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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #fjord x reader #caduceus x reader #mollymauk x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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skyeventide · 3 years

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I’m really really fascinated by your interpretation of Maedhros and I’d love to read more of it, I saw your comment on the post about earlier versions and then was super intrigued

-@outofangband

hello @outofangband ! thank you for the ask, I'm going to try putting it into words, though I'm usually much better at fanfiction to explain how I envision characterisation — and unfortunately I don't have any Maedhros fanfic other than To die in the light (which is less about him per se, and more about the ex thrall who interacts with him; but there's a good swathe of Maedhros as well). still, to explain:

essentially, what I meant with that specific comment is that I don't attribute to Maedhros any personal unwillingness to follow along the rebellion, the first kinslaying, or the Oath, certainly not at early stages. what I instead attribute to Maedhros is an aptitude for politics and a willingness to attempt diplomacy routes and handle public perceptions of facts, no matter how facts actually are.

a lot of this is, by necessity, extrapolation. the bare bones of characterisation are there in the text, but the flesh that is built on those bones varies, and can vary a lot. so mypersonal construction is informed by a few external things too. I basically just... don't really vibe with restrained good person Maedhros, cause that feels to me like the easiest route to construct a narrative that's contrasting, depending: his father's; his brothers'; sometimes other characters' (e.g. Elwing). and like, to each their own, but it's not my thing, and I'm not into singling out the good guy out of the bunch as a trope, it simply doesn't call to me.

I'll try to explain my points about early Maedhros (much as I'd love to explain my headcanons for the whole character arc, that would be so long and complicated that I give up without even trying lmao); also I'd like to add that absence of evidence is not evidence of absence but that's where both "personal construction" and "extrapolation" come into place. essentially, this is what I construct and extrapolate, and I'm not really interested in alternatives, I don't like them, or I just disagree with them. and by contrast, people may think the same of this.

firstly, not against the rebellion and the Oath: the early text in @undercat-overdog's post is to my knowledge the only existing text that gives insight with regard to the state of mind with which the Oath was taken. now the Silmarillion says "a dreadful oath", but the Silmarillion has reason to do so by virtue of hindsight. the entirety of the speech to the Noldor, fear and gloom of the moment aside, is a speech that pushes to action: it seems extremely fitting to me that the taking of the Oath itself should reasonably be something with an upwards push, taken without full acknowledgement of its lines and what they may entail when it comes to other elves. because the stated purpose of moving war to Morgoth is very clear throughout, and even though the reality of the war hasn't hit them yet, the awareness of its approach is very present — there is, imo, a readiness for fight and an acknowledgement of intent: killing a deity.

I also feel that "these leapt with laughter / their lord beside / with linked hands / there lightly took / the oath unbreakable" meshes fairly well with the Silmarillion version, where some of this is not kept but the sons still leap at Feanor's side, this time with their swords drawn. Maedhros in this is not called out as any different — in fact, Maedhros is not called out as being different during the feud either: "lies came between them" with regard to Fingon paints the rumour-spreading among the Noldorin factions as affecting them equally, just as it affects Fingolfin ("grew proud and jealous each of his rights and possessions").

the first kinslaying: again maedhros is not singled out as against it. and again, absence of evidence doesn't equal evidence of absence, however, my preferred method in reconstructing my understanding of canon through the skeleton of its textuality is at times trying to make sense of drafts and grabbing the fil rouge of their logical development. and, when there is someone called out as acting against the Noldor during the first kinslaying, that is Galadriel. Maedhros never even is named in this circumstance.

I also think that the modus operandi of the whole situation is a remarkable early calque of the second and third kinslaying. first, other options are exhausted first: the noldor go north, stop in Araman by foot, and decide the crossing of the ice is too costly, not doable, or otherwise not something they're willing to do (more: people directly blame Feanor for the bitter cold they're exposed to, before they have to cross, if they wish to reach Middle Earth); second, there is an attempt to convince Olwe and the Teleri via words; third, a passage that is textually absent from later deeds of the same sort, but which might be potentially inferred, the leader (here Feanor) sits alone brooding on his options; fourth, action. this is the same as what happens with the later kinslayings, even though the first was not meant to be a deadly undertaking in its conception (it was a theft). but, what I mean is, second kinslaying: failed first option, the battle of unnumbered tears, part 2 diplomatic attempt, the message to doriath, part 3, not textually stated, part 4, action. third kinslaying is muddier and I won't attempt to map it perfectly other than: delayed attack to the havens; diplomatic attempt via message; [not textually stated, may be incorporated in the delay]; action.

either way, my point is: whether Maedhros is outright leader or he isn't, there isn't any fundamental difference in the story beats of the kinslayings. inb4 "Feanor and Maedhros have different character traits" — yes, to an extent. and this is where the early draft from that post returns to my aid in terms of personality building: "the eldest, whose ardor / yet more eager burnt / than his father’s flame, / than Feanor’s wrath". now, I feel there's an important qualitative difference in ardour and wrath, but that line exists and the Silmarillion doesn't contradict it: the fire of life burns in Maedhros, the eagerness here mentioned does not fade from this draft to later versions. (inb4 “the circumstances don’t overlap perfectly”: yes of course they don’t. I’m not trying to argue that they do)

now, what happens when it's time to depart with the ships? Feanor takes counsel with his sons, and the decision is to take the loyalists and go to the other side with them first. what happens when Feanor tries to burn those ships? Maedhros gives his famous lines, "what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first". my extrapolation here is this: I think it's obvious that the burning was not supposed to happen; and I think it's obvious that the joint decision of Feanor and his sons, dare say of Feanor and his firstborn heir, was to send back a group and carry the rest of the Noldor to Middle Earth. Feanor says lmao fuck you and the rest is history. Maedhros doesn't take well to that, and here comes forth what I think actually distinguishes him as a character: the cool-headed pragmatism that will imo really come forth post-captivity, the diplomatic abilities, and weighing his options with a level-headedness that his father lacks — and I would like to posit, these options are not weighed in a particularly moral way: he appeals to Feanor about Fingon being carried first because Fingon rushed in and got involved in the kinslaying on their behalf (there may be different readings, but they don't appear to me as textually supported as this — and for the purpose of this I am making no difference between feelings of romance and friendship; the quality of the relationship is here irrelevant, the strength of it has more bearing). it isn't "Fingon because he's my friend", or "Fingon because he's a good guy", it's "Fingon because he killed for us". and after he is on this side, actually keeping the rest of their army, an army they need to effectively wage the war they said they would wage, becomes a cake walk.

also, I go back and forth on this, but: it's possible that Fingon gained his "the valiant" sobriquet before the Darkening; it isn't a given that it was gained in this instance, his Alqualonde attack. but I still feel like it's quite telling, whether the epithet is gained now or before, that it's brought up under these circumstances. the last "valiant" deed from Fingon has been saving the day during the kinslaying. whether Maedhros is saying it to convince his father or because he truly feels it's currently deserved, he's nonetheless saying it.

a last point is the envoy with which he accepts to meet with Morgoh's forces: this is very shortly after Feanor's death, and Maedhros goes in with more warriors than agreed, though it's still not enough to counter Morgoth's own breaking of the terms. Maedrhos in this demonstrates that he's willing to pursue diplomacy despite his father's own words, but he is neither blindly trusting nor a good person who's simply out of his depth: he goes prepared to be the larger armed force and brings none of his brothers with him. it's not enough, but the attempt is there.

which reads to me as an ardour and eagerness that are kept in check by pretty solid abilities to plan, and that do not, really, counter his father's wishes in any truly consistent way. yes, the ship burning, but in the long run having all the Noldor in ME was going to be a benefit; I feel he could have well patched-up the problems without giving up any crown. yes, the parleying with Morgoth, but they just lost their father and despite that the Dagor-nuin-Giliath is a victory: he's coming as the winning party and newly crowned king, and he might, perhaps, find another route to proceed.

so these are more or less the salient points of my personal reconstruction of "early Maedhros". it'd be too long to get into post-captivity and this post is already long lmao, but I hope this made sense to you? and clarified how I understand his character with that early draft included as an aspect.

*all opinions and analyses are personal and are not attempting to establish a true canon. they make sense to me; I’d argue that I try to make them as textually supported as possible with a canon so fragmented. if my readers’ here are different, go on y’all’s merry way.

#Maedhros #quenta noldorinwa #answered.#outofangband

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kpopchangedme · 4 years

Text

Bang Chan | Royal Affair [M]

Your fiancé had always been audacious but you never thought he'd dare sneak into your royal quarters after nightfall...

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You (ft. a very wise Park Jinyoung)

Word Count: 4.7k

Prompt: “If you keep looking me like that I won’t be able to handle myself” [for @marklee-johnnyseo]

Stray Kids | M.list

You barely had time to register your advisor's toupet before ducking behind a stone bench. Muffling your giggles with your palm, you looked back at Chan who wasn’t doing any better. His eyes had creased, glimmering with amusement, and his cheeks were reddened from your little run. Your heart swelled at the lovely sight. Still beaming, he reached, brushing a strand away from your face. His fingers lingered there, trailing your ear until they were against your nape. The moment stretched into infinity before he claimed them back once your silent laughter died down. Your advisor’s calls echoed, still looking for you in the maze of the French Gardens. He was getting more urgent by the minute but you didn’t mind.

There was not much time left for you two anyway.

Chan leaned in and you removed your hand, tilting your head to receive his furtive kiss. Softly, his lips ghosted over yours, the touch barely a graze before it was gone. Keeping your eyes shut, you savoured the moment as your fiancé’s breath climbed on your cheek until it was in the crook of your neck. His other hand slid on the grass, finding yours to intertwine fingers.

“Write to me,” he demanded in a whisper. A shiver travelled your spine.

“Every day,” you gladly promised, “I’ll expect you back at the palace soon nonetheless.”

Chan chuckled softly, nose tickling your ear. “I’ll come before the first snowfall.”

“Winter is so far away,” you whined right back.

“You’ll pray for a cold Autumn, I'm sure.”

“There you go, teasing me again...”

“I will neither rest nor eat before every single enemy of the throne is defeated...” He was only half-joking. “The sooner the rebellion is quashed, the sooner I’ll be called back.”

“Chan, don’t be foolis–”

“Y/n…” He was more serious when he interrupted your scolding and sat, staring at you intently. “Tonight–”

“Princess!” Chan jerked backwards at Jinyoung’s interruption, startled to have been discovered so soon and you jumped up, panting. “Lord Bang!”

“Sir Park!” The young Lord exclaimed with similar disparagement making you snort.

“The Queen has called you to her chambers,” the advisor quipped back, highly unimpressed, and your stomach sank at the news. “While I believe you – Lord Bang – were expected by the House half an hour ago.” Tugging at your dress that had been goofed by your short escape and run through the gardens, you missed Chan’s magistral eye roll. “The Duke doesn’t like to be kept waiting, my Lord,” Walking the fine line between impoliteness and indisputable truth, Jinyoung smiled haughtily. If you hadn’t just been caught fooling around with your fiancé, perhaps you’d have more ground to call out the royal advisor on his attitude problem, but he was an expert at that game. Jinyoung always won when it came to reason.

“Who would dare make my uncle wait to order me around?” Sarcastic, Chan excused himself before hurrying to the House of Lords, not without one last heavy look your way. He'd probably come to the same conclusion as you; fighting your advisor with words was not worth the wasted effort.

Later, Chan's wink assured. Sure, your coy smile replied.

You would see him soon enough.

Before the first snowfall, he had promised.

___

The night had come, you were now sitting in front of your tinted glass, trying to loosen the knot in your stomach as well as the ones in your hair. Your discussion with the Queen and Jinyoung had made you wary, painting the Duke in a new much grimmer light. You couldn't shake the dread of their suspicions.

They'd said you were getting old enough so they didn't see any point in shielding you from the matters of the throne anymore. As they’d voiced their concerns over the power-crazed leader of the House of Lords only one thing had been on your mind.

Jinyoung's usually wise judgement was unforgiving, he was certain the Duke was weaponizing the rebellion to ensure instability throughout your future kingdom. There were only a few months left before your wedding, before your older sister's planned abdication. The people loved you but you were still young, having the support of the House was requisite for your coronation to go seamlessly.

Something only an alliance with one of the most powerful families could ensure.

Your trust in Chan was unwavering and so was your advisor’s, remarkably so. But said loyalty, as it turned out, was the main cause of your worries tonight.

If Chan married you as intended, his uncle's ambitions would be laid to rest... But if your soon-to-be High King was to never return from his latest military assignment...

Something cold stirred in the pit of your stomach.

If Jinyoung was right, and to your knowledge, he was rarely ever not, this could all be a plot by the horrid Duke to have you marry him instead.

Chan was leaving for the frontlines at dawn tomorrow and now you couldn't help thinking back to his wink, that kiss in the gardens, wondering if this would be your last farewell.

A muffled sound right outside your window pulled you out of your anguish.

You held your breath, listening keenly for a few seconds. Another thud, louder and unmistakenly closer this time. Standing in fear, you glanced back at your door. Should you hail the guards? The last time you had been frightened, it’d turned out to be a simple rodent in your parapet. Against disturbing them, you grabbed your letter opener and tiptoed to the large window by yourself. Just as you were leaning over, a formless shadow hoisted itself up making you yelped in terror. Startled, the dark silhouette raised its head and your hand around the paper cutter loosened.

"C-Chan!”

“I thought I saw an early snowflake f...” Seeing your poor state, your fearless fiancé shut up and lost the dumb smile, still crouched on your stone window frame. “By God, were you about to gut me?”

“Princess?”

There was a knock on your door and the fortune weapon slipped your fingers, falling on your carpet. You might be promised to one another, but sneaking into the royal quarters was still a crime punishable by beheading. Without thinking, you shoved Chan behind the embroidered folding screen in the corner of your room. Thankfully just in time, since half a second later your guard busted in, sword drawn.

“My apologies...” Jackson hastily faced back the door when he caught a glimpse of your indecent attire and put his weapon away. “I thought I heard you scream, your Royal Highness.”

“Y-Yes...” you admitted, heart in a frenzy. “I, uh, thought I saw… A squirrel at the window!”

“Oh,” you cringed at the smile in his voice, “Want me to get rid of it? Where–”

“NO!” Jackson froze again when you yelled, about to step closer.

From his fortune hiding spot, Chan didn't seem worried about his head at all. He had noticed something far more interesting. Blushing furiously, you kicked his shin when he reached for your lacy bodice, discarded over the folded screen. He hissed through his teeth at the hit, making the royal guard glance over his shoulder once again, curious.

“Very well then Princess,” lingering suspicion in his eyes, Jackson conceded half-heartedly, “I’ll keep post.” Relieved, you thanked him and he excused himself. As soon as your door safely shut again, you faced the troublemaker, astounded.

Nevermind the Duke's scheming, Chan would end up executed before your wedding and coronation all on his own.

“What are you doing?” He pulled you behind the screen with him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Wondering…” He pressed a tentative peck on your cheek, undoubtedly heated by his antics. “Is this the haven that sees you undress daily?” Chan’s fingers grabbed a silk ribbon, hooked into your abandoned bodice, and you groaned, highly embarrassed. “I feel like I am having the most vivid dream, love.”

“You shouldn’t have come, you need to leave. If we get caught...” Your skin betrayed you, shivering as he pressed a second kiss to your jawline, at the very beginning of your neck.

“Mmm… Don't want to.” He brought his mouth back to your left ear, breath tickling it. “Are you gonna scream for your guard, Princess?”

“Chan…” You sighed in defeat when he cupped your face, running a thumb on your cheek.

This was nothing like your usual escapades in the gardens or dark, empty alcoves. You were both well aware of it. With only your nightgown on, you could feel the warmth of his body and you were sure that if he looked down, he’d see through the sheer fabric.

“I’m leaving in a few hours,” he lamented, and you weren't sure if he meant your bedroom or for his mission. Since you didn’t protest, he kissed your mouth, soft but firmer than earlier that afternoon. There was no one to interrupt this time, and his mouth opened yours, tentatively tasting your tongue. Throwing decency out the window, you pressed closer, and Chan had to step back and lean against the wall to remain up.

“You are mad.” You accused in a whisper, not minding at all.

“Smitten,” he replied, forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His arms slid on the fine fabric, stopping where your lower back curved in.

“This is insane,” your own hands travelled on his neck, “we’ll get caught and you’ll get punished.”

“I would’ve died from not seeing you alone before I left.” His lips pressed yours again. “Execution will be far more pleasing knowing I had you unattended.”

“Don’t tease,” you groaned seriously, tilting your head upwards but he only smiled against your mouth.

“I am not, my love… You are killing me.” His tongue grazed your lower lip stealing you an unfamiliar mewl. Suddenly, Chan pushed you to safety, away from him. He seemed almost frightened by the lewd sound, face coloured, lips glistening, breathless.

It got even worse when he finally looked down at your nightgown, your chest was naked, brushing against the fabric. Even in the candlelight, he could distinguish your shaded nipples, very little was left to his imagination. His gaze darkened as his chin dropped, the faint lighting stretching eerie shadows on his features.

“Do you always sleep in this?” Your modesty screamed to cover yourself, but something about the way he hushed those words, almost like an accusation, kept you from doing so. Your chin bobbed and Chan exhaled heavily, running his fingers through your strands. He hadn’t seen your hair loose since you both were kids. Back then you could spend every day together without any adult thinking much of it. “When are our nuptials again?”

“Chan…” You protested faintly at his humour, but he didn't seem to hear the wariness in your voice. His imminent absence and the dangers ahead weighed you down, but he was still high on the thrill of his illicit stunt.

“If you keep looking at me like that…” He heaved, gaze heavy with more unsaid improper things. This was not the look of a boy, but one of a grown man. “I want you so much I’m contemplating treason right now.”

“Oh, just now contemplating treason?” Tilting your head, you raised a skeptical brow. It was your turn to get caught up in the game “You climbed here knowing very well there would be no chaperone, Chan.”

“I mustn’t have thought that far ahead.” He so obviously lied that you quietly laughed, covering your whole face with your hands. “Y/n…” Chan exhaled, as though reading your mind. “Don't worry, I won’t do anything irrevocable. I’m not that foolish, that's not what I am here for.” Misreading.

“What are you even implying?” Faking offence, you backed away, letting him get the full view of your negligee. “Do I look like a lady of the evening to you, Lord Bang?” It took Chan everything to not follow you, drooling. Oddly bashful, he looked away, unable to see you standing near your large canopy bed like that. It’d be way too easy to lay you right here and then. His ears were scarlet at the simple thought.

