve’s wisdom and wit, and knew him better than Bucky who forced himself to make a trip every week.

Bucky, who now stands in front of his tombstone, head bowed and brow furrowed, couldn’t make himself reconcile this Steve with the one he knew. Sam doesn’t fault him that, would never give himself any right to. They’ve all seen some shit, but he can’t bring himself to even touch the tip of the iceberg that weighs on his companion’s shoulders. He’s tied his hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck, chestnut waves tamed to an orderly presentation. Domestic, even. Sam looks behind him and through the graveyard gate at the sound of a car door shutting, as Sharon gets behind the wheel and smiles at him, her own tears long gone, before making her departure.

Intentions to give Bucky his silent farewell are also interrupted by that background sound, and he turns to look at Sam, whose heart leaps to his throat at the sight of him. He’s been seeing him all day, but the veil of public appearance has fallen, and Bucky – Sam reprimands himself for the morbid comparison – now looks like as much of a skeleton above the ground as those under it. He’s pale, eyes not hollow but sad. His hands clench and unclench, reflexively, protectively, drawing Sam’s gaze. Those knuckles must be sore with how tightly the ghost-white skin over them is stretched. Sam’s own hands are in his pockets, and he looks back at Bucky with the warmth of seventeen bonfires.

A desperate attempt, futile in result and heavy in empathy, to ease some of the hurt, the hurricane that Sam is certain is throwing Bucky’s insides around like a rag doll. Bucky’s recovering, he’s better now, he’s working to be alright, and it’s working, but climbing the glaciers of his trauma is a Herculean task. Which, now that Sam thinks about it, can only be accomplished one step at a time, like any other. Ice melts a drop at a time.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” He says, approaching him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. To anyone else, the question might seem insensitive – his best friend, or this new version of him – has just been buried, of course he’s not feeling good, but their language is like that. Straightforward. Blunt and no-nonsense, but layered with understanding that has come to be through shared experiences and an emotional connection that speaks more between them than any words they exchange. Bucky turns back towards the tombstone, and Sam, too, looks at the epithet of Steven Grant Rogers, beloved husband, father, and friend. Human, not superhuman, in the end, the way they all want to be. They way they long to be acknowledged as.

“I’ll be alright, Sam. Just a little confused,” he answers eventually, after a long-suffering sigh. Sam is relieved, because the hope in Bucky’s voice is the best he could want to hear. And the fact that even now, when articulating what he feels must be the hardest thing in the world, he still manages to, as honestly as he can. Honesty is the beacon Sam’s heart searches for, and he’s found it here. It’s incomplete sometimes, and offered in brief words because Bucky isn’t always fond of sharing, but it’s always the truth.

“Me, too. Me. Too.” Sam nods in agreement, thinking of the muddle of thoughts and prayers and desires in his mind, as the first drop of rain falls from a steely sky, washing away old wounds, cleansing their skins for new ones.

---

The mass of blue-black ink that is the night sky is the first witness when Bucky starts writhing under his sheets.

He’s stuck in the cold. Not the glass walls of the cryochamber he knows so intimately, no, he’s buried in snow up to his neck. The unending scene of the icy mountainside stretches out before him, like a postcard from a nightmare, and he can’t move. Tries to wiggle his toes, and the snow bites and nips at his feet. Hands are frozen to his sides, and the panic starts to claw at his chest. Icicles seem to have wedged their way between his ribs, and pain sears through his abdomen.

He screams. An echo. He screams louder, hot tears turning to ice halfway down his cheeks. He screa-

Eyes the color of the first hour of daybreak appear inches from his sweat-stained and misery-sodden face, and he sits up, almost hitting Sam’s head with his own. His breathing is broken, every inhale cuts at the inside of his lungs, and every exhale tears at his trachea. Sam, trying to fix that, takes Bucky’s clammy hand in his calloused, safe one, places it over his chest.

“Breathe with me, c’mon,” he urges in a midnight rasp, exaggerates his breaths, and Bucky follows the movements he is making. Follows the way Sam’s bare chest, dusted silver by moonlight, rises to accommodate the air he takes in. Follows Sam’s eyes, the silent plea they convey to do as he does, holding that breath. Follows the release, pretends that he can hear the breath traverse his trachea, and exit his lips as his mouth parts to release it. Bucky’s calmer now, eyes fixated on how Sam’s tongue peeks out to lick his lips, the lush pillows of light brown now shining wet. It’s only when they start moving that Bucky’s gaze returns to Sam’s eyes, and his words reach his ears.

“You haven’t had one that bad in ages.” It’s a fact. A statement, an accurate observation, but because few serious words ever go wasted between them, it is also an open assertion. An invitation for Bucky to say more, with the option to nod and agree left on the table.

“Yeah, it was. I’ll be alright, though, Sammy. Thanks,” he responds, and Sam nods warily. Sits back on his haunches, knees digging into the mattress.

“Good. Do you, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Do you want me to stay?” He asks, and Bucky is suddenly, keenly aware of how close they are. He swings his legs over the edge and stands on shaky knees, hiding the blush that originated from fear and adrenaline and has been maintained by something he can’t name or explain. A nervous laugh as he makes his way to his dresser and pulls out a fresh pair of sweats.

“No, no, I’m going running. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep right now, and it’s almost dawn anyway.” Bucky waits in front of his bathroom door. Hears Sam get up and make for the door.

“Alright, Bucky. I’d go with you-“

“You pulled that muscle yesterday, yeah. It’s okay, don’t worry about me,” Bucky says, and when the door shuts behind Sam, rushes to the bathroom to wash off the watercolor that interaction painted across his cheeks. Gripping the granite vanity with both hands, he watches it drip off, eyes radiating a bewildering plethora of emotions. Hears the nightingale depart from his bedroom windowsill, and fly off into the night.

---

It’s a beautiful morning, punctuated by the dot of the golden, glowing Sun in the distance, but Sam doesn’t have it in him to appreciate the first sunshine after a spell of rain. Sam is disgusted. Horrified, mortified, petrified by this new development. He didn’t think the former Winter Soldier could get any scarier when he wanted to be, but he has grossly underestimated the cruel ways of his best friend. Anyone without a direct line of sight into the cereal bowl in front of Bucky would not know what he’s so upset about. But Sam, standing at the stove on the kitchen island across from Bucky, watches in horror as the latter lifts a spoonful of dry-as-the-Sahara-desert Froot Loops to his mouth, chews, and then takes a sip from a glass of milk.

To say that Sam regrets introducing Bucky to sweet breakfast cereals in an effort to sate his incurable sweet tooth is a severe understatement. When Bucky had disapprovingly forced down soggy, sweet Froot Loops the morning before, and grumbled about the disgusting experience for the rest of the day, Sam did not think that this would be the solution. He thought he’d be forced to finish off the rest of the box, and dreaded the toothache that would follow.

“I’m eating it like this, or not at all.” Bucky finally addresses the outrage written all over Sam.

“I think I prefer not at all,” he says gravely, his tone out of sync with the cheery scent of sunny-side-up eggs that his words waft across to reach Bucky.

“Too late, I love these,” Bucky says through another mouthful of dry cereal. He’s intentionally pushing as many buttons as he can at one time, a master at multitasking his way to maximum irritation. Sam shudders. Puts his eggs on a plate and goes to sit down next to Bucky at the island, one stool between them. Saturday mornings after a good night and a better workout are a good look on Bucky, as much as he hates to admit it.

Aureate beams of bubbling sunlight illuminate his side profile, his cheekbones glowing rose-gold and light dispersing through a bead of water that slides down his temple. All of a sudden, Sam isn’t hungry anymore. The last bite of his first egg feels like clay in his mouth, and he empties his glass of water in one go. Bucky looks up from his almost-empty bowl – thank God it’s almost over -  and looks at Sam with concern. It takes all of Sam’s power, and then some, to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s teeth biting into his pink lower lip, and up to his blue eyes.

“You okay, man?” He asks, and Sam nods.

“It’s nothing, just got lost in thought,” he answers, and he’s being truthful. Doesn’t know what came over him, just that the slow surveillance of Bucky’s features led him down a different path than it usually does. They’ve always watched each other cautiously, know each other’s movements with the kind of precision that makes you wonder if the haven’t known each other for centuries rather than years, a couple of which were spent in animosity. Bucky’s eyes flit between his again, and they find nothing to prod at further, so he returns to his cereal.

Sam hurries to finish his breakfast and clean up after himself, before heading back to his room with a half-coherent excuse and a heat in his cheeks too hot to be caused by morning sunshine. Thanks God for melanin and for intimate knowledge of the super-soldier hearing range on his way down to the garage.

The rumble of the car’s engine is a relief, and the first breath he takes off the premises of the compound even more so. A little guilt nibbles at him, but it would’ve eaten him alive if he didn’t know that Bucky intended to work on the plans for the library today, and so he keeps driving.

Sam isn’t stupid. That furnace warmth, the magnetic way Bucky’s being drew his gaze, it’s unmistakable. In his sound head and solid heart, he knows what it is. And that’s why his heart is beating so fast, why it won’t take a goddamn break around those blue eyes and sunny smile. Sam is too self aware to be too stupid, too blind to his feelings. He’s just nervous. A cup of coffee from his favorite place downtown won’t do much to settle, but it will give him room. And he needs room. 

Because Sam has never done this before. Never acted on feelings for someone who he can’t afford to lose. Maybe, the risk-benefit balance is not tipping in his favor. However, he can’t say for sure, if he knows what result is in his favor anymore. Is the torment of this schoolboy crush worth not risking his friendship?

Sam exhales through his teeth, and looks out the window. Decides to go flying when he gets back in order to clear his head. Maybe that canopy made from blue satin holds the answers.

---

Birds are chirping on the balcony railing, their silky brown bodies picturesquely contrasting against the cottony blue sky behind them. Pretty enough to frame, and Bucky commits another scene to memory that he might want to paint some day. Closes his belt buckle and then picks up the brush but does a double take at the reflection that looks back at him from the dressing table mirror.