“I merely wanted to see you before leaving. I would never suggest anything along those lines, your Royal Highness...” His voice was so ushered this time that you almost misheard. You glanced at the door, knowing full well no one would come back until your morning routine.

“I am aware, Chan.” Playful, you waved him, but he didn’t budge, feet glued to the carpet. “You are not a gentleman to climb into a lady’s room at night. You would never!”

His mouth quivered before he snorted; “I am a nobleman.”

“Besides...” You extended a hand for him to come closer again, the picture of Authority. “I’m saving myself for my husband.”

At that, Chan couldn’t resist, his perfect pout broke into a wide smile. “Lucky bastard,” he mused before finally obeying. Your hands slid up his vest as soon as he got close enough.

“Watch your tongue,” you chastised with a grin, “you’re talking about my future king.”

“Apologies, Princess...” He hummed, bending to claim your lips once more. Breathing him in, you let your fingers run through his dark curls as his tongue tasted yours. You felt lightweight, about to break at any of his touches now. When you began leaning back, pulling him down with you, Chan tugged your wrists off him, startled.

His stupefaction was priceless.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Lay with me.” You requested, dead serious. His mouth fell open in consternation. Chan looked at the door, then at you, then at the window.

“You are the one who's gone mad.” He accused, roles reversed. He had only climbed here for a kiss and a farewell, not your ruin.

“Yes,” you admitted, not the least shameful. “My fiancé is leaving for the frontlines and I am mad he is going without questioning his orders.” And I don’t know if I'll ever see you again.

“I am expected to be the frolicsome one, y/n.”

“Love made me crazy.” When you tugged at him again, he didn’t protest any further, falling above you with a sigh. If Chan had sensed your despair he didn't let it show. Your mattress protested loudly at the unusual additional weight. Both of you became stone, waiting with bated breath to be discovered. Thankfully, no guard burst in to save your honour.

Chan watched in a daze as you went and undo the buttons of his vest. It took longer since your fingers were made shaky by nerves. In the end, he sat back and helped, shrugging the garment to the floor. When he laid on top of you, he was in nothing but his own thin shirt. You both stared at the other in marvel. You were used to furtive stolen touches, the heat of his fingers intertwined with yours... This new warmth was outstanding, having him against you so close to your heart felt fantastic, almost skin on skin.

Chan was the first one to get a hold of himself, pressing closer, he kissed you once more. This time, his kiss was feverish and morphed into many. While your hands kept toying with his curls and exploring his large shoulders, Chan showed more restraint, settling for your face and loose hair. Even with just that, you were affected, a mess of pants and laments. None of you seemed to care to stop.

When you felt how hard he was in his pants, you were unsurprised. You had heard of that through the grapevines, eavesdrop on conversations. You had even witnessed two-person being intimate once as a child. Secretly observed one of your guards and a maid fool around. You'd thought about that day more and more often recently. Imagined yourself bent over that chair, Chan buried under your skirt. You'd wonder what kind of sounds he’d made.

“Hey,” Chan shifted his weight to stand on his elbows, frowning, “are you comfortable?” You shook your head, hands sliding clumsily to the buttons of his pants.

“More...” Your order was almost inaudible but his eyebrows raised in awe.

Chan shifted again, raising above just enough to allow you to undo the first button on his crotch. It was involuntary though because he immediately sat back. You followed, kneeling on the bed to kiss his neck as you kept working on your new task.

“Y/n,” he called, voice shaky, “are you serious?” You only hummed in response, tongue tracing his collarbone. You felt him shudder when you finally managed to access his pants. Your hand wrapped around his manhood but you were unsure what to do from then on. Chan’s mouth opened on nothing, goosebumps visible thanks to the loose collar of his shirt. His tip was leaking on your wrist. Gently, you rubbed his thin skin, making him twitch into your palm in response. You paused again, frightened he was hurt.

“S-Sorry…” Biting your lips, you were about to pull away when Chan's hand swiftly wrapped around yours. Head low, he gulped, guiding your palm over his hard sex. You watched your intertwined fingers move as one in the glow of the candles, gaze wide. For someone who was reticent to go on, he seemed oddly powerless now.

“What should I do?” The young Lord asked breathlessly, cupping your cheek to pull you into an umpteenth embrace. “I'm at wits’ end, love.”

“We don't know when you'll be back.” If.

“Yet we are not wedded.”

You would be in a matter of days if it weren't from this stupid rebellion. Your families had originally planned for a summer ceremony. Jinyoung had even pointed that out today as part of his suspicions, though if he found out you were twisting his logic to consummate your marriage in advance... Your advisor would probably strangle you with his bare hands himself.

"Does it matter that much?” Chan stared at your question, eyes shimmering in the shadow of his brow bone. “What is one more promise in front of the Queen and House gonna change? I am already yours.”

“Y/n…” He made your name sound dangerous. Exhaling in defeat, Chan slid his hand up your thighs, a gesture that left your skin humming deliciously. “I never belonged to anyone else.”

His hands didn't stop there, they kept climbing and soon they reached where your legs and hips met. Hiking smoothly your body and raising your nightgown, Chan let them roam you until you were exposed and in an instant, he was over you. Done with shilly-shallying and obviously giving in to his most primal urges. You were all too eager to welcome him, buried by his large chest in your mattress like all those fantasies. You didn’t mind the slight awkwardness of his prentice's ways or his now sloppier kisses. You took it all, shaking yourself from a strange fuse of fear and elation.

He was the one who finally made his clothes fully vanish, keeping you busy and distracted with his mouth. Then he was after your nightgown, delicately rolling it up until you were fully bare under him; skin to skin. Chan's breath was hitched, weakened when he pulled away to observe your reaction, a curious look on his face.

“I love you,” he confessed and you'd have rolled your eyes if he hadn't said it ever so slightly more seriously than all those other times prior.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, so loud it felt like the guards outside might hear it. You cupped his face, thumb running on his cheekbones and on his earlobes while your fingers danced on his nape. Chan shuts his eyes at the caress, shoulders loosening. You wanted to remember him like that forever, swollen, crazy hair, honey skin, feel his weight over yours and his warmth everywhere. He was yours.

Insanely enough, when his eyes opened again to meet yours, you knew he meant more. “Forever,” your fiancé insisted, lips hooking into his familiar smirk.

The following kisses were diligent and purposeful, making you both almost forget your predicament. Almost, because your crotch was throbbing, burning and demanding like never before. If you could only guess, he was not doing much better. Chan's sex was pressed against you, long and stiff, slowly smearing wetness on your lower stomach. Mechanically, his hips rolled forward with each kiss, rubbing you both torturously. You were in shambles, sweating and feverish under him. You needed more of him so that’s exactly what you begged for, in a raspy whisper you didn't recognize of yourself.

Eager to oblige, Chan wandered down, letting his length fall between your legs. His cock brushed over your sex and though you wanted him, your thighs jerked, only being kept apart by his own. He didn't seem to mind, pressing consoling kisses along your jaw and neck as he slowly ghosted over you again.

Chan hitched your legs higher, the tip of him stretching your entrance. It wasn't as absolute as you’d imagined when he made his way inside you. There was no divine uproar, no intense strain, nothing broken or ruined. Ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered, nothing mattered like his ardent breath on your neck and the feel of him as he rocked into you, just a little. Chan moved slowly, soft throbs as though he couldn't bear to pull all the way out.

You wanted him to keep going, could not have borne it either after being this united. He withdrew and pushed into you again, each time a little deeper until finally, he paused. Chan raised above, out of focus, leaning his forehead against yours. There were no words, so he didn't even try. Under your palms, his shoulders were shaky, unstable, and you held on tighter. His hips were pressed into yours, your bodies banded together in a crowning figure.

When Chan moved again it was almost unplanned, a primitive impulse to keep going, feel you, own you. Deadened sounds that could have come from either of you broke the silence of the room, as reserved and furtive as a secret. He pushed into you repeatedly, breathing hollowing with each thrust. His hips became more insistent, hitting yours. Your legs opened of their own accord allowing him deeper, closer. A sense of urgency you had never felt before overpowered you. You tugged him down to claim his mouth, his breath came in pants, hot in your mouth. Your body had started to rock in rhythm as he grinded into you. Chan's own desperation rendered more evident by the way he moved.

His hand slid down on your thigh, pulling you tighter against him, caging himself. You obliged following his lead, both learning together. His head fell back in the crook of your neck, too heavy to be held.

“I love you,” Chan growled in your ear, so unrecognizable it sent shivers across your skin.

You clung to his neck, carried by the need to possess him. “I love you,” your words were hoarse, weak compared to his but his hold still tightened impossibly around you.

He drove into you harder, greedily. Your fingers threaded together, holding on tight as he pressed you to the bed. Overwhelmed by both the need to escape this building throb and wanting to get more of him at the same time, you arched up. Chan's rhythm was stuttering, coming apart as he lost grip on reality. You tilted your hips, spasming around him, unable to keep going and his body shuddered into yours.

Chan held you tight as he came, roughly crushing you into the mattress. You would've protested at the weight, but nothing had ever felt more right than having him inside you like that. He rolled next to you soon after, length falling out.

Silence shrouded your room as both your breathing lulled, solemn witness to the gravity of your conduct. Trembling, Chan pulled your nightgown down to cover your modesty, burning hand lingering on your thigh. You were still squished, held strongly against him and he showed no desire to depart.

“My Lord,” you murmured into his chest, making it shake in response.

“Yes. I am afraid you are stuck with me now, Princess.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled, hugging even tighter.

“So, you have no choice but to come back now.”

If he hadn’t noticed your burden earlier, your comment certainly raised alarm.

“Y/n,” Chan exhaled, prudent. He gazed down at you, peering through his lashes. “Why would you even say that?” He had meant to say it lightly, but something in his tone hinted he wasn’t so honest. Which he realized right away; “I will be back.”

“Mmm...” You held your breath nervously, “Because you promised.”

He brought your hand to his mouth, “Promise.” He kissed it lightly before frowning, “Only if you behave with Sir Park while I'm away.”

“Jinyoung,” you repeated in disbelief at his seemingly random request, “I never thought I'd see the day...”

Chan laughed hollowly, a little easier. “He's not all bad.”

“You know, he said something similar about you earlier… Though I am certain his opinion would wave in light of recent affairs.”

“He did not.” You heard the smile in his voice, muffled by your hair.

“No,” he laughed once more, mouth now pressed to your forehead, “but I assure you I am very well behaved whenever you are not involved, Lord Bang. Everyone knows I am the moral one.”

“Are you, Princess?” Chan rolled over, raising on his elbow to eye you suspiciously. He had found his new natural position between your legs and your heartbeat quickened. “You have stolen my virtue. The bed isn’t even cold yet.”

“No reasonable soul would believe that.”

You tugged him down for a deep kiss, swallowing his laughter; “What a regent and ruthless thing to say, you are going to be good at this ruling thing.” Chan grinded forward with the kiss and you arched reflectively. He hummed in appreciation, “my Queen...”

“My King,” you found yourself echoing nauseatingly.

His chest vibrated against yours in a strangled sound, "I should be on my way."

His impossibly large grin widened when he witnessed your dissatisfied scowl. Chan gathered his clothes and got dressed under your cold scrutiny. Too fast, his bare legs disappeared into his trousers. His vest was next, covering his thin shirt. You pouted, still a wreck on your mattress in your sheer attire. Your room seemed awfully freezing now that you had gotten a taste of what it would be like to share a bed with your husband.

Chan seemed to notice your shiver when you sat up and he cautiously neared the bed. His index raised your chin to force your gazes to meet.

“I do mean it,” he said with a grave voice you rarely knew him, “listen to your advisor and the Queen. You must be particularly careful until I return.”

“Chan,” you hushed, the name barely coming out, “you are the one who needs to be, the Duke–”

Your warning got stiffled by his lips and he delivered, almost making you lose your mind all over. When Chan straightened again, there was a darker glint to his eyes. Barely there before he blinked it to oblivion, but it was enough for you to know your cautioning would've been vain.

He wasn't a child anymore and he certainly was not a pawn to his uncle.

“Do not write anything too scandalous in those letters you promised, love.” Back to his usual poise, Chan was walking back to his exit. “I am positive Sir Park is intercepting our correspondence.”

This managed to make you grin at least, loosening the knot in your stomach. "Of course."

“That must be why the man loathes me,”

“That is just him being wise.”

Chan chuckled lowly, glancing at your bedroom door as he balanced his feet outside your window. “Before the first snowfall, love.” He winked as you shook your head in disbelief, “Thank you for the farewell favour, I am looking forward to our nuptials, Princess.”

And at that, he was gone into the night, your heart and virtue with him.

The separation didn't loom over you like the proverbial sword of Damocles anymore and it wasn't long before you fell asleep that night.

Because you knew this would not be the last you'd see of your playful lover...

Stray Kids | M.list

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aomineavenue · 4 years

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Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 001. the unexpected.

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc. (Will be mentioned once posted because I don’t want spoilers huehue)

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: ongoing. | series masterlist

↩ intro | the unexpected | a mother’s nightmare ↪

mia’s speaks:

Okay, so before we start the story. I’d just like to explain that this may be a slow burn kinda thing because I fully want everyone to understand yn’s point of view after she ran away six years ago. We will eventually enter Atsumu’s point of view along the story, but for now, I hope you guys like this! Let me know what you guys think!

It had been six years and to this day, it still haunts you. Well, what they say is true anyway. Everything you run away from will eventually continue to haunt you until you decide to face it head-on. Needless to say, you were feeling pretty pathetic. Six years later, and that is still what you felt to this day. Pathetically sad.

The cool air emitting from the air conditioner set up in the living room, mixed with the early morning cold winter atmosphere that engulfed most of Japan with its beautiful white coat, brushes against the patches of exposed skin causing you to shiver slightly, silently cursing to yourself for forgetting to turn the appliance off during the night before. You had awoken too early for your liking, the sun barely peeking as you left the comforts of your bed to grab a cup of coffee. You were never a morning person, only because it was the time where you were often left with your thoughts as the time slot was usually unproductive.

During such unproductive hours, your thoughts usually consumed you. If it weren't about work or the handful of people you hold close to your heart, it often leads you to thoughts of your life six years ago. You wondered what it would be like if you hadn't opted to run away from reality a few years back during your high school years. Your train of thought often wandered to countless possibilities if you had faced your problems earlier on. To you now, running away seemed almost petty. Well, sorta.

Would you have been happy? Would they have accepted things? Would you have grown apart? Would they have pushed you away?

Sadly, you'd never know. This is only because you fear the truth so you refuse to return and seek certain answers that no doubt will only lead to ultimate disaster. You fear the consequences of your actions. To simply put, you were a coward.

You move your gaze away from the hot cup of coffee on the kitchen counter over to glance out of the window from your apartment, watching the dark skies slowly fade away to signal a brand new day on the horizon, the sun painting the sky a bright calming hue. Any minute now, your friends that had decided to crash at your place during the previous night are bound to wake up. Your tiny space had become some sort of safe haven for when they needed to hide away from their own problems, or when they needed you to nurse their drunken states.

Despite it sparking irritation within yourself, you could never bring yourself to deny them. The group had been nothing but a solid help for you the past six years when you fled from Hyōgo and where you settled yourself in the comforts of your late father's best friend back in Kanagawa, Suwa Riku, reconnecting with one of your childhood friends, Suwa Reiji. The loving Suwa family accepted you with open arms, practically calling you their own despite the situation you dug yourself in. Honestly, if they had turned you away, you would have probably ended up in the gutter somewhere in Japan as you had no other place to go. It wouldn't have even shocked you if they were to turn their backs at you when you had first came knocking on their front door, practically drenched from the pouring rain, it was barely enough to conceal the tears.

However, despite the past they barely knew, they accepted you with open arms without an ounce of judgment. If they were curious, they asked politely, and if certain questions were too difficult for you to answer, they respected your need for privacy.

When you had left everything behind in Hyōgo, you wanted to forget. You had deleted your previous profiles from any sort of social media platform that you had and changed your number when you had the chance. To everyone in Hyōgo, you completely disappeared, a mere ghost that residents either often gossiped about or have completely forgotten, it wasn't as if you were well known within the community, but—still, your disappearance had quite the impact. However, since no one has found you yet in the past six years, it probably meant that your mother didn't care. You assumed the same for your handful of friends. You stayed with the Suwa Family in Kanagawa for at least a year and a half, time for yourself and to get adjusted to your new life before you convinced yourself to get a job that will lead you to a somewhat peaceful life, you needed it for support, now more so than ever. Once again, you are in debt when your childhood friend Reiji offered you a job as a manager for their group. Of course, how could you say no? Despite the busy schedule, you managed enough, sometimes giving you the ability to be flexible.

Ah, yes. Suwa Reiji, the lead singer for the famous boy band, Galaxy Standard. The two of you had been friends before you had moved to Hyōgo when you were eight years old. Despite the distance between the two of you, when your father was still around since your fathers were close friends, the two of you did keep in touch. However, as you grew older and found new friends in Hyōgo, the need to keep in touch disappeared almost instantly. Thankfully, despite years of not having any contact with each other, the two of you reconnected, happy to be back in each other's lives.

The past six years, as you tried to find yourself and finally settle independently, Reiji was there.

And despite the exhausting job of managing a boy band, you adored it. It kept you occupied. Despite the boys being famous, you opted to keep your social media platforms private, or rather secret, only your friends and a few of Galaxy Standard's fans knew of it. Although the fans knew of your existence, you wanted your personal life private and thankfully, the management and fans respected that with the help from your friends who are aware of your situation. You wanted to stay hidden. Accompanying the boys in certain events, despite being a girl where it was typical for fangirls to grow upset because of the close contact with their idols, the fans respected you and often held polite conversations with you.

Yes, despite the troubles you have, you wouldn't deny the fact that you were indeed happy, but lately, something in the back of your mind has been irking you, making you feel extremely uneasy for not knowing what it could be. It frustrated you to no end.

"Someone looks like a vein in their head might pop," you hear Reiji tease as he approached. You roll your eyes before turning your attention over to the man that intruded your thoughts. Bless him, you were slowly becoming crazy with all the thinking. However, you weren't going to praise him or anything, despite Reiji's calm and humble personality towards others, he was a completely different person towards you; often teasing, most days very playful.

You snap back playfully, "Good morning to you, too." He occupies the seat across from you, despite stumbling to your apartment the previous night completely drunk from a party, the man before you showed no sign of a hungover, you were used to it by now. "Seriously, you and Shizuma need to find some other place to crash. I don't even know how you roped him into drinking, he was absolutely thrashed when the two of you arrived. Normally, he'd be the responsible one."

"Yeah, but once he starts drinking, there's no stopping him. And Nah," he chuckles as he leans against the counter, a yawn escaping his lips as he spoke midway, "Your place is comfy but also because I get to see the cute faces of my favourite nephews almost instantly, it's a bonus."

"Uncle Reiji!"

"Where's Uncle 'zuma?"

Speaking of the little devils. Both of your attentions snaps at the two identical figures that stepped out of their shared room and into the vicinity that you and Reiji occupied.

The sight of their sleepy states warmed your heart at just how cute they have grown. Ah, yes. Your two boys. One of the two reasons why you preferred to keep your personal life, private. Of course, there was also Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro to think about. Your precious boys, your utmost priority. Everything you could ever want and more. They were the two that you could finally call home. As much as you know that your existence wouldn't be much of a big deal to the fans since you weren't entirely famous, you refused to let your boys get caught into any unnecessary drama that your friends have often got themselves into, so despite having famous uncles, you kept them shielded whenever you can. Of course, the fans of Galaxy Standard were aware of the existence of your little boys, often swooning when one of their idols were photographed with one of the twins. Needless to say, it always made the fans crazy, but you were grateful that the fans were respectful and never crossed the line whenever your boys were included.

Of course, the main reason why you wanted everything to be kept private was that you didn't want certain people to know the secret you've worked hard to stay hidden, but Japan was big, wasn't it? You often reassured yourself that it was impossible for paths to cross.

"Why are you looking for your Uncle Shizuma when I'm here?" Reiji asks, feigning hurt in his expression as both six-year-old boys approach, yawning and sleepily rubbing their eyes.

Atsuhiro, or rather Hiro, as he liked to be called sighs as he shakes his head at his uncle, "But Uncle 'zuma is the best."

"Now you take that back young man!" He scoffs as he playfully places his hands on his hips, "Who do you think raised you?"

The little boy tilts his head to the side as he watches his uncle in amusement of his antics, "Uncle 'zuma helped too! Mommy says he even helped out changing diapers which you didn't do!"

"But Uncle Reiji's the best! He always plays with us!" Atsuhiko, Hiko, retorts as he rushes over to his uncle to give him a high five, "Mommy, Uncle Rei said he's going to teach us some tricks like he did back then in Stride! Isn’t that cool?"

You send a glare towards the man that was mentioned by your son, who only avoided your gaze as he ruffles your son's hair, "Maybe something else. You can ask your uncles to teach you how to sing and dance like they always do, just not that dangerous sport."

Atsuhiko groans in protest while the other twin approaches you, wrapping his short arms around your leg, "Do you think they can teach us volleyball?"

"Oh yes!" Atsuhiko yells out happily agreeing with his twin, his dismay for his mother's earlier disapproval flying out the window as he looks at you with hope in his eyes, "Volleyball is so cool! Can we mommy?"

Almost instantly, a lump formed in the back of your throat at the mention of the mere sport, a reminder. It wasn't as if you were against the sport, but what caught you off guard was the interests your boys clearly showed. How ironic.

As you raised the two, whether at times you were alone or had help, you often pushed the twins away from certain reminders of your past. What was that? Anything that reminded you of your past in Hyōgo was pushed aside. It was rather petty, you knew that yourself but as the twin boys grew throughout the years, it didn't get unnoticed how their features screamed of the one and only Miya Atsumu. Well, you expected that—he is the father of your twin boys, but you silently prayed during your pregnancy and as you raised them that their features would come from your side of the family instead of his.

But of course, somehow you've upset the Gods for your pettiness. This was your consequence. A daily reminder. There's no denying of your love for your boys. They were your life and you wouldn't change anything because then they wouldn't exist. However, you've grown hateful of your past as years gone by. Your hatred for the awful memories had made it more difficult to forget.

You expected the interest in volleyball before they even mentioned it to you today. The clues in their shared room were enough for you to pick up that they were most likely to take after their father in a sense, not that they know of such.

Earlier, about two years prior when they first started in kindergarten, it was inevitable for such to talk about your families, you remember experiencing such back then despite it being foggy. They returned home, despite being young, they were smart for their age and bombarded you with questions without holding back; wondering about who was their father and where he was, or if Uncle Reiji or Uncle Shizuma were their fathers. Back then, you couldn't bring yourself to tell them the truth or even utter a single word about the man missing in their lives.

You experienced a whole week of silent treatment from your two boys because you refused to answer, their stubbornness hard as a rock. You refuse to answer their questions? Well, they, of course, fight back by refusing to talk to you. Oh, children, right? Of course, Reiji and Shizuma were a big help because to the twins, the two of your friends were practically the only father figures that they had. Since Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro refused to utter a word to you, they tried their best to talk to the twins, avoiding certain parts that they were too young to know about, and explained that when they grew up and they were ready to know, you would eventually let them know.

Bless the heavens because, after that, your two boys returned to their loving yet sneaky nature, never asking or mentioning about their father again. However, the majority of the conversations about their father were kept in secret between the two. Atsuhiro wanting to know more while Atsuhiko pushing the idea away, but not wanting to upset his brother, he keeps his dismay of their missing father from Atsuhiro, who grew more eager to find his father as years go by.

"What's with all the excitement at such an early hour? You two always have so much energy. What's this I hear about wanting to play volleyball?" Shizuma saves you from answering and you share a silent communication to send your gratitude for the interference.

Atsuhiro breaks out into a grin at the sight of his favourite uncle and immediately approaches him, "Uncle 'zuma, do you know how to play volleyball? Can you teach me and Hiko? Please?"

Shizuma chuckles in response, ruffling the little boy's messy locks, "I'm not that good but if you and your brother are serious about wanting to learn volleyball, I know a friend that may be of help."

"You do?" Atsuhiko asks, excitement in his voice.

You repeat, arching a brow in curiosity, "You do?"

"Well he's more of Asuma's friend than mine but we're good acquaintances," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, "I'll see what I can do for my two favourite nephews."

"Yes!" The twins exclaim happily at the same time before running towards each other to share their routine handshake.

"Now that's settled," Reiji starts, clapping his hands together to grab the attention from everyone in the room, "Aren't you two supposed to be getting ready for your day with Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa? You wouldn't want to keep those two waiting, I heard they have a really big day planned ahead for the two of you."

Ah, Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa. Reiji's parents, and well—your substitute parents and the twins' substitute grandparents. Despite not being biologically related, they treated the three of you like a real family. They helped you throughout your pregnancy and at the same time raising your two boys. They did what any grandparent would do, discipline and spoil them. You wouldn't change it for the world. The love they had for your boys was overwhelming, and Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro completely adored their substitute grandparents just the same.

Atsuhiro releases a gasp from his lips at the realization of the big day, he had been excited, to say the least, rushing to get prepared whilst Atsuhiko frowns and stays rooted in where he stood, "But today's Uncle Asuma's birthday! I want to go too!"

"No can do, kiddo." Shizuma shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest; an indication the twins are familiar with that meant it was not up for any negotiation. "You know this party isn't for little boys, your Uncle Asuma already told you this, but he promised to take both of you out tomorrow to make up for it. You and Hiro can celebrate his birthday tomorrow, I promise."

Atsuhiko releases a dramatic sigh, throwing his little hands in the air as he stomps his way to get ready, knowing that if he were to argue, he would inevitably lose. Oh well, he thought to himself, Grandpapa and Grandmama are the best anyway.

"I don't know how you do it, 'zuma." You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Those two have become spoiled to the core because of all of us, yet when it comes to you and their Grandpapa Riku, they suddenly become little angelic-slash-monsters who obey every command."

Shizuma lets a grin spread on his lips, "Some things can't be taught. Anyway, I'll get going. I have to help prep Asuma's party. I'll see you guys there."

"I'll get going too," Reiji declares as he stands up from his seat, "Don't back out of the party, I'll drag you there if I have to, I swear."

You roll your eyes at them, more so at Reiji than Shizuma, shooing them with your hands as you follow them to the front door, "Yeah, whatever. I'll be there. Stop worrying."

Dropping the twins at the Suwa Residence after eating lunch together was often smooth sailing as the twins always adored spending the day with their substitute grandparents. However, Atsuhiko expressed his dismay of being left behind once again insisting of wanting to attend his Uncle Asuma's birthday party, you had to pry his hands away from his grip on your leg. Thankfully, you had help from his Grandpapa Riku, and after waving goodbye to a smiling Atsuhiro and a scowling Atsuhiko, you were off to get a few errands done before heading to Asuma's apartment to celebrate his birthday, taking your sweet time to avoid your favourite, yet rowdy bunch of friends, only because they probably wanted you to help them set up the party, which you didn't want to take part in.

Honestly, you could have chosen otherwise but decided against skipping the errands that would most probably pile up despite the break Galaxy Standard was having. Plus, you may or may not have, forgotten to get a gift for Asuma and if you showed up empty-handed, well, you weren't going to hear the end of it.

Hours went by as you got through your list of errands, you were left with messages and certain phone calls that you ignored throughout the day, you were finally able to buy a suitable gift for your friend. All there was left to do was show up to the party that was apparently already in full swing. Thankfully, your friend's lavish apartment was around the corner.

You waited for the traffic lights to signal the safe journey across the busy streets, your grip on the neatly wrapped gift on one hand slightly tightening against you as you shiver from Japan's cool winter breeze bustling through the air, something you're still obviously not very fond of. For as long as you can remember, you hated the cold. It was a bitter reminder of the times you were utterly alone. You always preferred the warm temperature, whether it was from a fireplace or someone else, it kept you from going numb, made to remind you of reality.

The sound of your phone ringing startles you from your thoughts and you pull the device from one of your pockets, Reiji's name flashing across the screen. You grumble to yourself of his impatience before answering the call, bringing the device up to press against your ear. Before you could utter a word, he beats you to it in a demanding tone, "Where are you? You're late."

"Hold your horses, Rei." You answer in irritation as you look up ahead to check the traffic lights that still had the signal to stay where you were, "I'm almost there. Be patient." However, you couldn't process the words Reiji muttered next from the other line. Someone calling out your name catching your attention, your eyes widening slightly at the realization of who it was. Immediately, you cut off Reiji's rambling from the other line and ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket as you feel your shoulder tense at his presence standing next to you. "Osamu."

"So it is you," he blinks in disbelief, his eyes drinking your features bit by bit to check if he was dreaming or not, "You look different, I barely recognized you if it weren't for your voice, but it really is you."

You nod stiffly, "I suppose I would since it has been six years and all. What are you doing all the way here in Kanagawa?"

Suddenly, a memory flashes across your mind. A memory of earlier in your apartment, Shizuma mentioning a friend who knew how to play volleyball. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Ah, I'm actually checking a few spots around here for my business," he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "So Kanagawa, huh? This is where you've been hiding all this time?"

Your lips press into a thin line, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Of course, you would, you're practically hiding a really big secret. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to chat. I have plans and my friends are already egging me on for being late."

The traffic lights save you from a painful conversation, signalling that it was safe to cross but before you could take a step away, you feel him grasp onto your shoulder to pull you back. You turned your head to face him, ready to fight him off but you halted your actions at the sign of sadness his features displayed. You took the time to examine his features, your heart practically leaping as you were able to take in everything unlike seconds ago where you were purposely trying to leave. Of course, back then when you were friends, you considered Osamu as handsome. I mean, why wouldn't you? You were practically in love with his twin brother who you found extremely handsome at the time. However, that wasn't what ran through your mind. You began thinking that Atsumu probably looked just as good, and suddenly you felt a shitload of bricks slamming right down on your shoulders, the feeling of panic surging through your veins, wondering if Atsumu was around too that you failed to notice Osamu pull out a small card from his wallet, holding it out for you to take. He seemed to read your thoughts as he spoke to reassure you, "Don't worry. He's not here, but..." He trails off, looking at you with hope in his eyes, "take this, it has my number on it. When you're ready, I'm here to listen. I always have been. I want to know what you've been up to. I want to catch up."

At Osamu's reassurance, you feel your shoulders slowly relax as you take the card from him, your eyes scanning the printed numbers and words, Ongiri Miya, making you realize that he hadn't pursued Volleyball like his twin often rambled on. You flicker your gaze up to meet his once more and he gives you a small smile. You slowly nod as you slip the card into one of your back pockets, "I have to go."

He watches you leave, the smile he had instantly morphed into a frown as he watches you walk away once more and eventually disappear from his line of sight. He silently prayed that you would contact him when you could, wanting to reconnect with you after all these years, to know why you left. He promises to himself that when you do decide to reach out, that you wouldn't mention anything to his idiot brother.

He noted the shift of your body, how your shoulders relaxed at the mention of someone not being around, he knew that you had thought about his brother. And it only confirmed his suspicion of you leaving because of what his brother had done six years ago, the last day people saw you in Hyōgo. However, something still was missing, he still craved an answer. You couldn't have left just because of Atsumu's actions. So what was it?

Either way, he was determined to find out. You may have not known it then, but Osamu cared about you a lot. However, due to you being blinded by his twin brother's light, you failed to notice. He wasn't going to let you go this time, he'll find a way to get you back in his life. His phone blares his ringtone, snapping him out of his thoughts. As he brings his phone up, he grumbles underneath his breath at the sight of his brother's incoming call. Speak of the devil.

"What is it?"

He hears his brother whine from the other line, "Can't I just call my brother once in a while?"

"You only ever do that when you're in trouble or need something," he retorts with a roll of his eyes.

Atsumu laughs in response, "How'd the shop searching go? Anything interesting so far? When you coming back?"

"Hold up, what's with the questions?" He laughs at the sound of his brother's enthusiasm. It's true, they often disagreed with each other but when it came to supporting each other's passion, they were always there for the other. He shifts his gaze over to where you stood moments ago, a smile ghosting his lips at the memory of the brief conversation the two of you shared. "Yeah, maybe something interesting here in Kanagawa after all." He listens to his brother speak excitedly over the phone causing him to shake his head at the ridiculous tone. "Oh? He's here? Maybe I can hit him up..."

After the encounter with Osamu, you practically quickened your pace to Asuma's apartment, your heart beating erratically. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until you were gasping for air. Luckily, the majority of Asuma's guests were preoccupied that they hadn't noticed your entrance. You were sure you looked embarrassing looking extremely flustered.

You hear your name being called and as soon as you caught your breath, you notice Shizuma calling you over, Asuma and Reiji along with someone you seem to recognize but can’t seem place in your mind. Walking over, your lips curl up to a small smile as you extend your arm to hand over Asuma's gift, "Happy Birthday, 'suma. Here's my gift."

Asuma's eyes instantly light up, retrieving the gift from you, "I was going to get mad at you for being late but since you have a gift for me, I'll let it slide. Did the boys pick this for me?"

"Gee, aren't I lucky." You drawl sarcastically, a laugh being shared within the group as you shake your head, "No, you think those two would let me give them your gift? They said they'll give it to you tomorrow when you take them out. Hiko was upset when I left him with his Grandpapa Riku, though. He had this cute little scowl." Your three friends laugh, imagining their nephew in their heads. You flicker your attention over to the person who was watching you interact with the others with amusement, you smile at him politely. "I'm sorry. How rude of me."

"Oh, right!" Shizuma speaks as soon as your name slips out of your mouth to introduce yourself, holding out your hand for a shake which he grabs, "This is the friend I was talking about that can teach the boys volleyball."

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" He starts with a grin as he shakes your hand firmly, his enthusiasm infectious. Releasing his grip on your hand, he sends a little wave, "Bokuto Koutarou I'm a friend of Asuma's. Shizuma here was just telling me about your boys and how they were interested in volleyball and I wouldn't mind helping them out."

Asuma adds, "He's a professional volleyball player for Japan's V.League in Division 1. MSBY Black Jackals was it?"

You watch as the man who you thought kind of resembled a horned owl nod his head towards Asuma's direction, something about him oddly familiar. You hum along, eyes widening slightly at the information. "Professional? Wow, colour me impressed. Wouldn't you be too busy to train two six-year-olds, then?"

"I'll speak for everyone who knows her two boys that they're absolute devils," Reiji chuckles with a shake of his head, "Fast learners though. We'd teach them how to run like in Stride if we could but their mother over here refuses."

You scoff, "Because that sport can be dangerous!"

"Stride, huh?" Bokuto butts in, interested. "But yes, I have some time to teach. I'm sure they'll be okay. I owe Asuma anyway. I don't mind."

The corners of your mouth twitch to an unsure smile. You didn't know if you were going to go through with this if you were honest, but it isn't exactly something you can reject as your three other friends were present, and they would do anything for their favourite set of twins, spoiled rotten those two were.

"Don't worry," Shizuma claims, nudging you with his elbow as he gives you a reassuring smile, "They'll be in good hands, one of us will find the time to attend their little training. We're not as busy lately due to our little holiday anyway."

You hum softly as you continue to examine Bokuto under your gaze before something in your mind clicks, eyes widening ever so slightly. “I think I know you! Weren’t you at the Christmas Party last year that Reiji held?”

He nods with a grin, “I was actually. Asuma invited me and I went along with a couple of friends. Funny how we’ve crossed paths before and yet we’re only meeting now, ay?”

“Ah, yeah. I think I remember now, sort of.” you laugh, nodding your head in agreement, “That party was crazy anyway. I don’t think anyone wants to remember that crazy night. Especially Reiji.”

The man mentioned scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s why whenever I plan parties it’s never at my place anymore.” He shudders at the memory, “Drunk bastards doing the nasty at my place. And that model’s awful moaning could be heard even when the music was blasting.”

You scrunch up your face in disgust, “Thankfully I left early then,”

An awkward laugh escapes Bokuto’s lips as he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “Yeah about that...”

“That was you?” you and Asuma let out a gasp, eyes widening while Shizuma bursts out laughing. Reiji on the other hand, obviously not amused at the information.

“Dude, what the heck!” Reiji exclaims, brows furrowing, “The least you could have done was choose a guest bedroom rather than on my own bed!”

“Oy!” he laughs, holding his hands out, “I didn’t say it was me. I was just saying I know who it was. It was one of my friends, but I’d rather not say who.”

Asuma joins his older brother Shizuma in laughing at the side while you try your best to calm down Reiji by tugging on his arm. “Anyway, Bokuto. I think we should talk about the schedule of your training with my boys. I’m sure they’ll be excited when they find out someone will be training them volleyball.”

Somehow, a part of you was screaming at you, telling you that this wasn't going to end well. Of course, you didn't realize at the time that you would come to regret such a decision, not like you had any say against it either. Your little boys were spoiled rotten and often got their way whether through innocent means or their sneaky tactics. It didn't help that their group of uncles were wrapped around their little fingers.