He looks healthier than he has in years, but that’s not what’s remarkable. No, it’s the length of his hair. The brown waves reach his collarbones, and he runs his hand through it with a huff, putting down the brush and leaving his room. Sam’s in the living room, and he can hear Earth, Wind, and Fire playing from down the hall. He enters the room to see Sam lounging on the sofa with a laptop in his hand.

“Hey, Sammy, you busy?” He asks, walking up to him. Sam looks up, turns the music down.

“No. Why, what’s up?” He says, placing the laptop down next to him, and Bucky sees that he was online shopping for clothes. 

“I need you to cut my hair,” he tells him, sitting down on the sofa. Sam blinks. Once, twice, thrice. His face splits in a toothy grin of agreement, and it disarms Bucky so much that he forgets completely to be angry at the smug look on his face.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to ruin your hair, Rapunzel, but are you sure you don’t wanna go to a barber?”

“Yes. You do it.” Bucky nods assuredly, willfully ignoring the nickname, relieved to be rid of it soon, too, but hoping that Sam will know, unspoken, what he is trying to say. He’s gotten better around people, around strangers, but he doesn’t trust them. Not with sharp objects, and especially not with handling sharp objects in such proximity to him. And there’s a part of him, perhaps the old romantic, the one who is just a little on the sentimental side, that prefers for such a change – small though it may seem, it speaks magnitudes to someone who craves stability now – to be made by the person he is closest to. So Bucky is grateful, when that person, Sam, agrees, with a nod back.

Fifteen minutes sees them in Bucky’s bathroom, him sitting on a stool in front of the vanity, a towel over his shoulders, and Sam behind him with scissors. He lifts the spray bottle from the counter with his free hand and spritzes Bucky’s hair. It’s cold, refreshing, and gentle stray drops land on his face. Bucky’s hands are clenching around his knees, red fingerprints growing darker on the skin just below where his shorts end. It took him two summers to feel comfortable enough to wear those. Sam has a matching pair.

He raises the scissors to the side of Bucky’s head, just by his right ear, opens them, and then pauses. Moves to the back instead, raises the scissors, stops again. A heavy sigh ruffles Bucky’s hair, and he looks at Sam’s reflection. He looks back.

“I don’t know where to start, man. I have no clue what to do with this,” Sam says, exasperated already, gesturing towards Bucky’s head with one hand and almost running the other over his own head before remembering the scissors he still holds in it. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but throws him a look up and over his shoulder that seems to say You think I do?

Shaking his head, Sam starts again. Bucky closes his eyes, his body hairs standing on edge as the scissors start clipping. A coarse, large, warm hand rests on the back of his neck to steady his head, the point of contact burning.

“I think it’s short enough to use the machine,” he whispers, as if conveying a holy secret. He turns on the clippers and soon, the buzzing sound fills the room. Bucky doesn’t reopen his eyes, lets Sam trim the edges short on the sides and back, and keep it a little longer on the top, as per their pre-determined plan of action.

He starts running his fingers across Bucky’s scalp as he’s finishing up and making the final touches, and every nerve ending of his lights up. When Sam announces that he’s done, and Bucky’s lungs collapse and then swell like balloons at the sight of his new appearance, and his eyes meet Sam’s, the world stops.

They’re inches apart, once again. Eye to eye, nose to nose. Heart to beating, fluttering heart. Thank you’s are glued to his tongue and his tongue is paralyzed in his mouth, his mouth dry and wanting. He counts nine heartbeats, and begins to lean in on the tenth, but the eleventh brings the obnoxiously loud sound of his phone ringing from the bedroom, and the bubble bursts.

Bucky answers Peter’s call with less concern than he usually does, the affection and mentorship for the teenager overshadowed by the almost-moment. The one that makes him want to scream into the New York skyline.

---

Flaming red hair reaches as far as Sam’s eyes are concerned, accentuated by the backdrop of the setting sun, an unusual hour for sparring, but a crucial one today. Nat is visiting from the European headquarters in Budapest, where she is SHIELD’s head of the region. It’s a calmer job, safer than Avengers duty, but she works herself to the bone and lets out her frustration in the gun range or the sparring mat, with the latter making for better quality time with her teammate today. Not that Sam’s much for competition right now, and she doesn’t mince moves or waste time. He puts up as much of a fight as he can, but she has him on the ground in fifteen minutes. A new record.

She helps him up and he passes her her water bottle in return as the sit on the mat. Her outstretched legs prod at his knees.

“You were off your game, Wilson,” she says, as if he doesn’t already know. As if he doesn’t know he was too busy counting days since Bucky’s haircut to counter her moves. It’s been twelve, and every hour exponentially increases the tangible awkwardness between them.

“Distracted.” Sam shrugs truthfully. Nat’s laugh isn’t cruel or taunting, but teasing and friendly, a lightweight windchime.

“Yeah, I can tell. Want to tell me why?” She asks, with another sip from her bottle.

“Like you don’t already know,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. Tilting her head, she looks at him like a curious robin. Like she’s trying to pluck out the secrets like wildflowers in his head.

“I just know it has something to do with Barnes. You can hardly look at each other.” She says, giving him her hand to take off the boxing tape, and he picks at the edge it’s bound at. Tries to ignore the piercing stare she’s focusing on his head.

Once the tape is off, he tries to drink from his bottle again. His throat is parched, and he doesn’t think it has much to do with the exercise any longer. Natasha’s stare turns to a glare, but eventually, she seems to relent, trying at another joke.

“What, did you kiss him?” She murmurs, reaching for her bottle. Sam sputters, water going in his windpipe, and Nat’s eyes widen as she watches him cough and cough and cough. “Are you serious? Oh my God, Sam, did you really?”

“No, no, no, shit, no. That’s crazy, Nat,” he says, standing and starting to powerwalk to the showers but Nat follows quickly, light on her feet and heavy with her questions.

“Then what was that for?” Nat asks, pointing towards the mat where he just had that undue coughing fit. Shit. Keep digging your own grave, Wilson, keep digging.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine,” he says, and she quirks an eyebrow. Crosses her arms. He’s known Nat for too long and too well to not be entirely aware that talking to her is for his best. And Sam is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. He follows her back to the mat like a lost puppy, and consoles himself with the fact that he’s reduced a master assassin to near-gossip.

“Well?”

So he tells her. Sam picks at the mat with bitten fingernails as he relays the tale of the five years of pragmatic planning and professionalism under imprisonment in the Soul Stone, during which they talked little but shop and pretended not to see the fear in each other.

Sam avoids Nat’s emerald gaze while he tells her about the first year as Captain America, with the weight of the mantle so heavy that Bucky became the crutch he leaned on, a super-soldier it took everything to put back into the world.

Sam closes his eyes when he recalls Steve’s funeral, and the instant he decided that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a miracle, he was one of the most beautiful people Sam had ever met.

Sam watches the punching bags sway while talking about the warmth that spreads like bushfire whenever Bucky is near, but also about how he is at his coolest and calmest next to him, because he gets him.

Sam sees the sky transition from peach to indigo telling Nat about the moment in the bathroom, where that emotional connection almost manifested itself physically, and how those feelings that he thought were benign became dangerous, boiling under the surface, and how he doesn’t know whether to bury them, or set them free.

---

Icarus. The legend of Icarus and his melting wings, his broken body drowning is the first thing to enter Bucky's mind as the quinjet lands on the helicarrier and Sam is wheeled out on a stretcher and rushed to Dr. Cho's cradle. A trail of blood follows, dripping slowly despite the medics' attentions, and that's what seals Bucky's trance. He doesn't have answers for Hill or Fury - it's a morbid game of Hansel and Gretel, right up to the entrance of the medical wing.

The sterile whites and greys, alongside the vague hum or nurses barring his entry into the trauma bay and Fury's raging demands for answers are secondary sensations. Lost behind the veil. He has to watch through the glass as Sam is put in the cradle, but there’s so much blood. The Director and Assistant Director talk calmly now, suggesting that Bucky get his own wounds checked, but he is blind to their concerns, so they give him the space they see he needs.

It takes an hour to heal Sam. A torturous, unending hour, that has Bucky pacing across the floor, smearing blood and mud across pristine tiles, his mind humming so loud he can’t hear himself think. When it’s over, he has just enough presence to follow Sam’s unconscious body as it’s wheeled to a recovery room, where he sits at his bedside.

However, he doesn’t stay seated for long. Can’t look at his friend’s wounded form, helpless and undoubtedly in screaming pain, although he may not feel it. His body does, and he will feel it when he’s awake. Bucky stands and moves to look out the window. Absently, he scrapes at the clots of blood drying under his nails and in between the panels of his other arm. Part of him recalls the term dissociation, used by his SHIELD appointed psychiatrist, and the consequent recovery techniques. An alert corner of his subconscious is grateful that these episodes aren't as frequent any more. Or as debilitating, most of the time. Just… distracting, with the fog that pierces his ears and diffuses inside his skull until he's numb. Weightless. Recovery techniques. Right. Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight. Glass and metal, blood and sand, jet fuel, whirring engines; open, open, sky.

Bucky likes the sky. Likes to watch clouds form, transform into something new, drift onwards to a better place. A better view than he must present. The infinite stretch of blue. Sometimes, he paints his own clouds on the sky in his mind's eye, but right now that canvas is dripping red - fists clench tight above his thighs - dripping red, white, and blue, Sam is dripping red, white, and blue, and he's falling, Icarus to the ocean.

Falling, falling, falling.

Oh. 

Bucky jerks upright. Shakes his head, wipes a blood stained strand of hair back. Forces air into his lungs - it's thinner up here, colder, too, so he has to focus, feel the bite, good - and then: clarity.