Ah, yes. You hadn't realized it yet, but it was the start of a roller coaster ride.

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu imagine #atsumu imagines #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #atsumu miya x reader #miya x reader #miya imagine #miya imagines

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Intro to.....????

Hello everyone! Been awhile. It's been busy and really hot for me so it's hard for me to sit down to write sometimes.

But it's here!

E here with the next chapter and the final intro character chapter! The intro chapters were supposed to introduce everyone to the main and important characters of the story, who will be driving the main plots and stories though sometimes i might use new characters or different background characters. So beyond this chapter will be more worldbuilding, story arcs and oneshots. just stories about this world and its characters. I might even use some of my friends ocs i accidentally convinced them to make for my world. It was so much fun!

Alright that's it for me! Stay safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, take care of your loved ones, get vaccinated if you can, push to release the vaccine worldwide and have a great week! Enjoy! feel free to leave likes, feedback *I love feedback and comments even if it's just a line you liked or a scene you found awesome or funny* reblogs and tell your friends! Promoting myself still feels weird haha. E is out! Byeeeeee

If you want an easier time to read the story and since I’ve been shadow banned from tumblr for like ever now, here’s the newest chapter on ao3 right over here!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/82583164

If you are interested in my work and want to read from the beginning check it right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

Interested in my full catalog? https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Jackdaw is a powerful crime lord in the magical side of Newton Haven. He is feared more than respected and he doesn't care who he has to crush to accomplish his goals. So when his lucrative club is burned to the ground with his guards piled neatly outside, battered broken but alive, he takes it personally. Of course who is crazy enough to burn down a club of a notoriously dangerous crimeboss? A mercenary paid to do so.

Obviously.

----------

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of footsteps pacing back and forth thundered throughout the silent room.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

No one said anything. No one could say anything given the disastrous failure of the night. It hadn’t mattered if they were physically present at the site of offense or that they were scattered across town in one of many locations vital to the boss’s business: Someone hit them and the boss was itching to hit back.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Alright” A voice spoke up, smooth yet cold.

The room was already quiet but now the air filled with a frighten tension.

The boss whirled around from the massive window he’d been staring out of, eyes narrowing on the defeated group of guards who averted their gaze from his.

The few still conscious were in varying states of dishevel and injured: Broke bones, nasty bruises, clothing ruffled and torn in places. Not a single one had gone unscratched from the assault on the club earlier that night.

Jackdaw was not pleased.

No one in the room knew much about their boss despite devoting their lives to his cause: He was in his mid 30’s, his nose uneven after being broken in a fight though no one could agree what he had been fighting. Long wavy raven black hair ran down his shoulders while his dark brown eyes glanced about, icy and piercing.

“I’m a little confused.” Jackdaw said with a menacing drawl as he approached the closest guard “Mind answering a few for me?”

The guard nodded shakily.

Jackdaw smiled, patting the guard’s cheek in a mocking manner “Good, good. Now let me paint the picture: My club is currently a smoky, charred corpse of its former self. Yes?”

The guard gave another timid nod.

Jackdaw puckered his lips thoughtfully “Okay, okay. How many guards on duty?”

“8.” The guard murmured fearfully.

“Okay. How many standing?”

The guard shot a nervous glance to the other three. They found the floor more interesting.

“F-four.”

Crack!

The guard’s limp body tumbled backwards and laid still on the ground.

Jackdaw flexed his fingers “Wrong! I count three. You!”

The next in line flinched but stared their boss in the face “Sir?”

“Since that one.” Jackdaw lazily motioned to the unconscious man “is sleeping on the job, you tell me what happened.”

“O-okay.” The next in line mumbled “Well the night started same as any other….”

----------

The Gray Waves nightclub brought in a decent crowd for a weekday: Dozen or so people lost in the dim shadows with only a disorienting array of ever changing lights for company. Drinks served and the booming, thundering sounds of music set the chaotic mood clubs thrived on.

Nice peaceful night.

Floyd, the current storyteller, had been watching from the second floor landing when he noticed the gathering of guards below. The eight guards on duty were often out and about performing their different duties ranging from gate keeping the door to making sure nothing disturbed the vibe of the club. The fact five of his coworkers were huddled together should’ve been the first red flag.

The group talked in hushed tones despite the deafening bass and techno music the DJ’s speakers blared out. Once or twice, someone glanced to the far end of the club. Floyd looked and found the source of meeting.

Someone in their forties was loudly drinking at the counter tucked in the shadowy part of the club: It was impossible to tell who they were from this distance but they clearly were enjoying themselves: Head tiled back with messy, wavy salt and pepper hair. They gestured to the bartender (A wonderful woman named Carolyn who unfortunately had school debt to pay off and mob work was the best paying.) excitedly as their drink spilled onto the floor. They wore a large, tattered dark green trench coat that had seen better decades with faded worn out blue jeans. Their black boots were caked with grime and dirt that dirtied the floor. The only thing remotely new was their black t-shirt with some words in white font.

Floyd understood what the problem was: Clubs thrived on their popularity and image. People wanted to feel like they were special, all access stars to the hottest place in the city. With such a reputation came a mighty need to uphold said rep. No offense to whoever was having fun over there but with that look, it might send the wrong message and no amount of cash would ever change that.

Evidently a plan was reached as the meeting broke up. Two guards remained behind, returning to watching the room as the pit boss made his way over to the hapless customer, flanked with back up.

It was oddly satisfying watching the pit boss work: He gracefully slid in and out of crowds, slipping through the lost dancers like a snake treading through water. He motioned to the others to wait then made his way to the person.

The person was singing something at the top of his lungs. Drink, clink or something like that. Maybe it was the song playing at the time but Floyd hadn’t been paying attention to that at the time.

Trench Coat slipped Carolyn something and she laid a bottle of alcohol on the counter beside them: Vermouth? Absente? Vodka? One of those probably.

She nodded gratefully and disappeared into the back.

Floyd frowned at the red flag number two he had just seen: Carolyn was a pretty woman and was told more or less to just do as the customer asked be it answering questions or a reasonable request that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. Of course this was with the strict rule of not to leave the counter unattended.

At the time Floyd thought it was weird, not yet realizing what was about to unfold.

The person poured the bottle directly into their mouth, shaking their body to the catchy beat poorly. Whoever they were could not dance to save their life.

The pit boss, Malcolm, closed the distance between himself and his prey. He snuck closer and closer, the unaware customer too lost in their antics to noticed. Malcolm reached out for their shoulder and…

The thud was loud enough to cut through the noisy club and got the attention of everyone present.

Before Malcolm could even tighten his grip, the person struck: They whirled around, grabbing Malcolm’s head and smashing it into the counter. As Malcolm sunk to the floor, limp and unmoving, the person turned to shoot a smug grin towards the guards.

“I’m on the floor, floor! I love to dance!” They sang, one hand outstretched to the sky, the other gripping the bottle upside and draining its contents onto the counter.

The back up drew their weapons, standard issue nightsticks, and made their way forward.

“So give me more, more, till I can’t stand.”

They emptied the bottle, their green eyes never leaving the approaching guards.

“Get on the floor, floor, like it’s your last chance.”

They chucked the empty bottle into the wall of drinks, broken glass and different alcoholic drinks spilling onto the floor and mixing together.

“If you want more, more, then here I am!”

They pulled a match from within their coat pocket and lit it with the backside of their boot. Without looking, they threw the match over their shoulder and smiled as a raging flame broke out behind them.

The club goers were slow to realize what was going on but the remaining guards, Floyd included, mobilized to action.

Before anyone could react, however, an unexpected shrill shrieked throughout the building: The fire alarm designed to be the most annoying and loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

Even though it had been a slow night and only a dozen or so people were here, the customers panicked with a surge of three times that number.

Screams and yells filled the air as bodies shuffled about in a mad dash. The guards were thrown about, tossed this way and that while the lights, alarm and music worked together to confuse everyone.

Luckily the club was deserted within moments, leaving only security and the troublemaker.

The person hadn’t moved an inch despite the increasingly raging blaze behind them.

The back up pair approached carefully, unsure what this person was capable of.

All of them really had no idea.

The person raised their hand to the sky, belting with full force “LET’S DO THIS ONE MORE TIME!”

Without warning, silence and darkness filled the club: The fire alarm and music died suddenly. The lights followed a moment later but the raging flames, growing hungrily, remained. Floyd’s eyes watered with a sharp pain, the stuffy air and sudden shift in lighting too much for him

Floyd paused his story, uneasy growing at the sight of Jackdaw’s tightened jaw. The poor lad could actually see the veins pulsing with barely contained rage on his boss’s forehead.

“And why did the power go out?” Jackdaw asked through clenched teeth “No one was watching the power? Or the fusebox? Not a single person was guarding what I pay them to guard?”

Floyd remained silent, unsure how to answer that. He was just one of the lower rank and file guards: He got told what to do and he did it.

“Well? I’m waiting Floyd my boy! Why did the power go out?”

Floyd felt the beads of sweat run down his neck.

“Umm sir?”

Floyd nearly collapsed as one of Jackdaw’s techies nervously stepped forward, a loaded video on a tablet in hand.

Jackdaw blew a loose strain of hair out of his face and took a moment to slick back his hair. The vain gesture was enough to allow him to regain some level of composure as he snatched the tablet from the techie. With a grunt, he pressed play.

The video was short: It was a camera feed set up to watch over the fusebox to prevent tampering. Two guards were gesturing to the box, idly chatting with somebody in a red jumpsuit with a clipboard in one hand and a toolbox in the other. The back of uniform had the words “Newton Haven City Maintenance” scrawled across it in some rather hard to read font. The guards laughed out loud, jokingly patting the stranger’s shoulder before leaving frame. The city worker opened the fusebox and began tinkering without anyone stopping him.

The tablet crunched nosily as Jackdaw’s grip sent a ripple of cracks across the screen.

He turned to the techie.

“It was a routine check up.” the techie sputtered out “Our guards called it in this afternoon. Said there was an official letter with stamps and signatures and everything!”

“Did you check with me?” Jackdaw snarled “Because I pay the city specifically so they don’t send anyone to the club. Because of my illegal business practices that I perform there.”

Floyd could see the techie’s shoulder slump, whispering quietly “You were in a meeting….”

Jackdaw growled furiously but returned his attention to the nearly broken tablet.

It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes for the mysterious city maintenance worker to finish. They slammed the fusebox closed, doing a little jig before checking the contents of their toolbox and went on their merry little way.

Jackdaw’s blood froze as the figure gave a cheeky wink to the camera, knowing exactly where it was despite the magical wards in place to keep it invisible.

“Savant.”

An eerie emptiness replaced the hostility in the room.

The fight disappeared out of Jackdaw, leaving only an intense sense of dread and paranoia.

All this was lost on Floyd, who saw the troublemaker’s face and couldn’t help but blurt out “That’s them! The one who beat up Malcolm and burned the club down!”

Jackdaw chuckled darkly “Oh. Oh this makes sense. No one wonder you all get your ass kicked six ways to Sunday. Someone sic’d Savant on me. Ya’ll never had a chance against them.”

Floyd shuddered, the memory of how brutal and efficient Savant had been against them: Grown men dragged kicking and screaming into the shadows, the crunchy noises of bones broken, bodies falling down and yells stopped mid-shout. He still remembered Savant standing over him, nightstick in hand, whistling cheerfully as they brought down the weapon and sent him into unconsciousness.

“Alright!” Jackdaw clapped his hands “Lock it down!”

Everyone glanced towards one another, unsure what exactly the boss meant.

“LOCK IT DOWN!” the snarl that escaped Jackdaw’s lips sent goosebumps down everybody’s spine “NOW! I WANT THIS PLACE SEALED UP NICE AND TIGHT!”

“But we’re 14 stories up...”

Techie flinched as Jackdaw whirled around, eyes blazing with unrestrained rage and impatience “You deaf? I said lock down the building or so help me I’m going to use you as a human shield when they start coming for me.”

Techie opened his mouth when an unexpected sound filled the silence: A muffled, cheeky yet tacky melody of a cellphone ringing.

Glances and gazes looked about trying to find the source of the disturbance. Floyd was baffled when he realized it was coming from inside his coat pocket. Nervously, he reached within and slowly pulled out a palm sized flip phone, the kind hadn’t been used in decades.

Jackdaw’s eyes widened with fear and alarm as he snatched the phone from the poor guard with inhuman speed.

“It’s them!” Jackdaw’s voice was manic “IT’S THEM!”

The mobster was torn about what to do next: Answering meant playing right into Savant’s hands and whatever the mercenary had plan. On the other hand, not answering would no doubt annoy them into far worse retaliation.

With a hard shallow, Jackdaw answered with an uncharacteristically shy “Hello?”

He could feel his heart screech to a stop when a bored, almost nonchalant voice replied “S’up.”

Jackdaw threw as much charm and cheer into his voice “Savant, buddy! Pal!”

“Don’t.” the voice sighed tiredly “It’s pathetic when the begging start. You’re a big, bad mob boss. Act like it you dumbass.”

“Fine” Jackdaw let go of any sense of civility “Good old threats: if you so much as show your face around…”

“Ugh too much in the wrong direction” Savant replied, seemingly uninterested in what the mob boss had to said “You people are all the same: False bravado and overcompensating. It’s embarrassing. Just say you’re scared of me and we can move on.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Jackdaw couldn’t help but feel irritated “Oh is that what you want? Get your jollys when powerful people admit they’re afraid of you? You think you can….you can…”

Jackdaw paused, unsure if his ears were working correctly.

“Are you eating?”

“Hmm??” the sound of smacking lips and chewing was the mercenary’s response for a few moments “Oh yeah. Get hungry when working. Normally I’d be all for the theatrics but it’s been a long night what with fucking with your fusebox, burning down your club, planting the phone on a guard. It’s like 3 in the morning dude.”

Jackdaw bit his lip angrily, a single drop of blood running down his chin “It is 3 in the morning and I’m very tired so I’d very much like to conclude our business. How much?”

“To hire me?” more lip smacking “An amount. You could probably afford it.”

Jackdaw let his shoulder’s sag with relief “So it’s agreed? I’ll hire you and we can all be on our merry way.”

“Sure!” Savant said cheerfully.

Bullet dodged.

“You can hire me after I finish this job. By the way did you like the gift I sent you?”

Gift?

Jackdaw was a powerful and feared member of the illicit side of the magical world. He climbed to his position through sheer force of will and power. He left countless of his enemies broken and defeated in his wake.

To see him reduced to a flailing, paranoid mess would be a story no one would believe.

“GIFT?!” Jackdaw screamed, unable to keep the high-pitch whine out of his voice “WHAT GIFT?! SOMEONE FUCKING ANSWER ME!”

The techie was the first to shake off their stupor “Well there was a box that came in today. It was empty and we detected no magic so…”

“Box?!” Jackdaw spat as he wildly searched the room before landing on the seemingly innocent box just sitting on his desk “You brought it the fuck here?”

Everyone backed away.

“I…”

“Wait” Jackdaw cut off the techie’s answer “Maybe they were hoping you’d take it somewhere or get rid of it. No, no this is good. We’re outwitting the fucker.”

“Sir, the box was empty. And you told use you personally wanted to inspect any and all….”

“You hear that asswipe!” Jackdaw grinned ear to ear “My people are the best! We’re ahead of you. Your game is over, you hear me?”

“My man.” Savant’s voice was infuriatingly calm “It’s just a regular old box for a boring ass mobster.”

“Stop lying!” Jackdaw roared angrily, instinctively bringing down his fist on the closet object in the room.

Which of course was the box.

The parcel collapsed under the mobster’s supernatural strength with little effort. As the box was smashed, the two inert glyph drawn in an invisible ink on both ends collided and activated each other.

The room erupted in an array of dazzling, blinding lights.

The light show hadn’t lasted long but no one knew that as they stumbled around, disoriented and lost, the display still burned in their retinas.

Jackdaw howled violently, swiping at the air blindly with long talon-like nails. Any calls for explanations or help were lost under the raging mobster unleashed.

Jackdaw didn’t hear the window break, the sound of glass shattering as it rained upon the floor. He didn’t see the muzzle flash that flared across the street, Savant’s sniping perch. He knew nothing but the sudden searing pain that filled his shoulder without warning.

Everything drained out of him, he slumped to the floor like a doll. He weakly clutched at his shoulder, steam wafting off the wound as the sliver bullet dug itself deep in its new home.

It didn’t matter what kind of werebeast you were: Wolf, bear, rat or even a raven like Jackdaw. All them were deathly weakened by sliver. The mere smell could cause nausea, touch burned worse than third degree burns and any injuries could take weeks, maybe even months to heal.

Jackdaw wheezed, the room spinning in a messy blur.

“Right.” the phone landed by his ear but Savant’s voice sounded far off like it was echoing down a long tunnel “Sorry I got the paper right here.”

Muted sounds of pockets being turned inside out: Scraping of metal on brick, shuffling papers, even rustling fast food wrappers.

“Got it!” Savant beamed “Quinn says stay the fuck off his turf. Mind your lane or the next time he sends me I won’t be aiming for your shoulder.”

“How did you know I was...I was… no one knew...?” Jackdaw murmured incoherently.

“Your heart.” Savant explained “It’ll be your heart. Okay well I gotta go so take these next few months to reflect on any sort of ill advised turf wars, domestic disputes and fighting with your rivals. If you’re still interested in hiring me for revenge or whatever, you call me at my business payphone. Bye little birdy!”

----------

Savant dropped the phone to the floor, crushing it under their boot while rubbing the tension out of their neck. Around them was the standard stakeout gear: high powered and totally illegal sniper rifle, a neatly piled trash heap and a sniping pillow (Sniping’s hard on the stomach and knees.).

They packed away the gun, kicked the trash heap to make it look more like natural rooftop garbage and went downstairs.

Savant yawned tiredly, not at all concerned with the guards that were pouring out of Jackdaw’s hidey hole. They glanced around, trying to get their bearings when they noticed a hot dog vendor across the street.

“I really shouldn’t” they pursed their lips “Especially after paying for someone to set up the pyrotechnics spells. But I am hungry. Stomach wins!”

Savant made their way over, patting their stomach lovingly “One hotdog please. Everything on it.”

“You got it!” The vendor nodded before eyeing the commotion “What’s with that?”

“I don’t talk business.”

“O-kay. Umm here’s your hotdog. That’ll be two bucks.

Savant reached into their pocket and shoved a hundred dollars into the waiting vendor’s hand. Without a second look, Savant gratefully took the hotdog and walked away.