He remembers where he is, the smoothness of tiles under his feet, the sweat sodden uniform sticking to his skin, the physicalities of his position return, as does the feel of his beating heart. But there's something new in the way it hammers against his ribs. Something gentler, that prompts a flutter of intrigue, until he realizes what it is, until he can name the newborn emotion screaming to be heard inside his heart. 

Hot forehead against cold glass. Hot tears on hotter cheeks. Bucky lets them fall as he tries to face the sky again.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he tells the clouds. Not because he doesn’t want to be in love, or because he is love with a man instead of a woman, or because said man is Sam Wilson, but because it’s just so inconvenient. Because there is no happiness to be found in lives like these, and because it is an impossibility that a man with a heart as pristine a golden could want one with bruises and stains that stretch across every inch of skin. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

And he swears he can hear his Ma answer from the sky: Why of course, you didn’t, my baby boy. No one ever does. Doesn’t mean it isn’t right, or meant to be so. The universe has a way with these things. Knows how to put people together, just like a starling knows to hide her nest from crows. It’s nature, James.

Nobody’s called him James since Winnifred Barnes. Nobody ever will. But “Bucky” doesn’t sound so bad coming from Sam’s voice. Returning to his bedside and slumping into the chair, Bucky hopes he’ll only live long enough to tell him so.

Bucky, post-war, post-Winter Soldier, doesn’t know all that much about fate or the universe, nor does he know a thing about love, but he knows homecoming.  And Sam, his eyelashes delicate against skin like gold poured over tourmaline, is home.

All resistance leaves Bucky with a muted sigh. It’s like he can feel the adrenaline, the fight-or-flight, both physical and emotional, evaporate when he takes in the expression of calm that has washed over Sam’s features. He takes half a dozen deep, deep breaths. Allows the oxygen to cleanse him from the inside out, and now, he has enough presence of mind to feel the exhaustion entering his bones. Aside from the scrape on his cheek, none of the blood on his being is his own. He should clean up, he knows that, but he thinks he’ll throw up if he tries to stand up again, so he breathes instead. Breathes in the fact that Sam is alive like he needs that statement to live. So that he doesn’t forget it, and wake up screaming - wouldn’t be the first time - he imprints it into his memory.

Only then do his shoulders stop guarding his neck, relaxing and hitting the back of the chair he’s sat on. The air conditioner whirrs on, and Sam’s breaths are puffs of cotton in the air, that if Bucky focuses enough on, he can envision as clouds. Clouds that turn to sheep, sheep that he counts, and it doesn’t take many of them before he is fast asleep.

---

The day Happy and May get married, Sam almost asks Bucky for a dance, under a starlit sky that twinkles like fairy lights. The months since his injury have been better than those before, contrasting a new smile, and a lighter face, against the tangible sense of will-we-won’t-we. They’re still tense, still have moments where they can’t read each other, still almost talk about it, but their companionship has returned.

This is obvious in the grin Bucky throws him with a roll of his eyes over Nat’s shoulder, as Sam twirls May around like he’s trying to make her nauseous. The poor bride tolerates his hijinks for all of one song before politely excusing herself, as does Nat, pretending that Bucky hasn’t gotten better at dancing again after practicing for months on end. She throws Sam a wink as she leaves the dance floor, and Sam swallows before turning tail and going to get a drink, leaving Bucky to find another dance partner. He quells a bubble of his own nausea as a wonderful girl – Annie something, from May’s work – tries to ask for a dance. To his surprise, Bucky refuses, and then Sam feels guilty for the cheer that goes up in him.

It’s short-lasting, overwhelmed once again by the anxiety that comes with interacting with Bucky. Sometimes, he thinks he sees roses bloom under Bucky’s footstep, the scent of him so alluring. At others, like now, the weight of his gaze is so heavy, he thinks he should drown under it if he doesn’t release the secret in his chest. If he doesn’t tell Bucky that he remembers waking up in that hellicarrier holding an asleep Bucky’s hand, with an asleep Bucky’s lips pressed to the back of his own. And that he liked it.

“It’s a nice party,” he says, tipping back the champagne flute in his hand. He can’t get drunk, and it takes large sips for him to even feel the spark in his throat, the movement exposing a stretch of slender, soft skin. It’s a matter of milliseconds, barely one breath, but Sam’s mouth is dry, useless but for a nod of agreement with a survey of the hall. Nat is wiggling her eyebrows at him from across the dance floor, and Bucky has to repeat his name twice to regain his attention, something that he immediately loses to the color of Bucky’s eyes upon turning towards him.  He breaks eye contact and looks away again with another nod.

“Yeah, yeah, it was a great day. I’m really happy for those two,” Sam says honestly, gesturing towards the bride and groom, who are chatting away with Pepper.

“So you’re happy for Happy?” Bucky murmurs and Sam snorts, downing his glass, and shaking his head.

“Ha ha ha, what are you, twelve?”

“You may have to check my birth certificate to find out,” he deadpans, and Sam pinches the bridge of his nose as Bucky cackles. He glares at him, but soon, the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkling while the sound of his laughter echoes comes into alarming focus against May and Happy swaying in the background, and Sam doesn’t need to wonder what it’s like to feel so much joy and such magnanimous love from someone that you decide to bind yourself to them forever. In fact, Sam decided a long time ago that Bucky was the one person he couldn’t live without any longer. The only difference now is that the emotions that went into that definition have changed. The twinkling sky winks down at him, as if to reaffirm that that realization is correct, and to tell him that he’s on the right path.

---

The city of New York stretches out through the window before them, buildings piercing the dusk that is settling above, and Bucky and Sam sit against the freshly dried paint in the living room of Bucky’s childhood home. It has taken four years after the Blip, four years of newfound stability, of recovery and building up and breaking down and defining his life for his own, to come back to what his life used to be. He thought it only fitting that the man who played the most invaluable part in helping him to his feet be with him at the most magnificent landmark of his progress, of his new life.

The building had, wondrously, been the same one, in that it hadn’t been demolished and rebuilt, only thoroughly renovated. Bucky had bought it several months ago, and Sam had instantly been enraptured by the idea of rebuilding this apartment. Only the furniture remains now, the empty rooms freshly painted and smelling of paint and paper, sawdust and sandalwood and sweat. Bucky looks over at Sam as he closes his eyes, and watches the sunset light his skin like honey on dark silk. Glimmering, glowing.

It hits him like a freight car. The notion that even though his life has been longer than most, it is too short to abandon what you love. Bucky is scared. He’s been scared his whole life. He was scared to go to war that first time, he was scared for his life when he was captured, he was scared for Steve when he went after Hydra, he was scared when he became Hydra, he was scared. And angry. And he doesn’t want to be any longer, even if the alternative is regret and shame. Those would still be new emotions.

That’s what has him turning to Sam, the rustle of his jeans alerting him so he opens his eyes. A question swimming in their content depths. Bucky answers it.

“I love you, Sam,” he says, heart in his throat. Sam gulps, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to, that there are words lodged in his throat that he longs to set free, and Bucky tells him he knows what they are already. Doesn’t need the words spoken, now or ever, when they’re so visible in how Sam can do nothing but lift his hands and cups his face in them. The I love you, too, is folded like a hidden love note between their lips, passed to Bucky when they meet, and Sam moves his mouth like flower petals over glass. Bucky kisses back. He kisses back harder, tilts his head so they’re like puzzle pieces, his heartbeat taking flight. When they stop, the sky is as pink as roses, the gold accent wall behind them is smoldering, glowering with light. Their foreheads rest against each other’s, Bucky’s hand rests over Sam’s to hold him there, and they fit together like the stars fit in the sky.

Taglist: @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique​ @murdermornings​

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Heated Encounters

Ao3

<<Prev || Next>>

Chapter 21

Jordan sat at his kitchen table, blankly staring at the wooden surface as he waited for the scolding that was bound to come. He idly rolled a pencil between his palm, allowing the wooden writing instrument to gently roll between his thumb and pinky. The noises around him were muted at best, but the roar of his frustrations festered and grew as he sat and stewed over the suspension.

“—can’t keep doing this!” The man’s husky voice broke through the fog causing Jordan to stop his motions and peer up at the speaker.

“He’s just a boy; a teenager who can’t control his emotions.” The woman stated as she crossed her arms, her face visibly puffy and red from the tears. “The doctor said—”

“That doctor is an idiot!”

Jordan laughed out bitterly, the man stopping mid-thought to look and scold at him. “Don’t think we will let this slide, Jordan. You’ve caused us enough headaches to last us a lifetime!”

“Yeah, right.” Jordan rolled his eyes at the man, eliciting a scoff as he turned his head.

“You respect me...” He seethed; jaw clenched tightly.

“For what? You’re not my dad. You’re just some rich hussy my mom decided to marry just so she didn’t have to work another day in her life.”

“Jordan!” His mother cried out, clearly distraught over the lies her son was stating. “Pierre. You don’t believe that, right?”

Pierre stared at Jordan for a few heartbeats before turning his eyes away and softening as he peered at his wife. “Of course I know that, Michelle. It’s your son who believes that.” He said gesturing to the teenager who was screwing his lips up in disgust.

Pierre turned and looked back at Jordan, his eyes darkening in rage. “I love your mother and helped you with your legal problems, or did you already forget who helped your ass when you were threatened to go to jail for your ‘emotions’ taking over?”

“I didn’t forget.” Jordan relented, turning away slightly to hide his disdain.

“And the way you’re acting towards an omega that clearly has a mate is bound for trouble once again. Just look at your face! You’re littered with bruises and now you’re suspended for a week. Plus fighting with an alpha from the Agreste pack! What were you thinking? His father will have our throats if his injuries are permanent. Everything you have will be gone.”

“That asshole deserved it. He thinks he’s a golden ray of sunshine. And of course, he gets to be with an omega. Especially an omega as good as her.”

“And that is none of your concern, Jordan.” Pierre angrily cried out, clearly frustrated that this conversation was not going anywhere in the right direction. “You attacked an alpha while he was trying to take care of his omega—"

“She’s not his yet! I didn’t see a claim bite!”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Jordan! Stop this!” His mother finally cried out, interrupting the feuding alphas. “We can’t—we can’t do this again!”

Jordan sat there, seething. He knew they were right. He knew he should ignore that need for claim. But when Jordan had something on his mind, he had to see it to fruition. He was going to make sure Marinette was his. His initial idea was to seduce Marinette when she went into heat, but her going into heat in front of Adrien only threw a wrench into his plans. But as long as what Lila had found out was true—that she wouldn’t be claimed this time around—and as long as Marinette was unclaimed until her next heat, she was ripe for the taking.

His eyes flashed with a thought and his lips lightly curled with fascination. Looking up to check the date, he mentally noted when her next heat was bound to come around.

He wasn’t going to let his past haunt him anymore. Once she was his, and Adrien finally Lila’s, that bitch can get off his back and no one would be none the wiser.

“We can’t keep doing this for you,” Pierre stated, slightly exasperated. “Once was enough, Jordan. I will say this once, and only once. If you try and claim that girl, like you did to that…” Pierre closed his eyes, holding in the burst of anger that ran through him as he thought over the last encounter, “that poor omega... then we won’t save you. You’re on your own.”

Jordan stared into the alpha’s steel-grey eyes, finally turning away as the man’s words settled in his mind.

Adrien stirred as he felt a weight shift against him. His eyes remained closed as he licked his parched lips, wondering if he remembered to keep a glass of water by his nightstand. He felt so comfortable and warm—a feeling that he hadn’t felt since his mother had died—and continued to chase that feeling that seemed to want to disappear. He furrowed his brow when the shifting weight stopped, and he assumed it was the feeling of Marinette shifting against him as she rested from their lovemaking.

He was close to drifting back asleep when her weight shifted once more, but this time it was accompanied by the feeling of pressed lips on his neck while soft fingers trailed into his locks. The sensation made him want to purr, and he was close to doing so before deciding to clear his throat to stop it before it could begin.

The familiar feeling of arousal ran through him as the simple pecks became more sensual. The delicate touch of her lips left him wanting more, and he clenched his eyes as she pressed her lips slowly down until she reached his collarbone. Her lips lingered there for a moment, licking and nipping the flushed skin as she allowed her nails to run across the nape of his neck with a ghost-like touch.

Adrien bit his lip as he relished in the feeling. He attempted to lift his hand in hopes to run his bare hand over her soft skin, but when Marinette began to slowly kiss her way back up towards his jaw, Adrien dropped his hand, choosing to lightly claw at the sheets with his fingertips instead. He whimpered as her tongue darted out and ran along his neck, but groaned out when it was followed by her blowing cool air onto the wet skin. She continued her torturous ministrations with a rotation of simple kisses, sensual licks, and warm nuzzles against his scent gland, and the multiple sensations made Adrien silently plead for her to end his misery. He was about to shift his weight when he felt her sharp fangs grazing his scent glad as lightly nipped at his neck.

The mixture of sensations caused Adrien to loudly moan out as her hands trailed down from his hair and over his cheek, slowly making the trek over the divots and muscles in his chest and arms. The movement paused, only for a moment, before soft lips made their way over to his. It was slow and loving with no hunger in sight, and Adrien finally wrapped his arms around the weight until he felt the smooth skin across his palms.

Finally realizing that this was not a dream, Adrien opened his eyes just enough to peer through his lashes, noticing that his mate looked immaculate beside him. Her porcelain skin looked flush as she took control of her desires, her raven strands pooling and gliding effortlessly across his chest as she continued her tedious movements. He relished in the feel of his mate teasing his skin, the tender kisses becoming hungrier as the seconds passed by. He could feel Marinette lift herself until she was comfortably on her knees, gaining a better position on her attack to his neck. He happily obliged as he turned his head just enough to give her more access to his neck.

Marinette whimpered out in happy delight at the reward for her tease, continuing her kisses as she ran her free hand over his chest. Adrien took that moment to gaze upon her body, relishing in the deliciousness of her smooth skin. He could see the swell of her ass, the athletic and toned muscle calling out to him to run his fingers across it. The calling was short-lived, as the feel of her fingers trailing down his torso took precedence in his mind. The slow movements became torturous, her fingers only running against the smooth skin on his pelvis yet never reaching the increasingly aroused member as she continued her ministrations.

Adrien groaned out as his cock twitched to be touched. She moved her fingers until it lingered at the base of his cock before she brushed her fingertips through his curls. He unconsciously gripped her hips, slightly bucking his own in hopes to show her how needy he was for her touch. She responded in kind, lightly gripping his length at the base as she decided on how she wanted to proceed.

Adrien’s eyes fluttered open; the half-lidded gaze followed her every move to see what she would do to him. The anticipation of her handling him caused him to bite his bottom lip, and he once again tightly clenched his eyes shut as she finally moved on to her chosen tease. Marinette ran the tip of one of her fingers languorously up his cock until she reached the tip, only to swirl the pad of her finger around the head of his dick excruciatingly slow. Not only was it slow, but it was sensually driven, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep himself from sputtering all over her.

She swirled a few times before sliding her finger back down the length of his shaft, only to begin the motion once again. Marinette continued the tease, hoping that she could get him to the point of begging to unleash within her without a second thought.

“My alpha,” she purred against the shell of his ear and he whined in response.

She smirked as she watched him squirm under her palm before deciding that she tortured him enough. But the moment she stopped, the begging need to be bred broke through the fog in her mind, and she captured his lips with fervor.

He happily obliged, bringing his fingers to her hair and twisting the locks in his palms as he kissed her back with such passion that he could not wait another minute further. He rolled them both over until her back rested against the linens, and the silvery look to her eye only made him realize one thing: she wanted to be bred and she wanted it now.

He could never deny his mate that satisfaction.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he captured her lips once more, feeling her hips roll against his as her claws dug into his hips. He continued to chase her lips, nipping and sucking the swollen muscle as he ground against her folds. He could hear her breathy moan, his lips muffling the impatient whimpers as she tried to guide him to enter her.

Smirking against her lips, he leaned on his elbow and removed his hand from her hair, quickly bringing it to her clit and toying with the sensitive flesh. The sudden touch sent shivers down Marinette’s spine, and she tried to bury her face in the sheets as she moaned out in relief. Adrien ran his fingers up and down her folds, coating his fingers in her honey-like juices. He entered into her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her before removing them and rubbing her clit and hood methodically.

“Fuck.” Marinette screamed out, the coil building within her as he continued his repetitive motions. “Adrien. Please.” She begged, wanting that coil to snap so she could feel some relief.

Adrien could see his mate clenching her eyes, her fingertips digging into his biceps as she held on for dear life, and Adrien smirked as he could feel her walls begin to clench around his fingers. He added another two fingers into her core, thrusting quicker as he searched for the bundle of nerves that were nestled within her. A cat-like grin stretched across his face, her head thrown back in surprise as he bent his fingers and rubbed against the nerves.

It didn’t take long for her to fall into the abyss. She thrust her head back as she screamed out his name, praising him for the release. He continued to tease her nerves as she came down from her high, and she captured his lips as the relief quickly turned to desire once again. Adrien had little time to react, figuring that he still had some time before needing to release his own within her.

Removing his fingers, he brought them to his lips, sucking off the juices that coated the digits. She whimpered as he did so, running her hand across her chest and down her torso until she reached her clit. Marinette rubbed her hood as her hips bucked in tandem, and Adrien bit his lip as he watched his mate fuck herself with her own hand. Her other hand was still wrapped tightly around his bicep, and she squeezed his muscle as she edged herself closer to another climax.

“Fuck.”

Adrien leaned down and wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking the mound as he held the soft flesh in his hand. He ran his tongue around the areola, flicking his tongue against the pert peak, and sucking on it once more before releasing it with a wet pop. He watched her with a half-lidded gaze as he made his way to the other breast, sucking and playing with the peak before nipping at the sensitive flesh. He could feel her chest rising and falling as her hands made quick work to her clit, and Adrien could see she was drastically close as she screwed her eyes shut.

Pinching her nipples between his fingertips, he captured her lips once again, kissing her passionately as she hit her own peak, whimpering into his mouth as she fell down from the high. She let go of his lips as she removed her fingers from her core, slowly loosening her grip from his bicep until she let her hands fall to the sheets. She rested for a moment as Adrien kissed up and down her neck, before the insatiable need to be fucked by him hit her once again.

She stilled beneath him, a new wave of warmth filling her and flushing her skin. Adrien could feel the heat radiate from her body, and he stopped his tender kisses to look into her silvery eyes once again.

“My alpha.” She called out, running her fingers through his damp locks as he continued to hover over her.

“My omega.” Adrien whispered to her, feeling her shiver beneath him. He settled himself between her legs, lifting her hips up until his swollen cock brushed up against her folds.

“Please.” She begged and he quickly thrust himself in her. Marinette gasped out as she felt him fill her and she bit her lip as she felt the tip of his cock brush up against her sweet spot. She began to feel the familiar feeling of arousal build within her, and she moaned out as he began to thrust quickly and firmly against her.

“Fuck—Adrien. Keep—mph… keep going. Don’t stop. Ever.”

Adrien picked up speed once the words left her lips. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he nuzzled his face into her neck. He pressed hard kisses against her collarbone before licking and nipping at her mating gland. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, gripping the toned flesh of his arms as his thrusts moved into a roll. She let out a strangled moan, her grip tightening as the new motion caused her to writhe beneath him.

He decided he needed to switch his position, make her cum once more on her own before he could finish them both off. Lifting them both until he was kneeling before her, he quickly brought her legs up until her knees were resting over his shoulders and he rested his palms on her thighs as he held them close to his chest. He started to thrust slowly, ensuring that this position was okay for them both before increasing his tempo. His wary expression switched to one of satisfaction as a flurry of whimpers and moans spilled from her lips with each rock of his hips.