“Hey buddy! BUDDY! You gave me way too much!”

“You too!” Savant replied, took caught up in the rapture that was their meal.

This was a really fucking good hotdog.

#my work #Original Work #original story #my stuff

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damnedparker · 3 years

Text

velvet and sunshine

pairing: obi-wan x reader (gender neutral, no y/n)

warnings: food mentions, reader is sad, very mild general hurt/comfort

summary: college au. little to no sleep and awful professors have given you quite the day, and you need a nap. preferably in obi-wan's bed.

also posted on ao3

more self-indulgent fluff from me! i’m a one-trick pony! but i was yearning and stressed over college and i’ve screwed up my sleep schedule again so yknow here we are. i hope some of you enjoy my too sweet fluff. i would definitely write a cute little au series of this concept if i had the time <3

Oh, college. The ultimate vehicle of stress.

Your first of two classes you had on Fridays had went absolutely horrid, all on top of the fact you had gotten maybe an hour of sleep the night prior to get the homework due today done. You knew you needed to be better about procrastination, you really knew, but there's only so much blame you can put on your past self before you run out of time to catch up on the work that was stressing you out enough to put it off in the first place.

Your one, single hour of sleep had been at the cost of you having enough time to properly wake up and get ready as usual, so on top of being exhausted, you also had to deal with being around people when you felt more insecure than usual, feeling like a slob and like everyone was judging you for not having your usual makeup or outfit on. It did nothing to help your already miserable mental state.

In your first class, there was a discussion on the work due today, and the professor had taken every shot he could at putting down your contributions and opinions in the assignment. The rest of the class was completely silent as well, not knowing what to say. It was humiliating, and had gone on for around fifteen minutes, which ended up feeling like hours. After finally getting out of that class, you just wanted to curl up in a ditch and cease to exist for a while. But you had another class in around half an hour.

You sighed as you got in line at the campus market, clutching your meager excuse for lunch—some potato chips—in your arms like it was a precious treasure. It wasn’t the most fulfilling lunch, but the campus up-charged on-campus food like crazy, so you didn’t feel like wasting too much of your money on mediocre food. You would just eat later after your next class.

Just as you were imagining the lecture you’d receive from him for your poor nutritional choices, your phone buzzed with a message from your favorite person—Obi-Wan. He had sent you a simple little meme, one of those with a cat surrounded by heart emojis, accompanied with a simple “thinking about you :-).” You smiled and almost felt like crying at how sweet it was, despite this being a daily occurrence from him. That man loved his wholesome memes, and sent them regularly, and you were so thankful. It always made your day better.

But after today? The little spark of happiness didn’t last long.

After paying for your sad excuse of sustenance, you trudged out of the university center, walking slow as can be in the general direction of your next class. You really did not want to go; you could feel the exhaustion creeping up on you and you could tell you’d doze off in class, which was a nightmare waiting to happen. Although you had your best friend, Anakin, to cover for you, since he sat right next to you in that class, you just didn’t feel like dealing with any of it today. None of it.

And with that, you simply turned and started walking towards the edge of campus, toward your safe haven: Obi-Wan and Anakin’s apartment. You lived quite the ways away from campus, much too far to walk, but Obi-Wan and Anakin’s little home was just a block over. Your boyfriend had class for another hour or two, but you really just wanted a place to nap, and you didn’t trust yourself to drive all the way home. You would’ve almost certainly been hanging out with Obi-Wan later tonight anyway, so you figured he wouldn’t mind. You could have him bring you to get your car sometime later.

After some delirious walking, you finally reached the apartment complex, heaving out a sigh once you stepped in the elevator, leaning against the wall as it made its way to the second floor. Your brain was absolutely fried from the lack of sleep, stress, and emotional day you had, and you could feel yourself struggling to hold back tears from the overwhelming mood beginning to take your mind once you arrived and managed a small knock at the door.

“Oh no, is it raining?” Anakin’s brows furrowed once he let you in, figuring you were there to drive him. That’s what you always did when it was raining outside, mostly just so you didn’t have to hear him complain about his clothes being wet during class.

“No, I just- I can’t deal with another class today,” You sighed, setting your bag down by the couch and toeing off your shoes. “Obi’s not working today, right?”

“No, he should be home after class,” Anakin watched as you rounded the kitchen counter, helping yourself to a glass of water. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just having a day,” you could feel your shoulders hanging, your posture reflecting your mood. “I just need some sleep. I can’t do class the rest of today, sorry to leave you to deal with Windu alone today.” You scrunched your nose in apology, referring to your strict, and often frustrating political science professor. The man was wonderful at lecturing, but absolutely frustrating when it came to assignments and tests. He often liked to pick on Anakin for discussions, and usually you came in to save him when no one else in the class felt like talking.

“Don’t worry about it, I can handle him on my own,” your friend nodded, reaching over to squeeze your arm affectionately. “Enjoy your nap,” he collected his bag and put in an earbud, preparing for the walk to campus. “But do not eat all my snacks like last time. Obi-Wan hates Cheetos, so I know it was you.” He gave you one last playful glare before grinning and shutting the door behind him. You looked down at the counter, now alone in the quiet apartment. You felt safe here, comforted by your best friend and boyfriend’s belongings laying about. It was clear what was Anakin’s and what was Obi-Wan’s, the difference very clearly seen between objects that were tidily tucked in their places, while others were strewn about in random places. You had witnessed many fights between the two adopted brothers over things like this, and sometimes it was a wonder they were able to live alone together at all. Not to say that Anakin hadn’t insinuated you should move in with them multiple times lately, very pointedly looking at Obi-Wan while he did so. Of course you would say yes in a second, but you didn’t want to pressure your boyfriend, who was very careful about big decisions in your relationship. The two of you had been dating for almost a year now, and were practically inseparable, and he was secure in the fact that you both believed there would never be anyone else you could love as much as each other. However, you knew Obi-Wan was a very particular man, and could be somewhat traditional in his courting. You thought it was sweet. Anakin, who was already daydreaming to you about proposing to his own partner, thought it was stupid, saying you already practically live here anyway! He wasn’t totally wrong. At this point, unless Obi-Wan was at yours or you were somewhere with him, you were probably going to be found at their place.

You sighed to yourself, feeling your eyes getting heavy. You were beginning to crash from your many cups of coffee last night. You headed straight for Obi-Wan’s room after locking the front door. His room was always impressively neat, never any clothes on the floor or anything out of place, except momentarily when you had forgotten to put something away or the two of you were in the middle of something. Painted a deep blue, and decorated with various framed posters or art, along with a few framed photos, his room was very simple. It was just the right size for it to be cozy without being suffocating.

You made a pitstop at his closet, pulling a sweater off the very top of his laundry basket, the one he’d worn the day before, along with some pajama shorts you kept in his dresser for impromptu sleepovers. You changed quickly, not keen to sleep in jeans, and also wanting desperately to lay down. You crawled into his bed, snuggling under the sheets and breathing in the scent of him all around you. Sleep came not long after you settled into the blankets.

---

Obi-Wan hummed softly under his breath, a song that you had showed him a few days ago and had subsequently gotten stuck in his head. He smiled to himself as he remembered the overjoyed look on your face when he had told you how much he liked it, fumbling to get his keys out of his pocket and get in his apartment. He paused while he was hanging his jacket up, noting your bag next to the couch, along with the glass on the counter. He furrowed his brows, knowing you had class, and although you certainly had before, you rarely skipped since your professors counted absences against your grade. He dropped his bag next to yours and made his way into his room, shoulders drooping as the weight of worry escaped them. You were curled up in his bed, wearing one of his sweaters, fast asleep. It was an adorable sight, you clutching onto the stuffed bearded dragon you had won out of a claw machine at the mall on your last trip together, whom you had gleefully named Boga as you passed the gift into his arms, insisting it was for him.

Obi-Wan shucked off his pants, leaving him in a t-shirt and his boxers, before sliding in next to you. He watched your eyelashes flutter slightly; clearly you were dreaming. You mumbled something in your sleep, followed by a happy sigh, and another mumble of something that vaguely resembled his name. He could’ve collapsed in on himself from adoration purely aimed at you.Carefully, he reached over to brush a stray hair out of your face, before beginning to press kisses to your skin, first at your jaw, then cheek, forehead, nose. You began to stir at his affections, sleepily blinking open your eyes to your boyfriend smiling at you. He trailed his hand down your arm, intertwining your fingers together as you began to wake up more.

“Hi, Obi.”

“Hello, my love,” he murmured, keeping his voice soft. “Not that I don’t enjoy coming home to you in my bed, but don’t you have class right now?” Your peaceful state from just waking up seemed to crack at his words, and a lump came back to your throat at the return of your sour mood from earlier. His eyebrows furrowed at your immediate change in mood, knowing something was wrong.

“I really couldn’t handle another class today,” you rolled onto your back, moving your joined hands to lay on your stomach. Obi-Wan scooted closer to you, resting his head against his hand, propped up on his elbow as he studied your face. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you to let you know I was going to be here.”

“No apology needed, darling, you’re always welcome here,” he untangled his fingers from yours, beginning to play with your hair as you talked. You could feel tears springing to your eyes from the gentle affection, the simple relief of being around the person you loved most, and his immediate recognition of your need for comfort. Obi-Wan could read your moods almost scarily well, and he almost always knew what you needed from him to make it better. “If you want to talk about what’s made you sad, I’m here to listen. Or we can just have a cuddle and listen to music.” You managed a small smile at his offer. Always so sweet.

“Can I have all of the above?” You turned your head to pout up at him, earning a happy grin and chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Anything for my sweetheart,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, rolling off the bed to retrieve his phone from where he’d set it on his dresser. He shuffled the playlist you had made together one late night on Spotify when you couldn’t sleep, full of relaxing songs that the both of you often drifted off listening to together, since the both of you couldn’t sleep in complete silence. “Now, come here.” He almost jumped back into the bed, immediately pulling you on top of him. Your head fell into its usual spot at his neck, forehead pressed to his pulse point, which was steady and comforting. Obi-Wan wrapped you up in his arms, gentle hands sliding under your— his— sweater, rubbing comforting shapes into your lower back. You hummed contentedly.

“I might fall asleep like this instead.”

“That’s okay, honey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. You let out a soft chuckle as his scruff tickled your forehead. “Now, tell me everything that’s wrong so I can make it better.”

As you began to detail everything that had led you to seek refuge in his bed, Obi-Wan listened patiently, humming affirmations every so often and continuing to trace lines across your back, his sweater now partially pushed up to expose your lower back. The contrast between the slight chill of the open air and his hands was pure heaven. You didn’t know how you were still talking so clearly; half your attention was busy focusing on the slight callouses of his fingertips against your skin. Everything was warm and gentle, swallowing you up in velvet and sunshine. It was an absolute miracle that you didn’t doze off by the time you finished venting, the heavy feeling dragging you down having been lifted just the slightest bit, both by letting it out and by Obi-Wan’s hold.

“That is quite the horrid day, my dear,” he affirmed. “But you made it through, and it’s over now. You’re here and you’re safe, and we can spend the rest of the night doing whatever you like. You can relax.” His arms fully circled your waist then, squeezing you to him affectionately in a hug. “Everything will be better now.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, lifting your head and slightly sitting up from your comfortable position against his chest. Your boyfriend gave you a small smile when your gazes met, leaning into your hand that was now resting against his cheek. “You’re too good for me, Obi.”

“Oh no, I’m afraid it’s the other way around,” he grinned, a bit of pink settling on his cheeks. Crow’s feet became evident around his eyes and you were absolutely crushed by how lucky you are, how much you loved this man. “It’s a privilege just to be able to make you feel better after the awful day you’ve had.” His words were completely genuine, gaze absolutely soft as he looked at you. You could have cried. You don’t know how you didn’t. Obi-Wan seemed to gather this from your long silence, and the slight shift of expression on his face. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, pressing a short, chaste kiss to his lips. He found your hand next to his head, intertwining his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand and tilted his head in a silent are you sure? “Everything’s perfect.”

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #star wars fluff #star wars au #college au #obi-wan x reader #ewan mcgregor x reader #fluff #my fics

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Note

hey so for the emporer luke thing would luke eventually get to see biggs/meet him cuz they're cool

As if I could leave my second fave Tatooine kid out of any OT story! Read on AO3

Biggs Darklighter was fifteen years old and he still dreamed of going to the stars someday. He was a good son, helped in the household, and took care of his younger siblings, and would his parents ask him to stay, then Biggs would. If they’d let him go though, Biggs would seek the unknown parts of the galaxy, chase after the adventures he had dreamed of ever since he was a little boy, running around in the courtyard of his family’s home or jumping up and down on Luke’s bed, pretending to be a ship in the sky.

It was strange how easily he had accepted Luke’s disappearance when he was younger. Tatooine was a harsh planet, cruel to the bone, and the death of a loved one happened far too often to be unfamiliar with how tightly life and death were woven together. He hadn’t forgotten about Luke, had mourned his friend and joined his mother on her trips to the Lars homestead, but he hadn’t let Luke’s fate dominate his every waking thought. There had been other things to worry about, such as the suddenly escalating conflicts due to Jabba’s death.

Now it seemed like the exact opposite was happening to Biggs. He couldn’t keep his friend out of his mind. The weekly trips to the Lars homestead, checking in on its state and the refugees hiding there for the next transport that would them smuggle off-world, were now spent trying to see whether Biggs could find any sign of His Imperial Highness in the murals and carvings they had made into Luke’s bedroom walls as children. He had been there when they had found Beru and Owen’s bodies, eleven years old and wondering whether Luke had made used of his uncanny ability to hide away so that he hadn’t been killed too. His aunt and uncle had been half-buried in the sand already, left behind to rot without a proper funeral. It had been easy to figure out what exactly had caused their deaths and what it meant for Luke. In the aftermath, when the news of Jabba’s violent end had reached even the Darklighters, they had traveled to the palace and the nearby city once, trying to see if anybody had heard of a child by the name of Luke Skywalker, but nobody had known a thing.

And then, just a year later, Luke had appeared again.

The Republic had never really cared about Tatooine and neither had the Empire, but even they had heard rather quickly about the Emperor’s death and his heir.

The Luke in the holos had looked like a doll, fake and imaginary, like a wind spirit. His face hadn’t been any different, it still matched the one Biggs remembered, but nothing else seemed to fit, not his name, not even his accent.

And yet he had been sure that the child appearing in front of the Senate was his friend.

All that had remained from Luke Skywalker were his blue eyes, the blond hair and the kindness that had made the other children scoff at him. Luke had been too good to understand, to naïve or perhaps he just hadn’t cared for their petty words. Biggs hadn’t known how he could smile so openly when the others took their teasing to far, but Luke had never lowered his head, at least not where he could see it.

Biggs missed his best friend, the one who would help him fix up old droids and fly speeders and skyhoppers more accurately than anybody else, even though he really shouldn’t be able to do so. Luke would certainly have the time of his life now, rushing across the sands at maximum speed, the wind hitting his face so harshly it almost cut into it. Luke had always enjoyed listening to the wind, from the sweet breezes in spring to the heavy sandstorms towards the end of drought season. Being stuck inside with nothing to do hadn’t been too bad with Luke around to narrate what the wind was telling him.

The distance between the Darklighter homestead and the Lars’ Rest, as they had come to call that safehouse, wasn’t too large. Biggs crossed it quickly even in his slightly beat-up ride that could use an upgrade or two. As far as he knew, no runaways should be staying there for the remainder of the week until they got the next group through. There were fewer and fewer slaves in need of transport nowadays. Tatooine was still, as it had been for the last years since Luke’s disappearance, caught in civil war between the former Hutt slaves, freedom fighters, whatever good soul they could convince to join their cause and those crime syndicates who sought to make use of cheap labor. Where the Hutts had that thought they could reclaim Tatooine quickly following Jabba’s death, Tatooine had wanted to prove them wrong. More and more slaves had escaped every day, more people stood up to fight for what they believed to be right.

Biggs wasn’t allowed to do much, not really. His older sister and her partners were heavily involved in the fights while Biggs could only do supply runs. He knew they were important, but he itched to do something more proactive.

But perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

It had become more and more obvious that the Hutts were also a thorn in the side of the Empire and whoever was actually pulling the strings behind their Emperor was set to do something about it. There had been skirmishes so far, a few imprisonments. Nothing too large yet, but the horizon was darkening and if the last years had shown anything, then that the Empire didn’t tolerate disobedience. Biggs wasn’t sure how it would influence Tatooine at large. He didn’t know all that much about the way the Hutts operated on a galactic scale, but he figured that whatever took their attention away from Tatooine, even if just for a while, was good.

Soon Biggs was approaching Lars’ Rest and was surprised to see figures standing in the distance. Biggs frowned and slowed down his craft. He was absolutely certain that no group should be coming in today. The position of Lars’ Rest was kept quiet so that no slaver would discover this particular hideout. The only other groups that knew of it were smugglers and the sand people, though they hardly bothered coming down the underground tracks these days. They had decided to target moisture farms far deeper into their territory or, in the case of some clans who were not as isolated, target the rich of Tatooine so the poor would cease trying to expand further into the desert.

Biggs reached for his rifle. If they were slavers, he had to be ready. It was obvious that he was doing supply runs, who else would be out here, and if they took him, that could be disastrous for the whole organization.

Tatooine was a horrible planet to plan an ambush on. Sand for miles, the open desert, and skies, nothing could hide you or provide adequate cover. Once your enemy spotted you, that was it.

Biggs could of course leave, drive back home. They didn’t keep anything too incriminating at their homestead, so even if they were to follow him, there was be nothing to be found there. And yet, somehow, Biggs couldn’t bring himself to do so as anger flared up in his stomach like the midday heat.

That house had belonged to his best friend. It was supposed to be a safe haven now when before its inhabitants had found death or worse. Nobody had any right to ruin those memories.

With newfound bravery and strength, Biggs sped up again. He was a good shot, the best in his family, he’d definitely hit them before they could shoot him.

As Biggs got closer, he saw that the group was larger than he had thought at first. Ten, perhaps fifteen figures. He had been confused because their forms had not been easy to make out with the sun bearing down on their light uniforms, no, armor. The armor was mostly white, but some patterns appeared to have been drawn on it. He saw the green ones first, their color standing out the most against the yellow and blue background of Tatooine. Then there some men with blue, orange, and red patterns, those being much harder to see. Biggs’ eyes were good, but not that excellent.

Nevertheless, he readied his rifle. It was easy to get stormtrooper uniform, and to paint it in the color of the Emperor’s guard was even easier.