“A—ahh—Adrien!” Marinette cried out; her eyes clenched tightly as she bit her lip to hold back her cries.

Adrien noticed the familiar expression on her features and increased his speed until he felt her walls clench around him. She screamed out as she fell over the edge and he slowed down his thrusts until she came down from her high.

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she settled beneath him, and he let go of her legs to allow them to fall beside his own legs. He leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her tenderly until she was ready to go again. He knew she would need more, but he wouldn’t push her until she was ready.

Marinette opened her eyes as she pulled away from his lips, turning her head until her lips were perfectly placed beside his ear. “My alpha,” she whispered, nipping at his lobe to ensure she received his undivided attention. “Knot me. I want you to breed me. Fill me up until I can’t anymore.” He turned to gaze into her eyes; his mouth slightly open as she continued to plead. “Please. I need you.”

Adrien crashed his lips into hers, the desire running through him as her words of needing her alpha ran rampant in his mind. He wrapped one arm around her waist, kissing her on the lips once more before lifting her up and flipping her onto her stomach. She yelped out in surprise at first but whimpered when Adrien lifted her up onto her hands and knees before pressing his throbbing cock to the swell of her ass. She gasped, the anticipation flooding her as she waited for him to thrust his cock in her.

Adrien bit his lip as he guided his length into her core, groaning out as the warmth engulfed his cock. Gripping onto her hips, he began to thrust in her, starting off slow before increasing his speed. She groaned out as she gripped the sheets, pressing her face into them as he continued to drive her insane.

He ran his fingers across her ass, squeezing the muscle in his grasp. He could feel the coil build within him, and he knew he wouldn’t last too much longer. He leaned over her as he continued to thrust, running his hand over her hip as he blindly searched for her clit. He kissed her shoulder until he found it, pressing the pads of his fingers against her hood and teasing her further.

He could feel her walls clench around his cock as her body tensed up beneath him. She was close, and so was he, his thrusting becoming more and more erratic as he inched closer to his relief. He could feel his knot swelling and filling her, and it was all that was needed for her to orgasm one last time. She screamed out as he came, the soft linen muffling the harshness of the sound as she felt the waves of his warm pleasure fill her. His body bucked as he unleashed his seed, and he could see her gripping the sheets as a feeling of relief washed over her. He removed his hand from her clit and placed it on her belly, feeling it expand as he filled her completely.

  “Such a good omega.” He managed to get out between his heavy breaths, guiding her down to a prose position so they could cuddle within the sheets. He placed his arm underneath her head as he ran his other hand over her swollen abdomen, knowing this was what she needed to feel good. “You’re so gorgeous like this.” He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck before nuzzling his nose into her hair.

Marinette rubbed her nose into his elbow as their erratic breaths slowly leveled out as they came down from their high. She closed her eyes as she cuddled into his warm embrace, enjoying the feel of his knot settled within her.

She felt satiated for the moment, finally running her hand over her belly until she found his hand. She intertwined her fingers with his, sighing out in contentment as they laid there in silence. He hummed out in agreement as her happy pheromones filled the small space, and he continued to nuzzle and nip at her neck as they laid there relishing in the feel of each other’s company. But soon he shifted, much sooner than she would have liked, and she could feel his knot loosen before slipping out of her.

Marinette whined in the loss of heat, and she turned to face him with a cute pout on her face.

Adrien could see that her eyes were still that gorgeous silvery-blue color, and he understood that this meant that she needed more. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to fuck her senseless, to keep her going until she told him she needed rest, but he knew she was going to need more than just this, something to keep her going for hours at a time. He hoped that the next time she goes into heat, he would have his rut too, and they could keep each other going until they both had their fill.

“Mari…”

Her eyes were pleading, and the guilt that he couldn’t help her in that way started to eat at him. He could see that she wanted to continue being bred as many times as she could without bursting, and he sighed as he realized that the lack of rut was going to become a hindrance for them. He needed to just focus on keeping her satisfied until he could be the one to fuel her once again, and he remembered from their required classes that there were other ways to help satiate her in the meantime.

Adrien looked up at the clock and realized it was mid-afternoon.

“Hey. Why don’t we try to eat? You haven’t had anything since breakfast. You must be hungry.”

Marinette ran her eyes up and down his body, biting her bottom lip as she gazed at him with hunger in her eyes.

Adrien gulped, but he persisted. “Come on, love. We need to get you fed.”

“I’m only hungry for one thing.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down until their lips were centimeters apart. “You.”

Adrien licked his lips as she nuzzled her nose against his, before she pressed her lips to the side of his mouth in hopes to lure him into another round of fun. He twisted to try to get her to stop, but she used his reluctance to rub her nose against his scent gland. He stilled as she kissed his neck sensually, nipping and licking his mating gland as she ran her fingers in his hair. His eyes shuttered close as he relished in the feeling and she took the opportunity to roll her hips against his.

He moaned out before clearing his throat and tried to pull himself back when he realized that her little tease wouldn’t get them anywhere. Marinette whimpered as her eyes pleaded for more, but when she looked down to gaze at his flaccid cock, she realized none of her coaxings helped in him in a second wave of arousal.

Adrien sadly sighed as the guilt continued to gnaw at him. He looked to the side in an attempt to shy away from her gaze, and his eyes landed on the closet doors instead. Remembering what was in it, he grinned, placing a sweet and tender kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be right back.”

He got up and made his way into the closet, opening up the drawers until he found the pink vibrator he happened to find a month ago. He turned it on to make sure it worked, closing the drawer with a happy smile on his face.

Marinette sat up when he noticed Adrien returning with something behind his back. He lifted his palm to her, holding the vibrator in his hand in hopes she would take the compromise.

“I’m going to make you something to eat, my love. But how about this to keep you going until I get back?”

Marinette looked between the vibrator and his eyes; the pout still evident on her face. She sighed, understanding even through the fog that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her desires. She reached out to grab it before a mischievous gleam sparkled in her eyes.

She picked it up and watched as he smiled brightly over the choice, before taking the vibrator to her lips. Her tongue darted out, licking the pink toy from the base to the tip, before wrapping her lips around the piece and giving it one long suck.

Adrien watched as she removed it from her mouth, before biting her bottom lip while she gazed into his eyes, never once breaking eye contact as she turned on the toy and bringing the toy back down to run over her sex. He gulped, finally looking down at her pussy as she slid the piece between her folds. She laid herself back until her back hit the sheets, slowly inserting the toy into her core as a sensual moan left her lips. Adrien could feel a sense of his arousal returning as he watched his mate play with herself, but a knock on the door broke through his thoughts.

“What the fuck.” He mumbled and Marinette giggled in between her thrusts.

“Don’t be too long. I—mph—I don’t know how long… I’ll last.”

Adrien growled in frustration as he grabbed the pair of jeans that were laying on the floor. He put them on as he watched her, her slow movements teasing him throughout the process. He finally tore his eyes away from his mate, making his way through the bedroom door while a low growl emanated in his chest.

As he walked through the small living area, he mumbled to himself before a stale smell surrounded him, quickly realizing that he needed a shower from all the fuckary he had done today. As he opened the door, he noticed his father waiting for him with his back turned, his arms crossed behind his back.

“Father?” Adrien asked, both confused and annoyed at his untimely interruption.

Gabriel turned, smiling at his son. “Adrien. You’re awake. I tried coming by earlier, but I believe you were sleeping.”

“We were… Did you need something?”

Gabriel walked into the heat room, taking in a whiff of his son as he passed by him. He stopped for a moment, side-eyeing the teen before continuing his walk and his intended conversation.

“The two officers from earlier are here to speak with you and Marinette. That’s if she isn’t indisposed at the moment.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck as he thought over what to do, especially knowing that his girlfriend was currently indisposed and fucking herself with a vibrating dildo at the moment.

“Umm… Could you give me five minutes to get her ready?”

Gabriel was about to agree when loud moans filled the space, all coming from the open door to their bedroom. He quirked a brow at Adrien, watching the teen turn bright red as more moans could be heard.

“Are you not satisfying her—”

“Father!” Adrien interrupted, grabbing at his hair in mortification. He turned a deeper shade of red before readying himself for a response, but Marinette let out a fuck before moaning out a satisfying groan, finally ending it with Adrien’s name falling from her lips.

Gabriel stifled a laugh as he watched Adrien turn purple in embarrassment, breaking the embarrassing trance his son was in. Adrien looked at his father and practically shoved him out, mumbling a hundred little nothings the entire time. As soon as his father passed the threshold into the hallway, Adrien straightened himself up, looking at his dad straight in the eyes.

“Give me ten minutes. And don’t come in until I wave them in.” Gabriel nodded as he turned to the right, beginning his trek down to the foyer. “And dad?” Gabriel turned to look back at his son. “Don’t tell anyone. This stays between us.”

Gabriel nodded as Adrien shut the door, finally laughing in his own mortification at hearing his future daughter-in-law’s orgasmic outburst.

“I need to just listen to Nathalie from now on.” He stated to himself as he turned back down towards the foyer. “She’s always right.”

[justimajin]

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 9

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.8k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away…  …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13 (please check out the disclaimer on the first part); none

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, May 12 

It’s quiet; save for the small snores leaving your lips and the occasional tumbling of your blanket, dragging its warmth closer to your shivering body. Your eyes are sealed shut, the exhaustion of long practices, training sessions and classes forming into dark circles underneath your eyes, muscles aching at your every movement. 

That’s when the spiking ring blares out into the room, causing you to immediately jump up and rummage around for its location. Once you find it, a deep exhale leaves you when it finally goes silent.

Blinking sleepily, you narrow your eyes onto the luminescent digits brightly glowing at you, eyes widening when they alert of bad news rather than good.

Scrambling up, you hurriedly open your door and glance around, wondering why Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t wake you up.

When you crack open Jungkook’s door, the answer is right in front of you.

“Oh no…” You whisper, quickly crouching down and shaking his arm. “Jungkook! Jungkook!”

He seems too caught up with his drowsiness, face turning in the opposite direction from you. With a sigh, you know you can’t really blame him for being like this, recalling how intense practice had been yesterday and how all of you had been wishing for the day to end soon so you could just go back to the dorm and sleep.

You wonder if you’re overstepping it, but then thoughts of Yoongi’s expression at your tardiness comes into mind and suddenly there seems to be no boundaries. 

You push him off the bed.

He immediately wakes up, appearing frazzled until you reach out and show him the time. His eyes widen and he goes through something similar to you, before his arm shoots out to grab onto you.

“Taehyung.” He mumbles, causing the both of you to stare at each other hopelessly.

After being roommates with Jungkook and Taehyung for nearly a month now, you’ve discovered that waking up Taehyung is harder than having to endure your rigorous training. As if Jungkook knows instantly as well, he follows you when you dash over to the farthest room.

Barging in, something tugs at your feet and you let out a shriek when you’re being pulled down, smacking onto the ground.

“Y/N!” Jungkook moves to help you up and you untangle yourself from the empty box your foot managed to get caught up in. Whirling around, you spot your target.

Taehyung remains snoozing away, arms tightly wrapped around a pillow and head lolling off the side of the bed. Jungkook roughly pokes him, waiting for a reaction but Taehyung simply stirs in his sleep, unfazed from the action. You opt out for trying as well, shaking Taehyung’s shoulder only to receive a similar reaction to Jungkook.

An idea sparks in your mind when you shrewdly eye down the pillow encased in his arms, hands tugging on the corner. What you fail to understand though, is that Taehyung’s grip is a lot stronger than you had expected – which is why when you finally manage to yank away from his grasps and face Jungkook in exasperation, you are very close to giving up.

“What do we do?” You’re left resorting to staring at Taehyung’s dormant form feebly, shoulders slumping down.

Jungkook crosses his arms, a bleak gaze in his eyes.  

 “Can you hold the back of his head for me?”

You don’t have a chance to ask why when Jungkook leaves, not sparing either of you a single glance. Scampering to follow his instructions, your hand rests against Taehyung’s head as you patiently wait, eyes unconsciously drifting over to the looming way seconds keep ticking by on Taehyung’s clock.

Jungkook reappears in no time, a large rounded bucket in his hand. Before you know it, there’s water splashing all over Taehyung’s bed and floor, having nearly drenched you if you didn’t pull back in time.

Taehyung snaps awake, a look of pure shock and utter rage taking a hold of his features. When his eyes meet Jungkook’s, he opens his mouth as if to unleash a brewing storm, but with a mere couple of words – it fizzles away just as fast.

“We’re late for practice.”

He takes a faltering step, hand coming to cover his mouth.

“Oh shit.”

You watch in surprise as Taehyung scrambles around for his clothes, frantically darting all over the place until his field of vision lands on you and Jungkook. “Hurry up and change out of your pajama’s guys!”

You can only stare at Jungkook impressed after that, quickly following after him. “I can’t believe that worked and he wasn’t mad at you.”

“Nah.” He rushes over to his room’s door, sending a smile at you with words that startle you, “Yoongi is the one you should be scared of when he’s mad.”

***

The door to your dorm is pushed open as you drag in your drained limbs into the room. Every muscle in your body stiffens and aches with your movements, occasionally wincing when you head into your room and plop down onto the mattress.

Upon reaching from practice, Taehyung, Jungkook and you weren’t sure if you were going to make it out alive. Gaging solely off of their reactions to the situation, you could tell the storm you were headed for wasn’t going to be a pretty one in the least – and it’s exactly what you discover when hostility radiates off of Yoongi.

He had gone off to give the three of you a thorough lecture, not satisfied with Namjoon’s simple “Just be on time for tomorrow” and mere smile, going as far as to decide that doing forty push-ups each before resuming practice was more appropriate. Of course all of you ended up obliging, something you deeply regretted when you’re being handed a basketball right after and thrown into an ongoing game with your other members. Mid-way through practice, Yoongi’s hostility seems to fizzle away as his focus shifts more towards practice and less about your tardiness; something you’re grateful for when you know the amount of push-ups you’ve done is going to come back to bite you.

Letting out a sigh, you pull out your backpack and rummage through it for a moment. After attending practice, you were busy in the midst of attending all your classes, stifling your exhausted yawns and aching muscles away like you usually had done.

However, today was a bit different for you than usual, a fact that comes to light when a collection of papers brush against your fingers. Yanking them out, your backpack is tossed to the side and your eyes greedily scan over the contents, eyes widening more and more as time passes.

Jaw dropping down, you rapidly scan through all the flimsy papers over and over again, eyes nimbly flickering until they freeze. Slowly lowering your outstretched hands, they are set to the side and a deep exhale leaves you, head buried within your hands.

From a distance, the large red streaks are clearly visible, angry marks having been imprinted into the multiple sheets with various question marks and circles accompanying them – the biggest mark diligently being placed on top of every single one of them and screaming to you the inevitable result.

***

To say that Yoongi doesn’t notice anything, is a complete and absolute lie.

Before he was appointed captain of his team, he had been part of numerous other ones. Over years of practicing and training, he’s learned the simple basics of what comes down to formation of a team and most importantly, how to manage each individual accordingly so that their strengths shine through and build a collective cohesive unit. This core principle entitles that Yoongi knows when and where things have gone wrong, deciphering any conflicts and issues promptly so that his team remains unaffected.

Which is why when you stroll into the gym later than usual, eyes drooping down and steps slow, Yoongi knows something is definitely up.

He doesn’t say a word until you approach him, appearing more cautious – something else that also draws out concern from him.

“I-….” You harshly swallow, letting out the words you never wanted to say, “I-I won’t be coming to practice.”

It almost feels like someone just punched Yoongi in the gut, all sense of air leaving him right away. He immediately steps forward, knowing that he wasn’t the only one that was drawn to what you were saying when the rest of the members that had been practically suddenly gather around you.

Questions are thrown into the air, from the likes of ‘why?’ and ‘did something happen?’ but Yoongi can see how you hastily shrink away from all of them, his voice raising.

“Back away, give him some space.”

At his word, they all step back and you smile, softly muttering that it was okay.

“Why have you decided to stop coming to practice?” He presses, diverting your attention over to him.

You find yourself stumbling over the words, a bit embarrassed and very distraught that the situation has come down to this. “M-My grades….I’ve been getting really behind in my classes and I need to get my grades up before it’s too late…”

Yoongi admits the confession catches him quite off guard, assuming the reason would have been much more severe for you to have simply wanted to quit basketball like that. However, he acknowledges that if you’re willing to do so, it’s important for you to focus on school for now and temporarily revoke attending practice for that sake.

With a hum, he lets you know his thoughts, “That’s fine, just remember to come back once you’re done.”

You nod and he turns away at that, not wanting you to pick up on the dismayed expression he holds as Namjoon approaches you with a soft smile.

“Good luck Y/N.” You grin at his words of encouragement, other members following suit as they walk closer to you and wish you the best of luck. The reassuring faces and words of encouragement are enough to fuel you to do better, motivation spiking in you to quickly boost up your marks so that you can return back to practice promptly.

***

The sound of another page flipping echoes through the walls. There’s a small light dangling over the wooden table you’re seated at, more and more shelves bursting with books surrounding you. An old lady is seated in the far corner, occasionally sifting a yawn as her eyes move across the dusty book sitting on her desk. Aside from the boy that sits a couple of tables from you and the girl buried behind one of the bookshelves, there seems to be no one else nearby as a deafening silence lingers in the air.

Your brows furrow when you narrow down onto the long sentences, eyes moving along but not being able to absorb a single word. You try and try, blinking your eyes and desperately attempting to draw some focus back in, however to no avail does anything remotely sink in.

A weary sigh passes by your lips, form slumping down into your chair as you stare at the book with a large pout. Although your initial perception of coming to this school streamed from the heavy focus on sports rather than academics, there’s no telling how long you’ll have to suffer under the wrath of long drawn out hours of studying.

Tracing your fingers against one of the pages, there’s a soft smile on your lips when you begin to wander off into the events of this morning. Taehyung had ended up waking you up out of habit – his expression confused when you mumbled that you weren’t going until contorting into the prickling realization of what had happened. Him and Jungkook had then left for practice without a single word as you strangely found it impossible to sleep afterwards, twisting and turning when you were only filled with ill thoughts of the team practicing without you.

You wonder how it was even possible to have so little time pass by but to miss something so incredibly much, that it constantly felt like there was something wrong. Like there was something you should be doing, instead of staring at the daunting amount of pages you have to somehow engrave into your brain.

You were used to the dissatisfaction of not being able to play, you were accustomed to being told ‘no’ and ordered to follow the rules and regulations.

Because after all, there’s no place for girls on a competitive team.  

A frown settles on your lips at the thought, a loose memory tucked away among others emerging out.

Your shoes squeak when you enter the small gymnasium, eager eyes scanning the vicinity and then rushing over to the young man who has a whistle strung around his neck, gaze darting over to his clipboard.

“COACH!” You hurriedly exclaim, drawing his attention over to you. Stopping right in front of him, your hands rest on your knees and you heave to catch your breath, eyes sparking when you look up.

“D-Did you think about it…?” There’s bundles of hope dwelling in your eyes, his disappointed expression single handedly shattering it.

“I’m sorry Y/N, it won’t be possible.” He apologetically smiles before leaving, but it does nothing to bring the same light back to your features, “We won’t be able to cover the budget if there’s not that many girls interested.”

You robotically nod, swallowing the lump forming in your throat when a basketball abruptly shoots out, nearly hitting you before bouncing away.

“Oops!” A boy from the competitive team rushes over, his eyes wide but far from innocent, “That was my bad! Maybe if you were on the team you would have been able to catch it.”