Biggs took aim. He wasn’t going to shoot unprovoked, but he was going to shoot first if the situation escalated.

“Hey!” He shouted once he was within hearing distance. “Get the hell out of here!”

As expected, the armed men immediately raised their weapons as well. Biggs didn’t know why they hadn’t done that the moment they had seen him. Now that he was standing in front of them, Biggs wasn’t so sure his move had been the smartest. There were way too many of them and only one him.

“Move away,” one of the troopers, a red one, said.

His armor looked pristine, the paint new. This has to be a trick, though he no idea what somebody would get from parading around in trooper armor here. There were certainly more effective ways to pretend to have more power than you actually did on this planet.

“This land doesn’t belong to you,” Biggs said, forcing his voice not to waver. “Move.”

“Listen here, kid,” one of the troopers said, then suddenly stopped talking. Another man had put his hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned forward, probably telling him something. Even though Biggs couldn’t see their faces, they didn’t look too concerned by it all

“I’m not joking!” Biggs insisted and raised his blaster just a little more, set on using it if need be. “I will-“

“Biggs?”

The voice was barely louder than a whisper, certainly not above the noise the wind and the engine were making, and yet Biggs still heard it clearly.

“Your Majesty-“ The red trooper hissed, but in between the trooper’s bodies, a smaller form pushed through.

The person was short, but not as by far not as tall as the holos made him out to be. His hair had darkened as well, wasn’t the light blond Biggs remembered, but the eyes, clear blue, were definitely the same.

“Luke?” Biggs couldn’t believe it.

His clothes were far too fine for Tatooine, at least for standing outside where sand could easily get stuck everywhere on your skin. His robes looked soft and were decorated with gold and red lines interconnecting to images reminiscent of flowers and vines.

The boy's face split into a smile and he looked like he’d jump into a sprint if not for the trooper’s hand on his shoulder.

“Biggs! It really is you!” Luke said excitedly. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I was hoping someone would look after the farm, but I-“

He cut himself off to shake his head, a gesture so familiar that it had to be Luke standing in front of him, brilliant pilot, Emperor of the galaxy.

Biggs hurried off his speeder and fell to his knees.

#ask #tiny emperor luke au #star wars #biggs darklighter #luke skywalker #fanfic #anon

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heart-of-flames · 4 years

Text

Tranquility

Lauren x Female!MC

Word Count: 3432

Summary: You know that Lauren worked too hard and that she rarely took care of herself when she got like this. You just needed to figure out a way to get her to take a break.

Note: One of my Ko-Fi commissions that I was given permission to post. I hope you’re all doing well and I hope you enjoy it.

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While you were growing up you had always been a bit different than the rest of the kids your age-- barring the fact that you were Fae. While others, namely your brother, enjoyed the rambunctious attitude that all children seemed to possess-- getting into trouble wherever they went. You had always enjoyed a softer approach to things. While Aziel got lectured in the hall for breaking a priceless vase; you were situated in an almost forgotten alcove. Tucked underneath your handmade winter shawl, you curled up with your escape to the world. Books.

For books had always been your escape into another world. They had always been your closest friend when you didn’t have anyone else to turn to. When you were feeling sad you would pick up your worn copy of Until Dawn. The story of how one boy, with a moon-shaped scar, was able to fight against all the opposing forces in his life. How he had been able to look for the light even in his darkest of times-- it was a solace you desperately tried to maintain.

And with that solace came the belief that everything would turn out okay. That as long as you stayed on the high road nothing could ever truly reach you. That if you maintained the attitude of the boy with the moon-shaped scar you could get past anything. It was a belief that got you through your formative years.

Though as the years passed on, that belief started to dwindle inside of you. Withering away with each passing remark and carefully leveled glare. Trying to remember the past, the story of the boy, but it seemed to slip further and further from your grasp. Until there was nothing left but slivers of what used to be.

Of what would never be again.

As you age you became what the world desired of you-- cold. Gone was the little girl who smiled at the passing family in the market square. Gone was the little girl that was too shy to ever ask for anything. Gone was the little girl who saw the world as a magical place-- filled with wonder and cheer.

In its stead, a woman remained-- strong and unwavering to everything life threw at her. The warmth slowly being replaced by ice. At least that was what you always tried to portray. No one could truly hurt you if you didn’t allow them to-- if you didn’t show them.

If you didn’t flinch as their venomous words pierced through your heart. Or trembled over the barely concealed fury in their gaze. If you were able to get through all of that? It meant you get through anything. Even if it meant you became more detached because of it.

You couldn’t allow your heart to be broken any more than it already was.

No matter how much you wished you could let people in once more.

Even as your body, and your mind, was changing there was still one thing that connected you to your past self-- books. Throughout everything books and reading was the one thing that tied you back to everything you used to be. As you flipped through worn and crumpled pages you were plunged back into days long passed. Days filled with over-eager eyes trying to soak in everything they could and hidden smiles with Kiera as she snuck you yet another book that you shouldn’t have been reading.

Good things must always come to an end it seems, you muse as you watch the shifting landscape from behind your window. The thought filled you with a nostalgic sadness that seemed to wrap itself around your heart and refused to let go-- instead, it simply squeezed tighter each time it beat. It had a melancholic effect, one that you didn’t appreciate at all, but you knew there was nothing you could do until it passed. However long that may be.

Turning, you allow a despondent sigh to escape your mouth. You didn’t know how to pull yourself out of this funk you were in but, as a small smile began to form on your lips, you believed you knew who could help you.

Someone you knew would always be able to put a smile on your face-- however slight.

Lauren.

oOo

The scent of the medical ward assaults you as you step in. Pine and the softest hint of mistletoe, which was probably due to it being the holiday season. You still couldn’t figure out how Lauren was able to make the ward feel so homey. Usually, medical wards, at least the ones you have been to, had a sterile environment. Filling you with a sense of discomfort, because you knew you weren’t supposed to be there. You knew that your presence wasn’t truly wanted.

But with Lauren?

She always made everyone, both humanoid and draconic alike, feel welcomed. Always offering smiles as people either entered or exited. Her soft voice filling the seemingly endless silence during her exams-- as if she knew how uncomfortable someone was becoming.

A smile blossoms on your face at the thought. Your eyes automatically scan the ward for any sight of your favorite healer. Finding her with relative ease, your smile falls from your face at the frazzled state she was clearly in. Her normally neat braid was disorderly; strands of hair being pulled from its confines as if she had been constantly running her hands through it. Whiskey brown eyes tinged with dark blotches underneath-- a clear sign that she hadn’t been sleeping well. Or at all. Her posture hunched in on itself as she sat at her desk. Pouring over various documents that littered the normally clean surface.

With a worried frown now prominent on your features, you move towards her. Watching her jerky movements and overall crumbling composure. It was a sight that concerned you greatly because Lauren was always so poised. An innate elegance that many could never hope to grasp exuding from her every move.

She was anything but graceful now.

Stopping just behind the beautiful healer, you clear your throat. Not wanting to startle her while she was working; as you were well aware of how concentrated she could become. Even still, Lauren gave a slight jolt at the noise. Her body whipping around to face you with a shocked look painted on her features.

She settles down once she realizes it was you, however, a small smile starting to form on her lips. “Edelgard,” she breathes. “I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today? Is everything all right, my love?”

You nod. “Everything is fine, Lauren, I just came to see you.” You pause as you once again take in the sight of her. Your frown once again makes an appearance on your face. “But are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’m fine,” she replies with a flippant wave of her hand. “You know how this time of year can get around here. People thinking they can ice skate without the use of protective gear.”

You wince slightly at that. “Have there been any bad ones?”

“The worst was someone having their skull split open and a few cracked ribs, but nothing too life-threatening.” She shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean the paperwork is any less severe.”

You frown as you watch Lauren look back down at her desk-- following her gaze with your own. The sight causes your heart to thud against your chest. Various documents lay scattered about on her desk with her neat scrawl written across. Each one detailing why each patient had been admitted and what had been done to them once they were. From what you could see there were dozens of them on her desk, but there was so much more that hadn’t even been opened yet.

“Lauren,” you murmur. “You need to sleep. You can’t stay cooped up in her doing this paperwork. It’s not good for you.”

She smiles softly. “You sound just like Asa.” She shakes her head as she brings a new document towards her. “But I have to get these done. I’m used to working like this during this particular season.” She glances back up at you with a soft smile that never failed to warm your heart. “Go have fun and enjoy the festivities. I’m sure Silas would love to have company right now. Or maybe you can help Catherine with hanging up decorations around Haven.”

“I would rather spend the day with you.”

“I know, my love.” She sighs softly. “I will try to finish as fast as I can so we can get a late dinner at the inn. How does that sound?”

You know that Lauren was trying her best with what she was given. Just as you knew she hated disappointing you-- even in small ways. So, with a smile, you bring your lips quickly to her cheek. Loving that her scent filled your nose as you did so.

It was the scent of vanilla with hints of chestnut and some form of wood you couldn’t name. The outdoorsy smell with the softness of the vanilla was something you would forever associate with Lauren. With the warm feeling, she brought to your chest every time you saw her. Bringing you back to the times that you were a child. Back when the world was a bright and magical place.

It was the scent that brought you home.

Moving away from her inviting embrace, you speak. “That’s more than okay, Lauren.” You squeeze her bicep in a gentle warning. “Just don’t overwork yourself, alright?”

She smiles. “Alright.”

With that, you step away from her and begin to make your way out of the ward, but with each step, a heavy feeling started to settle over your heart. That only grew the further you were away from Lauren.

You wanted nothing more than to turn back, but Lauren’s soft voice filled your head. Her words from earlier and the earnest conviction laid within her tone halted any form of rebellion. She rarely asked for anything-- you weren’t about to disregard her wishes now.

Even though everything within you was begging you to.

oOo

“I don’t know what to do, Weiss,” you whisper to your dragon as you place various meats into her trough. Your eyes meeting the compassionate golden gaze of the dragoness. Her white scales glowing in the dim torch-light of the cavern.

Yes, you do, dearest one, you just don’t wish to do it. Was the calm response through your mind. Her silky voice whispering through your mind like a gentle wind. Not overpowering in the slightest, but it was a presence that you would always know was there.

You scoff. “What do you mean? I would always do anything I could for Lauren.”

I know that, dearest one, which is exactly why you’re heeding her words. Even though you wish you weren’t.

You frown at her words. You knew what Weiss was explaining, but some part of you still rebelled against it. Maybe it was the part that still wished to honor Lauren’s words? To honor her wanting you to have fun while she was cooped up working. Even so, the mere thought of Lauren alone during the holiday season was heartbreaking. She already gave so much to Haven-- too much at times-- and you refused to have her give this up. You couldn’t bear it.

Glancing up at the beautiful dragoness, you smiled at her. Knowing that you didn’t have to vocalize your next words-- for she could feel them-- but you were compelled to.

“I love you, Weiss. I hope you know that.”

Her head lowers towards you. Golden eyes glowing with all the warmth of the sun. I do know my dearest one. I love you just as much.

Bringing a hand up, you scratch just under her jaw-- a spot you knew she liked having itched. A warm smile blossoming on your face at the small coos she let loose at the sensation. Your gaze locking with hers with a message clearly passing from her to you.

Go to her.

And after one more scratch, you do as she says. Your body rushing towards the one destination you wanted nothing more than to get to.

To Lauren.

oOo

You skidded to a halt just outside the entrance of the ward. Your body almost colliding with the wall opposite you as you came to said abrupt halt. Air rushing into your lungs as you inhaled sharply. Doing everything you could to resupply them after your manic run.

It wouldn’t do to be winded when you spoke to Lauren.

After a moment, your chest doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore. Nor do you feel like your legs are about to collapse out from under you. With a solemn breath, you take a step forward into the familiar ward. Your eyes taking in the same sight you had that morning, and it didn’t fail to elicit the same reaction from you.

If possible the frown was even deeper than before.

Lauren still sat hunched over her desk, but her braid was completely gone now. Long, golden-brown hair fell in a gentle mixture of waves and slight curls around her face. Nimble fingers tracing over the various papers that still lay in front of her. Though one of her hands would periodically come up to brush the strands of hair from her face. A clear sign of the frayed edges that was Lauren’s being. You knew that Lauren needed a break, but you didn’t know how to make her have one.

If Lauren was anything it was stubborn. Especially when it came to her work.

With silent, almost cat-like, steps you make your way across the room. Halting, in front of Lauren’s desk as she sat oblivious to the world around her. Such a fact would normally cause a worried frown to pull at your brow, but another cursory glance of the room showed you the reason Lauren was fine with being in such a state.

Asa.

The dragon lay with his head on one of the various carpets throughout the ward. His green scales glowing against the hearth fire that fell on them. His deep rumbling breaths filling the silence of the room-- when it wasn’t filled with the scratching of Lauren’s quill or her mumbling. Bronze eyes having been trained on Lauren’s form turn towards you. Clear relief taking over his features at the sight of you.

I’m glad you’re here, Edelgard, his soft voices rumbled through your mind. Lauren hasn’t been taking care of herself. Nor has she been heeding my words. I truly hope that you have better luck breaking through to her. For you’re the only person I could see doing so.

You dip your head towards Asa in a sign of silent understanding. You knew exactly how Lauren could get when she was truly invested in her work. Not to mention when it was a season of high injury rates because people enjoyed doing idiotic things. Even so, the fact that she wasn’t listening to Asa?

You shake your head at the many ideas flickering through your head. You had to convince Lauren to take a break before she became a patient of the medical ward herself, which was something no one wanted. If you had to you would even go to the Matriarch-- as you knew she had a soft spot for Lauren and wanted to see the healer safe. That would be your second course of action, however.

Steeling yourself, you move to the side of her desk. Your mind working over everything you could potentially say. With a soft sigh, you kneel next to Lauren’s chair. Your hand resting against hers-- halting her manic writing.

Startled brown eyes turn to meet your violet. Her full lips forming an ‘o’ as she registered that you were kneeling beside her. Even still, it took her a moment to form a cohesive sentence.

“E-Edelgard?” She asks with confusion laced within her tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I came because I wanted to see you,” you murmur. Your hand stroking hers with a soft touch that you knew she enjoyed. “Which I’m glad I decided to do because you look even worse than you did this morning.”

Lauren smiles. “Thanks.”

You roll your eyes playfully at her. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Lauren.”

“I know.”

You take a moment to respond. Speaking with Lauren was one of the easiest things you have ever done. She was like an open book to you. Easy to read and even easier to open up to. For there were no lies hidden within her soft brown eyes. There were no hints of deception within her elegant tone. There was only Lauren.

And there was never anything better.

A soft hand on your cheek pulls you out of your reverie. Your eyes rising to meet a sparkling gaze. A gaze that would normally cause a smile to form on your lips, but only caused worry to gnaw in your stomach. You could clearly tell that Lauren was tired. That she needed rest and time to simply be herself-- without the responsibilities that being Head Healer demanded of her.

Your hand comes up to grasp the one on your cheek. Your head turning to place a soft kiss on its palm. “You need to rest, Lauren. You’re no good to anyone in this state.”

“I’m fine, Edelgard.” She sighs. “There is no need to worry about me.”

“There is every reason to worry about you, Lauren. You haven’t slept in days. You’re not listening to Asa nor are you able to sit up straight without swaying like you’re drunk.” You sigh with frustration. “You need to rest. The paperwork can wait, but your health can’t.”

Lauren stares at you for a moment with an unreadable expression, but it soon smooths out into one of adoration. Her eyes softening with the love she held for you. Dipping her head, she rests her forehead against yours for a moment-- brushing strands of chocolate brown form your forehead while she did so. Her nimble fingers running through the long strands; an action she knew comforted you.

“I suppose you’re right,” she whispers. “I’m no good to anyone in this state. Plus, I think I’ve been writing the same sentence for the past hour.”

You chuckle at that and with an ease that came with muscle memory, you stand with Lauren trailing behind you because of your linked hands. Your gaze never wavering from hers as you did so.

“Then you’re going to have to rest that beautiful mind of yours.” You grin. “But I know you’re not going to want to leave the ward when you still have things to do within it.”

She smiles back at you. The same soft look from before becoming even more prominent on her face. Especially as you led her to one of the various beds the ward had to offer-- the one that was conveniently the closest to Asa.

Laying down, you pull Lauren along with you and tuck her into your side. Her head resting on your chest as you wrapped your arms around her-- pulling her tighter against you. Turning towards the night table that was situated beside the bed, you open the drawer and pull out a well-worn book. As you always kept a stash of them within the ward whenever you had to stay the night with Lauren.

Glancing down, you couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on your face at the peaceful look that was written across Lauren’s face. Her languid breaths ghosting across the expanse of your skin. It was a sight that filled your heart with warmth and brought you back to the many nights of your childhood. Where days didn’t truly matter because you had everything you could ever need right within arms reach.

It couldn’t be more true now.

With a soft exhalation you open the book, one that had clearly been well taken care of, and begin to read. “There’s a legend as old as time itself. A legend that depicted a boy that grew up with nothing but came to have everything. The legend of the boy with a moon-shaped scar…”

All the while Lauren’s soft breathing became deeper and deeper as she fell asleep to the story of the boy with the moon-shaped scar. Your soothing voice that last thing that she was aware of as she slipped into the warm embrace of sleep.

#heart of flames #ko fi #ko fi commissions #lauren #female mc #female dragon #fluff

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quillingyousoftly · 4 years

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It Wasn’t Supposed to Be (Like This)

My entry for Rumrollins Week, day 1: Apology/Angst. Apology is only there if you squint.

Warning for suicidal behavior.

After the Uprising, Brock builds a haven for himself and Jack.

It’s hard work in his state to ensure they’re safe and comfortable, to make sure Jack has everything he requires and could ever want, and not to forget his own needs in the process. His body reminds him, though, its ache begging for rest and comfort. It exhausts him and makes him run out of patience sometimes, but they manage.

Before the Uprising, Jack talked a lot about their imagined future—imagined, because they never expected it to come. He talked about a house with a white picket fence, the romantic he is, and a rose garden. A fireplace, and a fur rug lying in front of it on the polished floor. It would smell of the roses, freshly chopped wood, and Brock’s cooking. Brock added a vegetable patch and a king-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets to that fantasy.

Jack doesn’t talk anymore, and so he doesn’t say anything when Brock finds them a house with a white picket fence and a vegetable patch; he waits patiently in the driveway as Brock sneaks in to take care of its owners and doesn’t even twitch when Brock points out the fireplace and suggests buying that fur rug Jack had wanted. It’s frustrating, and he’s tired, so he parks Jack next to the nice leather couch and flops onto it to rest without uttering another word.