The comment is followed by an accompaniment of snickers from behind him, and he slips the ball away from his hands towards you again with a conniving smile. Your gaze remains on the ground, the coach’s words still ringing deep in your head.

The fallen basketball is picked up from the ground, the snickers all silencing when the basketball is hurled in the direction of the boy. He manages to dodge it in time, fear-grown eyes appearing startled when a loud voice breaks through.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Hyerin cunningly smirks, cocking a brow up as she plants her hands on her hips, “Next time I’ll try harder and make sure it hits you!”

The boy opens his mouth as if to interrupt, but when Hyerin starts stomping over to retrieve the basketball, he cowers away and decides not to risk it. He joins the rest of his team and they hurriedly scamper away, Hyerin smiling in triumph as she walks over to you with it.

“They’re such idiots.” She mumbles underneath her breath, gaze growing concerned as she lowers her head to see your down-casted expression, “No luck?”

You don’t reply, simply shake your head in response. Hyerin straightens herself up with a sigh, planting the basketball in your hands before grabbing onto your arm and dragging you over to a hoop.

“H-Hyerin?” You’re frozen when she plops herself down onto the ground, eyes waiting in anticipation but you continue to stare at her in confusion.

“Hello!!” She waves her hands, gesturing to the basket, “I didn’t pay to watch you just stand there!”

You slowly begin to dribble the ball, gaze moving to stare at the hoop. Carefully running over, you do a quick bounce and shoot the ball, watching it land into the hoop perfectly.

“WOOO! YESSSS, THAT’S MY GIRL!!” Hyerin screams at the top of her lungs, ongoing passerbys regarding her strangely but she pays no mind when a small smile sparks on your lips from the gesture. Gaining more confidence, you dribble again and take another shot, your ball skillfully entering the hoop once more.

Hyerin starts to sound like a banshee, shrills leaving her as you continue to make shots, not missing a single one. It surprises you at her ability to sound like an entire audience with her one voice, but it arises up a thought that you had been long clinging on to.

Perhaps a day will come, when you’ll be able to mimic this euphoric feeling alongside a team of your own.

***

Yoongi never thought this day would come.

It’s the same gym, the same team members, and the exact same game.

But something…. something is different.

He can’t quite seem to put his finger on it, eyes roaming to see Namjoon talking to Jaebum and Jackson, presumably going over something. Hoseok, Jimin and Jinyoung are in the corner taking turns shooting hoops, Yoongi’s eyes being drawn to how ordinary the picture appears. His line of sight then hovers over to clock right near them, the handles signalling to him that practice was going to begin soon – at the same time it always did.

When he turns his head, he notices the last couple of members flock in. It’s typical and he makes a note of it, shuffling over to get a hold of a basketball. With a simple gesture, he calls everyone forth and his eyes narrow into focus, marching up to his team as he’s accustomed to doing.

“Today we’ll be working on building strategies as a team.” He starts calling out names, grabbing a hold of his members and positioning them to where they need to be standing, “I want to try switching up offense and defense today, it needs to be more–“ 

“Uh, Yoongi?”

He frowns when he’s suddenly been interrupted, eyes darting up to see Namjoon scanning the entire set-up he’s made and appearing evidently confused.

“What is it?”

Namjoon sheepishly smiles, “Why are there only four players on the court?”

He cocks his head to the side, puzzled. He was going to start off with five players per game and filter them out so he can assess which combinations were ideal. It was going to begin with Jaebum, Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin, and yo–

He blinks abruptly, noticing that Namjoon’s line of sight was directly on the empty space right next to Jimin – a spot he notices that most of his players have trained their eyes on.

Right.

You weren’t here. 

With a deep sigh, he points over at Jackson, “Second defense position.”

Confusion overtakes Jackson for a moment until he’s bursting with joy, ecstatic at getting the opportunity to play first. Yoongi roughly looks at Namjoon, eyes perked.

“Well? Is it okay now?” He snaps, causing Namjoon to slightly smile for a second before he nods. Yoongi whirls around, the whistle around his neck blowing as the players get back into the game.

Yoongi’s eyes monitor from afar as the game goes on, lips down turning when the combination he’s created almost seems imbalanced. Although having Jungkook, Hoseok and Jaebum on offense – a position that required them to invade the opposite team’s grounds and shoot hoops directly – was a good idea, he can't say the same for the defense position. Jackson is too fast, getting halted up in being with the offense players when he needs to stay in defense. His pace doesn’t match up at all with Jimin’s, who’s forced to defend alone when all he needs is better defense partner, if only you were her–

Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking his head and stepping forward, “We’re doing a player switch. Now.”

He swaps Jackson out for Jinyoung, placing Jackson in the opposing team and granting the defense position to Jinyoung now. Taking a step back, he blows the whistle and carefully watches the game commence, wondering if his hunch at things was getting right now.

It seems quite alright when Jinyoung stays in the defense alongside Jimin, until he’s called up on doing the actual defense. He missteps the opposing team’s, a defeated sigh escaping Yoongi when the basketball meets the hoop. 

He calls out a switch again, this time opting for Taehyung to take the spot. Although he already knows Taehyung is more equipped to be playing the offense, it’s a fact proven to him that leaves a fine layer of frustration and anguish.

He attempts one more time; filtering all the members positions and hoping that the new combination leaves a more favourable result. However much to his own dismay, the mixture of players becomes an utter chaotic mess – unbalanced to the point that it has Yoongi gritting his teeth even more harshly as the pent-up annoyance spikes up.

Taehyung sighs, strolling over to a panting Jungkook before he plops next to him in exhaustion.

“I really miss Y/N.”

The latter hums and Yoongi arches an eyebrow, noticing the rest of his players seem to be in the same rut when there’s tiredness seeping into their forms. The comment only causes Yoongi to huff, an array of thoughts he’s already acknowledged at this point.

You can play both offense and defense.

You listen to him, effortlessly switching between the two despite your lack of experience playing basketball competitively.

You….. should be here.

There’s a crease in between his brows as his lips pursue, a hand on his shoulder drawing his attention away.

“I’ll take over this time.” Namjoon kindly smiles and heads for the team, despite the reluctance that masks Yoongi from the idea. He watches the couch gather the players and reorganize them, a process that usually is simple for Yoongi when he has all his players and doesn’t need to constantly rearrange them like some kind of jig-saw puzzle.

Sitting down on a far bench, Yoongi can only watch when the game commences and Namjoon directs them, noticing that he wasn’t the only one having trouble filling in the gap. In fact, it’s something that’s far too obvious when the surrounding players aren’t prepared to adapt to the sudden change either; everyone’s game being thrown off because of one simple absence.

***

Yoongi could with no doubt, anticipate you weren’t going to be at practice. The fact had been practically ingrained into his brain and there was no way he was expecting you to show up.

What he had been expecting though, was for his team to actually show up.

All he can do is turn to Namjoon puzzled, “What happened?”

Namjoon doesn’t look at him, simply reading through the various list of excuses he had been given in exchange for the now empty gym.

“Wasn’t feeling well, went back home, forgot to feed dog….”

Yoongi is left resorting to just an expression of bizarre astonishment, scoffing when the basketball in his hands is swung in the direction in the cart.

“This is really strange…” Namjoon mumbles, brows furrowing the more he stares, “I can understand one or two of them, but all of them?”

Yoongi sighs, snatching the paper away from Namjoon's hands and gesturing him towards the exit. “Come on.”

Namjoon is still confused when he grabs his coat, lightly jogging after Yoongi who marches out of the gym. If there’s one thing he knows about his team, it’s that there’s only one certain individual that has the potential to spur all of this up. 

***

A light knock rattles against the wooden door, Yoongi crossing his arms as Namjoon stands behind him, eyes roaming around the expanse of the large school library. As Yoongi’s foot taps against the floor, the door swings open to a clearly not sick, absent or pet owner Jeon Jungkook.

As if one cue, the door goes swinging close until Yoongi stumps his foot right in between it and the wall, Jungkook stepping away entirely and being forced to show the mayhem ensuing in the room.

There’s a large brown table in the centre, cluttered with various notes, open textbooks and snacks. An array of disarranged chairs surround it, two of which contain Jackson rummaging through one of the open snack bags and Jinyoung falling asleep while drowning out the answers being tossed across the room. Off to the far corner is a giant whiteboard, millions of words and theories scribbling onto it. Taehyung, Hoseok, Jimin and Jaebum stand near it – rendered completely frozen by Yoongi’s presence.

His eyes roam around the plethora of people until they land onto you, body facing the whiteboard with a textbook in your hands but expression remaining bewildered at his sudden arrival.

A deep sigh leaves Yoongi, stepping into the room despite a frazzled Jungkook protesting who expects Yoongi to stay something against the entire team being there.

“You’re all being too distracting.” He gestures for Namjoon to walk in, who sheepishly smiles before Yoongi continues.

“Luckily, I managed to bring over some actual help. So all of you need to head back to practice now.”

The room fills with protests but Yoongi is having any of it when he gestures to the wide-open door. Not another word is spoken after that, the room becoming increasingly quiet as a result of the aftermath.

You decide to step forward once there’s more space in the room, a smile on your lips, “It’s nice to see you captain.”

Yoongi doesn’t say much to retaliate, a simple hum from his lips when he keeps his gaze focused at the disappearing backs of his team members. Yet there’s something about it that makes you want to probe more, curiosity lacing around you at the way he lingers at the door even as the members seem to be long gone.

“Thank you for bringing Namjoon over.”

“Don’t thank me, I wasn’t going to have any more disruptions.”

You nod, but the couple of words leaving your mouth have Yoongi instantly leaving the position, racing back to the gym.

“Did you perhaps…miss me?”

“I’ll see you later Namjoon.” Is the only thing he hurriedly mumbles, the room dipping into silence as you whirl around with a giant smile on your lips. The display doesn’t seem to just affect you either, a light smile painting across Namjoon when he watches you return.