Later, he buys a rose and plants it in the garden, so Jack can have a small part of his dream come true. Just that light task has his burned body protesting, so he rests with Jack in the living room for a while, walking him through the plan for the day.

When he starts feeling better and peckish, he wheels Jack to the kitchen and cooks a simple meal for them. Watching Brock and the delicious smells starting to fill the air cause a smile to appear on Jack’s face for the first time since they found the house, and Brock smiles back in relief.

“That’s a good look on you,” he quips. “You should do that more often.”

The smile doesn’t quite fade away, and they eat their dinner in good enough moods Brock isn’t even salty about his meal having gone cold before he starts.

Then, he wheels Jack outside to show him the rose. The orange rays of the setting sun paint its white petals and Jack’s face that becomes somber at the sight.

“Do you like the color?” Brock asks conversely. “I thought it was nice.”

Jack doesn’t react at first, but nods eventually, the sad look on his face contradicting that gesture. Brock sighs and crouches down in front of him, resting his hands on his blanket-covered knees and looking up to meet his gaze.

“Look, I know it’s hard. I know. I can’t do half the things I used to either.”

Jack glares at him, and this Brock understands; he’s pointing out he can still walk, talk, and use his hands.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Jack’s angry glare shifts to resignation, and he nods. Brock smiles, a little forced, and kisses him on his way up.

Everything has changed after the Uprising and not in the way they expected. They were supposed to rule the world, not be on the run from the law with both their bodies barely working. Even Jack’s kisses changed; they’re more desperate, more passionate, and he never turns away from them, even if he’s mad, perhaps because he can’t initiate them as often as he wants anymore. There’s something heartbreaking in the raw emotion he pours into them and in how he strains his neck to chase Brock’s lips even after he moves away.

“Let’s bathe,” Brock says. “Then we’ll go to bed and kiss some more, m’kay?”

The promise makes a small smile appear on Jack’s face, and it brings Brock both relief and a heartache.

Out of all the ways Brock has had to learn to take care of Jack, bathing is by far the easiest and the most pleasant. The hardest part is to lift Jack off the wheelchair and place him in the full tub. Brock still remembers the first time he actually picked up Jack, scooped him up in his arms in a bridal carry not out of necessity but because he was feeling romantic; he was heavy even back then when his body was fully able. Now he grunts when he lifts him, even though Jack has lost a lot of his muscle mass as well. Brock still trains when he can, but there’s no hiding he isn’t as strong as he used to.

The bath is big enough to fit both of them, and so Brock strips and fits himself between Jack’s legs. His body sends him contradicting signals; where he isn’t burned, the water is pleasantly warm, the more sensitive places read it as scalding hot, and the most scorched spots where his nerve endings burned away don’t feel the temperature at all. He waits for his skin to get used to the water, then leans back with a sigh and his eyes closed, letting his muscles relax.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Jack staring at him, and his old friend self-consciousness settles low in his stomach as he remembers how ugly he is now. His skin, once olive, now is full of waxy, charred, blistered, and red patches, dead spots where it won't stop peeling away. His body, once perfectly chiseled, is now that of a wimp. Jack, although disabled, hasn’t suffered the same amount of injuries, and looks mostly the same if a little smaller. His face is sharper, thinner, but not burned, and it has gained no new scars. The rest of his body is also untouched by fire, the bruises he had gotten from the rubble crushing him had long faded away and all that remains is the spine injury that left him paralyzed. Brock isn’t even sure if the rubble also damaged his vocal cords somehow or if his mutism is a mental response to the trauma. It isn’t like he breathed in hot fumes and swallowed sizzling engine oil that turned Brock’s voice gravelly and made it hard to speak sometimes.

Brock’s chest burns hot as he thinks how ugly the Uprising left him and how dependent on him it made Jack. Sometimes he wonders how many of Jack’s moods result from the frustration of not being able to move, and how many from the fact he’s now stuck with the boyfriend he can barely stand to look at. He can’t even afford to let Brock know he doesn’t want to be together anymore. Brock pretends he doesn’t suspect he would if he could, and they get by that way.

To turn his thoughts to something else, Brock reaches for the soap and lathers his hands to then gently rub Jack’s skin. His fingertips feel numb, but his palms were protected by his fingerless gloves and are just like they always were, one of the few mercies. Jack can’t feel his rough fingers, but Brock can feel the smoothness of the foam, the softness of his skin, the warmth of his body.

Jack watches him with an odd but not uncommon softness in his eyes as Brock washes him, the evidence of feelings still alight in his heart even if they’re for a memory and not the person Brock now is. Brock also remembers how they used to bathe together sometimes, and the things they did that were far from the innocent washing Brock’s doing now. He’s sure they both miss those times and the people they used to be back then, the love that was true and not a way to survive.

Later, Brock wheels Jack to the bedroom and sets him down on the bed, arranging him securely on his side.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, making sure the pillow is fluffy enough. “Sorry I couldn’t be bothered to look for fresh sheets. But hey, at least I didn’t kill them in their beds so we’re not sleeping in their blood.”

Jack gives him a look, and Brock sighs.

“I wish I could read your thoughts.”

It’s apparently a wrong thing to say, because Jack drops his gaze. Brock doesn’t have the energy to try and figure out how to fix this, so he just ignores it. He flops onto the mattress next to Jack and arranges them both into a half-embrace; Jack can’t hold him properly anymore, but it’s still nice to feel the weight of his arm across his waist. Brock nudges his nose with his own.

“Hey, stop moping. I thought you wanted to kiss.”

Jack’s eyes are closed already when he reaches for Brock’s lips. Brock knows he’s imagining he’s kissing his old, handsome boyfriend who has energy, stamina, and a working dick. Brock can’t blame him; all he can do is to kiss him back like he still is that boyfriend.

At least Jack’s dick isn’t any more working than Brock’s so neither of them becomes frustrated.

Brock doesn’t feel rested when he wakes up, and each day is full of work; at this point, he’s sure he’ll only be given a chance to rest after he dies.

Jack is awake already, his thoughtful gaze fixed on a spot above Brock’s head, his arm still thrown haphazardly across his body.

“Hello,” Brock says, his voice strained. He clears his throat, but it only makes it more sore and dry. “Slept well?”

Jack nods. Brock doesn’t dare ask him for how long he has been awake. How much time does he spend alone with his thoughts, unable to distract himself when Brock is resting or absent? No wonder he’s always so moody when those thoughts can’t be happy and optimistic.

Brock gets up to make coffee and breakfast; his skin is burning, so he forgoes clothes. After he feeds Jack and forces cold eggs down his throat, it’s time for Jack’s rehabilitation.

Brock doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s sure it’s necessary. He consulted the internet on what he could do to help Jack, learned exercises for him from YouTube. He wishes he could do more; Jack deserves professional care, but it’s impossible—the Avengers are still tracking them, for fuck’s sake. In his thoughts, Brock curses Hydra, curses himself for believing in their shady propaganda, finally for recruiting Jack into it. If it wasn’t for Brock, he wouldn’t be stuck here, maybe he wouldn’t have been in that room with the Council on that fateful day, maybe he would have the time to flee from the crumbling building…

They’re both tired after the rehabilitation, so they rest in each other’s embrace again, and Brock doesn’t even wince at the sting of Jack’s sweaty skin sticking to his burned.

He picks himself up when he gets bored, sets Jack down in his wheelchair, covers him with a blanket and wheels him outside, rambling about working in the garden.

“Remember how I said I’d give you a show on my hands and knees, covered in dirt?” Brock jokes, ignoring the pang in his chest saying no one would want to lay their eyes on him now, not to mention watch him. “Maybe some veggies are good for picking already, we could eat them for lunch.”

Brock expects Jack to glare at him for making him eat like a rabbit, but for once he doesn’t. He’s looking around the garden instead. It’s nothing much: a few shrubs, a lush green lawn, an apple tree, a small patch with cucumbers and carrots, and a glasshouse with tomato and pepper plants. In the center the rose is growing, the white of its petals blinding in the summer sun. Brock brings a watering can and helps Jack water his rose, then leaves him in the tree’s shadow. He returns inside for a moment to put on some clothes and a cap, and to turn on the radio so they can listen to it through the open backdoor.

He only manages to weed and water the vegetable patch before the damaged skin of his arms begins to burn in the sun. He wipes sweat off his brow and decides to call it a day. His legs have cramped up a little from crouching, and he approaches Jack in a slow, unsteady gait.

“Are you doing okay?”

Jack nods, watching him with visible worry.

“I’m fine,” Brock says, because the last thing he needs is Jack worrying about him. He has enough things to worry about. “A little fatigued, a little sore, you know how it is.”

Jack shakes his head in what Brock guesses is disapproval as he wheels him back inside.

“I’m okay, I promise, but I need to rest. Did you enjoy the show at least?”

Jack’s lips break in a smirk at that, and he looks Brock up and down appreciatively. Brock’s face still warms under his gaze like it could be more than a fucking joke with how disfigured he is.

“Hopefully, the TV will have something nicer to look at.”

Brock sets Jack’s wheelchair next to the couch and flops down onto it. He doesn’t miss his sad look when he switches on the TV.

“I know,” he says, “I’ll read you a book when I catch my breath.” Hopefully, his eyes will stop stinging by then. He changes channels until he sees a movie just starting, some action flick he has never heard of before. “You okay watching this?”

Jack nods; the movie can’t be any good, but that’s exactly what Brock needs, to look at some cheap, terrible effects and turn off his brain.

“Are you okay? Do you want to lie down, or have a drink?”

Jack considers his question for a moment, but then shakes his head.

They’re running out of anti-clotting shots.

Brock doesn’t tell Jack, but he can probably guess as much from how tight Brock’s face is when he’s giving him one and from the fact Brock hasn’t been on a medical supply run in a while.

The worry doesn’t let him fall asleep, so he quietly digs out his gun from the nightstand drawer and leaves Jack’s side. He sneaks out of the bedroom and into the hall where he left the gun cleaning kit, and he takes it with him to the living room.

He hopes he won’t be forced to use the gun when breaking into a pharmacy at night, but he hasn’t cleaned it in a while, and he has nothing better to do at this hour. The silence in the big house feels oppressive, so he turns on the TV on a low volume. He works thoroughly and yet he doesn’t completely run out of the nervous energy filling him when he’s done. He leaves the lights and the TV on and returns to the bedroom to put the gun away before having a glass of wine to help him fall asleep. He takes a look at Jack when he enters—it’s a force of habit to check if he’s alright. He’s lying on his side facing the door like Brock has arranged him, and his eyes are open, fixed on the gun in Brock’s hand. Taken aback, Brock stops in his tracks.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” He raises the gun in a way of explanation. Jack’s eyes track the movement. “I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d clean it. I’ll have ta go on a supply run tomorrow night.”

Jack finally meets his gaze, but Brock can’t decipher the meaning behind it. He shrugs.

“I’m sorry if it upset you. I’ll have a glass and join you.”

He takes a step towards his nightstand, but Jack’s eyes boring into him make him hesitate. Jack slowly looks away toward the gun still raised in Brock’s hand, then back to Brock, then back—

Brock’s blood runs cold when the realization of what Jack’s asking for dawns on him.

“No,” he says, his voice sharper than intended. “Never ask again.”

He reaches the nightstand in one stride and yanks the drawer open. He wants to throw the gun in, but years of training force him to lay it down gently. Then he closes the drawer, turns on his heel, and leaves the bedroom.

His hand shakes when pouring bourbon. It burns going down his throat, heats him up from the inside, like swallowing burning oil, but better.

He stands at the window, but all he sees is his own reflection. His anger slowly evaporates as he’s sipping on his bourbon, leaving him in fear’s cold clutches. His knuckles go white as he clenches the glass, dries it, and on a bit unsteady legs, he returns to the bedroom. He wraps himself in a soft blanket that doesn’t irritate his skin like the itchy sheets and lies down next to Jack. He wraps one arm around his waist and presses himself close. Having adjusted to the darkness, he sees Jack’s eyes are closed, but he hasn’t been gone long enough for him to fall back asleep after what just happened.

“I can’t lose you,” Brock whispers, pulling Jack’s hair back. “I just can’t.”

Jack keeps pretending to sleep.

Brock starts breathing a little easier once he has raided a pharmacy, even when Jack becomes more moody and generally uncommunicative after what happened that fateful night. Brock finds he doesn’t care as much anymore—perhaps it’s the result of taking more painkillers than he used to, now that he has a seemingly endless supply.

Days pass fast and suddenly, they’ve been living in the house for a month, and Brock realizes they have become too comfortable. It’s a small town, and their neighbors grow more and more suspicious of them, asking when the actual owners are coming back from their ‘vacation’. The house begins to stink so much from the bodies shut down in the basement, no amount of Febreze can cover it up anymore. The Avengers are probably getting closer to finding them. They need to move again.

They spend their last day in the garden, Jack in the shadow next to his rose, and Brock working on the vegetables. He will miss it; who knows where they end up living next. Perhaps somebody’s forgotten basement or a stuffy one-room apartment.

The sun is setting already, but the air is still humid when Brock decides to call it a day. He walks over to Jack, who’s looking at the rose.

“It looks ready for cutting,” Brock says conversationally, lightly touching the rose’s opened corolla. “Wanna cut it?”

Jack stays still for so long, Brock’s about to drop the topic and wheel him back inside, but then he nods. Brock retrieves pruning shears from the shed and cuts the rose, leaving its stem long.

“Here you are.” He cuts off the thorns and rests the rose against Jack’s chest. “We’ll put it in the vase inside. Maybe we’ll even take it with us?”

Saying it, he already knows they won’t. They need to travel lightly, and the rose isn’t essential to their survival. Still, it’s a nice thought he supposes Jack would like to entertain.

Jack leans down, and at first Brock thinks it’s to smell the rose, but then he catches its stem just below the calyx between his teeth and strains his neck towards Brock, looking up at him meaningfully.

“Oh, it’s for me?” Brock takes the rose back absentmindedly, distracted by a rare smile blooming on Jack’s face. “It was always supposed to be for me, wasn’t it?” he realizes. “The entire rose garden you wanted.”

Jack nods, and as Brock stares into his eyes that are full of affection, he suddenly understands Jack still loves him. All this time, it’s been him who can’t stand the way he looks, not Jack. Jack doesn’t mind. Brock sighs, the weight in his chest making it hard to breathe, and crouches down, resting his hands against Jack’s knees. Jack follows him with his gaze.

“Jackie.” Brock hesitates, the words he’s about to say almost impossible to force out of his mouth. But he needs to ask, because maybe Jack loves him, but he doesn’t love his life, and it’s unfair of Brock to force him to keep on living like this. His throat is tight when he finally manages to form the words. “Do you… wanna go to sleep?”

His eyes and throat burn, the pain spreads down his chest, and it’s like he’s drowning in scalding hot oil again. He blinks back tears as he watches Jack’s eyes widen as the meaning behind those words dawns on him. Brock’s heart stops as he waits for a response, his lungs ache from the lack of air, but Jack seems to be stupefied.

Then, slowly, he shakes his head.

The breath of relief Brock takes at that feels like a second life. He pulls himself onto his feet and presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“Good,” he breathes, his voice failing him again. “That’s good. Let’s pack up then.”

As he wheels Jack back inside, he feels much, much lighter.

#rumrollinsweek2020 #hydra husbands #brock rumlow #jack rollins #my writing

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jeremys-blogs · 4 years

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Avatar: Complexities in War

Avatar: The Last Airbender is rightly regarded as one of the greatest works of modern animation. Having debuted back in 2005, it quickly gained a following that spread into a worldwide audience that fell utterly in love with its action, its characters, it setting and its story. And even now, over a decade since it left our screens, it's still looked back to with reverence and respect. But without question the thing that received the most praise from audiences and critics alike was its handling of complicated themes surrounding the issues of war. This was, after all, a show where children are forced into a life-or-death battle for the fate of the world, and as such it was always going to have to face and answer difficult questions. Who do you side with? What is the best way to fight? What kind of damage is done, not only to those who fight but to their families? All these ideas and more were shown at one point or another and all of them were handled expertly. With war as both a setting and a framing device, the show was free to explore all of these issues in a way that was less restrictive than the likes of more serialized animations, and to this day people are still talking and discussing those themes, serving as a testament to just how powerful this story's legacy is.

Now, I could talk all day about all the things I love about this show, but for right now what I want to focus on is something that, maybe more than anything else, I truly appreciate about the central conflict that they present. And that's their willingness to blur the lines between good and evil. Because if you're a kid who has grown up on animated works that present rigid good guy vs bad guy stories with factions and the like, it can be easy to assume, especially with the show's opening, that sorting out friends and enemies will be immediate in Avatar. The now-famous line of "everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked" will prime audiences for thinking of that nation as a group of irredeemable villains who must be stopped at all costs, while those nations it fights are the righteous heroes who are above reproach. But as time goes on and we get into the wider world of Avatar, we're slowly shown that this initial impression is inaccurate. That our notions of who is good and who is evil might not be as clear-cut as we first assumed. Throughout its three seasons, Avatar showed us that this war, as in all wars, has its grey areas, and that no nation was free of ambiguity.

The Water Tribe, as our first example, is the first of the four nations we're introduced to, and they're presented to us as the friendly starter village that our hero Aang must set out from. Two of his closest friends are from this group and our first encounter with them is both ordinary village life and being near-victims of a Fire Nation attack. The show sets us up to think of the Water Tribe as entirely benevolent, and as Katara and Sokka are largely the only members we see for the majority of the season, they're a nation with a lot of goodwill built up by the time we get close to the season finale. But that all gets twisted when we get to the North, where it's revealed that the nation is so entrenched in tradition that women are prohibited from learning waterbending, something we've been wanting to see katara succeed at all season. So rigid are they that the women of the tribe don't even have a say in who they wed, as shown with Yue. And later we find that the Water Tribe produced Hama, a waterbender who, while initially starting out as a defender of her people, eventually twisted into one who sought to torture innocent Fire Nation civilians, even going to far as to create bloodbending, a technique which I think we can all agree is a violation at best.