Once you sit down, Namjoon starts going through the notes and textbook sections you were having trouble with, something that truthfully surprises you when he explains each and everyone effortlessly. He later explains to you that his swift ability to learn easily makes him a great teacher, a small detail Yoongi was very aware of when he quickly swapped a whole team of members helping you for a single coach.

Time passes by faster than you can imagine, and within a mere handful of days, you begin to realize that you’ve made a lot of progress thanks to Namjoon’s help. You’re also especially grateful that he’s the one teaching you, having you thoroughly understand everything so well that the lingering thoughts of not being able to play doesn’t dwell and settle in your thoughts for far too long.

However, you can say Yoongi’s occasional visits do bring some nostalgia. His disinterested and blank expression concealing the ways he drops over bags of snacks whenever he gets the chance, or when he observes you and then whispers to Namjoon about how you’ve been holding up. It eventually gets to the point that when Yoongi doesn’t show up, you find yourself sending fallen gazes at the door and simply resume back to understanding what Namjoon was talking about with a dreary sigh.

Thankfully with his help, you eventually ace your recent tests and your grades take a turn for the better, shooting up in such a way that only has you ecstatic from the results. So when Namjoon suggests that your progress is a great indication of you returning to the team, you are practically jumping for the opportunity to race back into that gym.

Which is exactly what you do – the forecast of astonished expressions suddenly lighting up in the room at your presence, your roommates and at the time former team members dashing over to you.

“You’re back!!” Taehyung exclaims, grabbing you into a hug that leaves you giggling. Jungkook tosses a basketball over in your direction, a relieved sigh escaping your lips when you’ve truly just missed dribbling it and he sends you a smile.

One by one all the members come over and welcome you back in, instantly lining up when Yoongi aimlessly walks in, dazed eyes trained on the ground. Though when he finally looks up and his eyes rake over his team members, they become bewildered at the sight of you. 

“I passed.” You enthusiastically inform him, waiting for a simple hum of his lips or a slight nod indicating that he knew why you were here. However, Yoongi instead fully smiles, a gummy grin stretching across his lips and eyes crinkling.

This time around, he doesn’t even think he could have possibly hidden the fondness in his smile.

[reynesofcastamere]

Meteor Stream

(A/N: *siiiiiiiiiiigh* I have no self-control, apparently. Warnings for excessive violence, gore and intrusive thoughts. Set a couple of months before ‘Fragile Stars’ and ‘Fractured Comet’. Unbeta’d.) “Hallway is clear.” “Not clear! Not clear!” Calm assessment turns to frightened screams, the sizzle of burning flesh, and a rapid symphony of blaster fire. Maul’s sabrestaff returns to his hand after finishing its’ deadly arc, now putting the weapon to use to deflect and return incoming shots. The faceless drones of the Emperor still believe they have the advantage, even now. Foolish. His squadron shoots them in the back the moment the blast doors open, leaving the corridor littered with their corpses.

He steps over them without a second thought. “Report.” “Long-range communications are jammed and we’ve managed to sabotage or lock down the exits. The outside reinforcements are going to bleed when they show up.” Saxon sounds immensely pleased, even if he’s not in proper beskar’gam at the moment. Maul’s orders had been clear: Standard mercenary gear only. If Imperial intelligence manages to salvage anything out of what they leave behind, it would be that one of the surviving, treacherous Jedi had lead a group of the galaxy’s bottom-feeding muscle in some pitiful attempt at revenge for their Order. Much as the fiction chafes at him, it is useful. “Sliced into their short-range too. Been hearing some interesting chatter.” There is a gleeful edge to Saxon’s tone that immediately makes him suspicious, especially when Kast elbows her comrade sharply in the side. “Is it relevant to the mission?”  “Uh, not strictly speaking, but-”

“Then I do not care. Complete your objectives and keep communications to a minimum.” Maul states curtly, waiting only for their affirmatives before he stalks off. They do not have a great wealth of time to waste. There are plans for certain...experimental prototypes stored here that will prove quite useful, once acquired and modified to his standards. Yet this facility is merely the secondary target, a loud and violent distraction to leech obstacles and security away from the true prize. If his operatives succeed, he will have a backdoor into all Imperial communications for this sector. Information is where true power lies, my apprentice. Not in crude metal or munitions. One of his Master’s many useful lessons, even if the memory of Sidious’s voice has him gritting his teeth. Focus. There are more stormtroopers headed his way, but he also feels something...else. Slightly more distant. Familiar. White-armoured humans pour out into the hallway, taking up position and firing. Two of them are rotated like puppets on a turntable, shooting their comrades and sowing chaos in the ranks as he darts forward, deflection turning to lethal crimson arcs that send severed limbs and heads flying; This is what he was meant to do; Sabrestaff in hand, the Dark Side flowing through him with every pulse of his twin hearts, controlling the intricate flow of violence, discord, and death. His final target whimpers as Maul reaches inside with the Force and crushes his single, rapid-beating organ. Blazing eyes close for a moment in the aftermath, but then-His head jolts up as if catching a scent, lids snapping open and pupils dilating. Tano. She is here, he can feel it. Getting closer with every breath. Rage and hunger war with each other. On one hand, her potential interference infuriates him, on the other...Oh, the thought of her fully unleashed in combat and fighting for her very life stirs his desire to a fever pitch. Mine. No! He is not an animal to be led by such base urges. But at the very least, he does need to intercept her before his people do. It does not take long. Maul seals the door behind him as he enters what appears to be the mess hall. The name is certainly appropriate now, with tables and benches scattered all over the floor and corpses haphazardly strewn across them like broken dolls. He has arrived just in time to watch the tail end of her combat, deactivating his sabrestaff and placing it on his belt. She remains a thing of beauty in motion, arching and twisting through the air, utilizing gravity whenever possible to increase the momentum and power of her strikes. When the last trooper falls, she turns towards him, tense and wary for a moment before recognition sets in and she powers down her weapons. They stand, silent as he removes the hood and mask that have kept his more...prominent features concealed. The sight of her gaze skimming over his form and her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips decides his actions for him. Maul prowls forward, grasping her upper arms once close enough and backing her into the nearest wall. His fingertips glide upwards then, over her shoulders and the lovely column of her neck to cup her face between his hands. Before he can bend his head to kiss her, she’s holstered her ‘sabres and has jumped up into it, legs wrapping around his hips as their mouths meet. He growls into the contact, which is neither shy nor restrained. Her tongue is absolutely wicked when he allows it entry, and he reciprocates her passion with a near-vengeance. Nothing exists outside this moment but the heated press and slide of their lips and tongues, the shuddered inhales and muffled groans. Even with her armour, Ahsoka’s body is remarkably pliant, curving and fitting against him perfectly. He could have her, like this. Hear her scream as they rut together in the midst of carnage. She might not even mind- “We’ve got company. Evac is scheduled in 10 klicks. You have the plans?” Kast’s crisp voice interrupts his...idle musings and extinguishes most of his desire in one fell swoop. He withdraws just enough to give the woman in his arms a questioning look, and feels some relief when she nods. Maul had suspected that the Rebellion might want said schematics for similar reasons, especially if only one agent had been sent to handle the job. “Yes. Be advised that I will not be coming alone.” He is not letting her out of his sight until they can finish this properly, even if business must come first.

“Ah. You found your cuyan. I’ll pass the word along.” Kast responds, entirely unruffled by this development as he glowers. “You are not in the habit of making assumptions, Kast. I would suggest you do not start one now.” Maul’s tone carries a subtle hint of warning as he slips both hood and mask back on. He and Ahsoka had already disentangled themselves and were on the move, with her re-opening the door so that they could exit the mess hall more quickly. “There’s only one darjetii you keep tripping over, Mand’alor. Saxon was trying to tell you about the other intruder with lightsabres the buycise [buckets] were wetting themselves about. Kast out.” Was the dry, almost bored response before she cut off. He can feel a tic developing in his left eye while his companion is trying desperately not to laugh. Bane save him from nosy Mando’ade. “She does have a point.” Ahsoka remarks, still clearly amused. “Unless there’s someone else who’s been assigned to pester you lately?” He knows full well just what she is implying even in jest, and it briefly makes him see red. She is deliberately tempting him with the sly curve of her mouth and the sudden sway in her hips. If they were not in such a hurry, he would- No. Focus. “No.” Maul nearly spits out, but has no opportunity to continue as they become occupied with clearing a path to the pick-up point. They just make it, leaping inside the ship seconds before the docking ramp folds up and closes. Flush with victory and high on adrenaline, he presses her up against a stack of crates, practically devouring her mouth once he’d removed the barriers to that particular goal. One set of her fingers digs into his nape, a low moan vibrating in his chest when she matches his ferocity. “HA! Pay up!” He is going to kill Saxon, usefulness be damned. The full force of that thought is imprinted into his glare, watching his second-in-command wither and turn pale. “Er...I mean, welcome back, Lord Maul.” “Interesting way to debrief. The holocam footage should be illuminating for new recruits.” Kast remarks, expression placid as ever. He has the absolute worst Nihlus-damned luck and his inferiors should be thankful that he cannot punish them for flagrant insubordination while occupied with an armful of irritatingly-compassionate Togruta.  Ahsoka smiles, apparently content despite current circumstances, and he feels something lurch within his chest. Perhaps...He can be lenient, if the situation is allowed to improve. Soon. (A/N: *looks back up at fic* How in the HELLS did this start off with Maul’s Murder Hallway II: Stormtrooper Edition and end with teenage romcom shenanigans? I can’t even...Ah, well. Also introducing Rook Kast Has All Of The Chill, Gar Saxon Has None, And They Both Ship It. Neither Ahsoka or Maul have had their ‘Oh no’ moment yet at this point in the timeline, buuuut I’ve already written the result of Maul sort of having that revelation. Ahsoka’s will be arriving. Eventually. If I don’t keep getting sidetracked. Cheers!)