The Earth Kingdom is, by far, the nation we spend the most time with in this series, and as such we've been given plenty of examples of people within it cracking the pedestal that we might imagine for the Fire Nation's chief rival in the war. Military leaders like General Fong, who turned on Aang and endangered his friends if it meant being able to use him as a weapon. Vigilantes like Jet who, like Hama, were willing to risk innocent civilians over their personal quest for revenge. Lynch-mob-happy crowds like those seen in Avatar Day, who showed a deeply corrupt idea of law and justice. All of these put the Earth Kingdom in a bad light, but the biggest strike against them was the dark heart that is their capital, Ba Sing Se. Though told to us throughout the first two books as a safe haven, we eventually discover that it is more akin to a police state, ruled over by shadowy agents who are willing to go so far as to kidnap and brainwash their own people, all while the actual King, admittedly through no fault of his own, was so oblivious to the suffering of his people that he didn't even know the war existed. And of course, the willingness of those aforementioned agents to effectively hand their city over to the Fire Nation certainly doesn't help their image.

The Fire Nation, as the show's central antagonistic force, has a lot going against it. The crimes it has committed cannot be ignored and the fact that it has spent an entire century trying to dominate everyone else makes it difficult to see it in any kind of sympathetic light. Yet we are often shown goodness and decency within that nation, most notably in two of the show's most important characters, Zuko and Iroh, with the latter especially being perhaps the nicest person in the entire cast. But it doesn't just stop with them, as we get numerous examples of likeable people from that nation, like the kids in the Headband, or the villagers from the Painted Lady. People who, like those in other nations, are being harmed in one way or another by the Fire Nation leadership. Even firebending itself, the very tool so often used for world conquest in this story, is explained to not be an inherently evil power, as Aang himself first believed, but a source of warmth, light and energy. Much like Zuko himself, the Fire Nation is an entity with many different sides, often in conflict with itself, and though the negative is certainly pronounced, it doesn't wash away all of the good that it has to show.

The Air Nomads, you'd rightly suspect, would be difficult to characterise as anything other than good, since our only real exposure to them over the course of the show was Aang. But in the few times we see life in the Air Temples, specifically during the flashback segments of the Storm, we see a few troubling signs from that particular group. Namely the decision of the leaders to push Aang's training as Avatar ahead of what was deemed proper. A decision which ultimately led to him running away. It was an action that showed that they were putting his capacity as the Avatar ahead of his personal well-being, gearing him up to be a child soldier, which is not a good sign. Additionally, we're given hints that the Air Nomads are, by and large, unconcerned with the world beyond, intervening only when there is an Avatar among their number. That might not seem like a particularly bad thing, but if it means, as I suspect, that they would have been willing to sit back and do nothing as the Fire Nation ravaged their allies, then it makes them come across as, at best, aloof when it comes to the world. Peace and spirituality are all well and good, but if their stance is to avoid conflict at a time when a fight must be fought, when others like the Water Tribe would go to help the Earth Kingdom, it's hard to justify.

Now, please don't misunderstand me when I write all this. Because I am not attempting to say that the Fire Nation should be absolved of their actions, or that the other nations should be seen as worse than they are. After all, the Fire Nation was guilty of genocide, a crime that cannot ever be forgiven, and I would never suggest otherwise. But when you look at the show as a whole, at all the places and peoples we see, it becomes apparent that the binary good-vs-evil ideas that an audience might have from other animated shows simply doesn't apply as well to this story. There is evil, tremendous evil, to be sure, and the show in no way tries to say that the Fire Nation shouldn't be fought or stopped from what they're doing. But at the same time they make it clear that, just as in real-world conflicts, there's nuance and flexibility to the various groupings of enemies and allies. It's a lesson that good and evil can come from any place and any person, just as it is in real life, and it's one more of the many reasons why this show was so ahead of its time, and still a standard by which even modern cartoons should be judged

#essay #writing #my stuff #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #iroh #fire nation #air nomads #water tribe #earth kingdom

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mcfiddlestan · 4 years

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Last 10 Fics Tag Meme

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

No one tagged me, but I saw it in the tags of one of my ships and it looked fun.

1. Untitled WinterFrost Single Dad AU (Bucky/Loki)

The sound of his front door opening and closing pulled Loki from a deep sleep. So deep, it took him a moment to remember where he was and how he knew that was his front door. His eyes opened slowly once, twice, and then again, to nothing but the darkness of what he was sure was his bedroom. Then the pounding started. Incessantly, pulsing around his entire head. Damned migraines. Loki let out a low grain, thought fuck it, and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Moments later, the door to his bedroom pushed open.

“Time to rise, Sunshine.”

Loki grumbled at the familiar voice, and slowly, he turned his body, rolling onto his back. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning? Oh, for Norn’s sake!” He threw a pillow over his face as the curtains were pulled open and let the blinding daylight flood the room. “I’ve got a damn migraine!”

2. Untitled Stucky Modern AU (Steve/Bucky and a healthy side of Sam/Natasha)

Bucky, his mind drawing a blank, was idly strumming his guitar when he heard the hard slam coming from next door. He surmised his neighbor and best friend, Natasha, had returned from her date, and assumed she’d be over in a few minutes to tell him about it. But when he heard a couple more distant slams and one very heavy thump against their shared wall, his curiosity got the better of him. Setting aside his black Fender, and stepping carefully over a dozing Avalanche, his tuxedo cat, Bucky walked barefoot through his apartment, into the hall, and breezed right into Natasha’s apartment.

He didn’t see her, but Bucky heard Natasha swear sharply, followed by something rattling against the hardwood floor. Waiting, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his dark sweatpants. Bucky watched as the top of Natasha’s head, burgundy hair in a stylish messy bun, popped up as she’d bent to pick up what he suspected was the cap to the bottle of vodka in her hand. “Hey, babe.”

Natasha turned dark green eyes on him, a sour expression pinching her usually attractive features, and said nothing, only moving to pour herself a full tumbler glass of the clear liquor. Bucky watched her swallow down most of it then waited silently as she filled it up once again.

He moved to rest his elbows on her pub height dining table. “Bad date?”

“You think?”

3. A Boyfriend for Christmas (Bucky/Loki)

“I need your help.”

Loki stared at the man in his doorway for a good five seconds, his lips in a thin red line, and his perfectly groomed black brows arched in curiosity. The man — his neighbor, Loki knew — was good-looking, Loki thought as he took the time to look him over, lips turning up in a soft grin. “Good evening to you, too, 9B.” The man’s lashes fluttered as they did a quick change from widened panic to a more relaxed gaze. Norns, his eyes were an impossible blue. “I can’t promise to help, but try me,” Loki drawled, taking a casual stance, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door jamb.

“Okay. Believe me, I know how this is gonna sound, and I swear I’ll make it up to you — somehow — but…well…okay. Here goes…” Loki cocked a brow, amused. “I need you to be my boyfriend for one night.”

Surprised, and maybe even surprising his neighbor, too, Loki laughed, a tickled near-giggle, and straightened. “You need me to do what now?”

4. Welcome Home -- working title (Bucky/Loki)

Bucky woke with a start, shooting up in his bed, and opening his eyes to near darkness, but for the faint orange glow of the streetlamps outside his bedroom window. For a moment, he was still in the dream; back in the desert, embedded in dirt, surrounded by heat. And flanked by Steve. On his right. He rubbed at his eyes, harder than necessary, willing the image of his best friend smiling and laughing to fade away again.

Two years had passed since it all happened. The first year was the hardest. Stuck in the hospital, healing, speaking to no one but nurses and doctors — and the occasional military personnel, looking for the gory details. The minute he was out, Bucky was hounded by government officials wanting him to attend various memorials in the good captain’s name. Wanting him to relive the worst day of his life — which is saying a lot for a kid from Brooklyn who wasn’t far from ground zero on September 11, 2001. Was it any wonder that Bucky chose to up and disappear and go into hiding once it all finally ended?

5. WinterFrost Tumblr PWP Prompt (Bucky/Loki)

Bucky barged into the loft apartment, a dark expression screwing up his face, and paused just as the door slammed closed. His eyes, hidden beneath the black face paint smeared around them, like a burglar’s mask, did a quick scan of the layout of the open space before him. He kicked off his muddy boots, leaving them near the door, knowing his ‘loftmate’ wouldn’t take kindly to him leaving a dirt track through the well-kept place. He made a quick mental note to take care of the boots first thing in the morning. His mouth in a deep pout, Bucky thought to himself that it was times like this when he returned from a mission exhausted and not in the mood for company, that he wondered why he ever decided to move in with Loki, resident God of Mischief.

6. Post-Civil War/Ragnarok Frostiron AU (Tony/Loki)

There was no doubt in Tony’s mind just exactly what -- or rather who -- brought that subtle shift in atmosphere into the lab. He’d been expecting it, at some point, if he was honest with himself. And while a small part of him felt relief, there was, always had been, that slightly narcissistic part of his personality that would resent not being at the top of a certain someone’s to-do list.

Tony felt the faint flutter of air sweep across the back of his neck first, which reminded him he really needed to get a haircut. His nose tickled at the sharp tang the wafting scent of ozone often left in its wake. Realization about what exactly was about to transpire had Tony’s stomach doing a bit of a flip; pride, though, forced him to remain with his back to where he felt someone else’s presence. For a fleeting moment, Tony wondered if he could handle this.

Recalling everything that had happened since he last saw his visitor -- the mess with Ultron, the devastating truth about his parents’ deaths, the ends of friendships he actually mourned, the airport, Rhodey, the kid, the Accords -- all of it was a rollercoaster ride for which Tony had never signed up. But this...this one had hurt. The worst part was having to hide the hurt, the heartbreak, because no one knew. No one; not Pepper, not Happy. Not even Rhodey. Nobody knew the blow it was to the one they called Iron Man. How could they? No one knew that Iron Man had fallen in love with the God of Mischief.

7. Untitled Royals AU (Tony/Loki, with a splash of Bucky/Loki)

“Do you enjoy embarrassing me like this?”

Odin, King of Asgard, aimed a dark look across the conference table at Loki, the younger of his two sons, his anger and frustration growing by the second. The air of arrogance and disinterest emanating from Loki, raven-haired and more handsome than was good for him at an aggravating twenty-four years old, was making Odin curl his weathered hands into tight fists on top of the table. Loki looked at him, a questionable flash of surprise crossing his pale, chiseled features, his mostly-green eyes all but twinkling at him, mocking and laughing.

“Of course I don’t.”

He was no fool; not Odin Borson. His expression darkened further, as he waited for the next words to come from Prince Loki’s mouth.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy embarrassing you. It’s more that it’s…a perk.” He smirked at Odin, like the brat he was, and Odin’s response was interjected by the Queen’s subtle astonishment.

“Loki.” His eyes moved to her, and her disapproving look, and the smirk vanished.

Odin slammed the newspaper that he’d been keeping in his lap to the glossy top of the long mahogany table. The headlines of Loki’s chaotic week in the States screamed about alcohol, fast cars, and the general recklessness of a perceived overly-spoiled son of royalty. “This is not a joke, Loki.”

8. Take A Bow (Tony/Loki)

Loki rushed through the narrow hallway, coughing to clear his throat of the makeshift fog that had filled the stage for the final moments of the play. By the time he reached the haven of his dressing room, his necktie was undone and his shirt was half unbuttoned. The hurried shouts and stomps of people working backstage were blissfully drowned out as Darcy, his new young assistant, quickly closed the door behind him.

“Great show tonight, Boss,” Darcy chirped as she took the discarded tie Loki handed over and waited to take his costume jacket and vest. Loki chuckled a thank you as she turned away from him. He urged her several times already to just call him by his name, but she insisted on calling him Boss, like he was a gangster in the 1930s. Darcy returned with a glass of water and Loki smiled his thanks before taking a long drink.

9. The House Guest (genderswapped FrostIron, fem!Toni/fem!Loki)

Loki sat in the front seat of a beat-up red convertible and stared blankly ahead. A mixture of hurt and anger had her brow furrowing, her lips pressed tightly together, and her chin, goddammit, was trembling. As Fandral droned on, giving his pathetic explanation, Loki did her best to focus on the other sounds around her — the birds chirping in the late summer morning; a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance; someone’s car alarm down the street malfunctioning — and fought to keep her eyes, fixated now on the white garage door in front of the car, from filling with tears.

Bullshit. She was hearing noting but utter bullshit. Her high school days behind her, Loki had spent the summer constructing plans for the next few months that didn’t involve going to her father’s alma mater in New York and spending the next four years of her life behind more piles of books. She had no interest in swapping high school jocks for frat boys. What she’d had were plans to go on a road trip across the States — and beyond — with Fandral, making love and making music.

But, apparently, Fandral had other plans. And the shitty reasons he was giving for not staying with Loki weren’t helping her understand any better.

10. WinterIron Bodyguard AU (Bucky/Tony)

“Founder and CEO of Stark International and Columbia professor wife critically injured in car accident.”

“Howard Stark, 69, runs car off-road in upstate New York.”

“Socialite couple Howard and Maria Stark injured in car accident. Condition, for both, critical.”

Tony watched the words all but screaming at him from the two flat-screen televisions mounted side-by-side on his bedroom wall, frozen in the spot where he stood by his bed. The words the news anchors spoke, giving details of the accident, were nothing but white noise in his ears. He’d gone numb. He processed nothing. Except that his parents had been in a horrific car accident — a shot of what was left of father’s silver Cadillac made Tony’s knees give out and he dropped to the foot of his bed.

How could anyone survive that? he thought to himself.

----

Tagging @teadrinkingwolfgirl @incredifishface @maeve-curry-writes @stephrc79 and literally anyone else who wants to/feels like doing it (tagged peeps, don’t feel obligated!)

#frostiron #winterfrost #samtasha #stucky #winteriron #fic meme #my fics #mostly WIPs #i have a lot to work on #writer's problems

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malecsecretsanta · 4 years

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Merry Christmas, @leetje!

happy holidays leonie, have a wonderful time of love and celebration! i hope you enjoy your fic! x

Read on AO3

*****

wherever you are is the place i belong

Of all the things Magnus expected to be doing an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, trekking through inches of dense Hungarian snow was not one that had crossed his mind. It was all that rat bastard Lorenzo Rey’s fault for antagonizing the notoriously reclusive and anal-retentive High Warlock of Budapest.

Gergo Bartos had grown perilously distrustful through the centuries and his spellwork reflected that—but it didn’t keep Lorenzo from asserting the possibility that he purposefully sabotaged the warding of the archives in the Spiral Labyrinth, leading to a security breach. Bartos was livid, and sent word to the Clave and the Warlock Council that he refused to ever again be brought to a conference, summit, or any such engagement where he had to share space with Rey.

Naturally, the solution was to send the High Warlock of Alicante and the Inquisitor to Budapest on Christmas Eve to try to smooth things over.

“I’m going to strangle that man the next time I see him,” Magnus grumbled to himself, carefully avoiding a slick glaze of black ice.

Alec’s fingers pressing into Magnus’ forearm flexed as he looked down at the mounds of wet snow below his boots. “Lorenzo? I’ll back you.”

Looking over at him, with delicate little snowflakes trapped on his eyelashes and the soft ends of his hair, Magnus felt that familiar lurching feeling in his chest, like for a second his heart stopped just to take him in. The silvery moonlight reflected off the snow and formed a backlighting that gave his angel the halo he deserved, resting on the crown of his head. The high points of his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, as was the tip of his nose.

Maybe this turn of events wasn’t totally unfortunate.

“Are you too cold?” Magnus asked, sending a pulse of warmth to the surface of his skin and letting it bleed out to Alec.

Alec shivered at the sharp contrast in temperature, then leaned in close to press his face to Magnus’ cheek. “Ugh, that feels so good. I didn’t know it got this cold here. It’s not as bad as New York but still…”

“Your nose is ice!”

Pressing his face more enthusiastically against Magnus’ with a deep, throaty chuckle, Alec peppered kisses with cold lips against the round of his cheek. “When we get home, can we take a hot bath? Maybe add a bath bomb or two, a couple mugs of tea, some eucalyptus candles, and a Sam Cooke vinyl playing.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” Magnus teased, catching the tip of his nose against Alec’s in an aborted Inuit kiss. “That sounds like absolute heaven. Did you know there are some divine thermal springs here in Budapest? The Széchenyi Baths are open all year round you know. Maybe we’ll find the time to indulge.”

“You know patience isn’t a virtue of mine when it comes to you, Mr. Lightwood-Bane.” Alec nipped at Magnus’ earlobe with his teeth, a gentle sting of pleasure. A soft sigh punctuated the wistful declaration and preceded the next words out of his mouth. “How much further?”

“Not far.”

“And we can’t portal because…?”

“We can’t portal in because Gergo has perfected the enchantment that surrounds his property; it doesn’t allow portals in or out within a certain distance of his home. This is as close as I could get us without potentially risking life and limb. Believe me, getting spliced would be the least of our worries if we tried.”

As the woods grew denser, clearly capable of making a lesser person claustrophobic, the strength of Bartos’ magic signature grew. Magnus could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and goosebumps spread across his skin.

“Do you feel that?” Alec asked, stopping suddenly in his tracks and pulling an arrow from his glamoured quiver and nocking it in his bow.

Holding out a hand to keep Alec from making a sudden move, Magnus’s magic began to probe their surroundings for a trigger, a thread lying in wait to be pulled. “Wait.”

Like a flash of lightning, a bolt of raw energy shot through the trees, and Magnus only just stopped it in its tracks before it reached them. “Látom, hogy az idő még ébersé tette Önt, Gergo,” he called out evenly, keeping his eyes on it.

“Bane? Te vagy az?” a voice responded from somewhere unidentifiable in the distance.

“Az inkvizitátor Lightwood-Bane-nél vagyok.” The concentrated energy Magnus was holding at bay suddenly dissipated, and he lowered his arm back to his side. “We’re here as representative authorities on behalf of the Warlock Council and the Clave.”

From the darkness of the vast woods, a man suddenly appeared from a glimmering portal of opalescent magic. His hair was a darker shade of blond, and his eyes were a deep brown that almost looked black from where he stood. His physique was mostly hidden under the long black robes he wore and the loose button up shirt, but what was clear was that he was very tall with softer features. “This is about that rohadék, Lorenzo. I made it clear that I will not be cooperating with him any longer. I did nothing to sabotage our people’s haven and source of community. I would hope that is something you would know about me without a shadow of a doubt, Magnus.”

Shifting away from Alec to move towards Gergo, Magnus nodded and held out one hand in a peaceful gesture. “I do. I believed you from the beginning. We didn’t come here to accuse you of anything.”

“Is that so?” Gergo looked at him, and then at Alec, with stern eyes and a set jaw. Some of the ice in his expression had thawed, however, and he looked less guarded than when they began. “To what do I owe the visit, then?”

“We can prove your innocence,” Alec stated simply, speaking up for the first time.

“Color me curious.” With a wave of his hand, a pale blue sheet of magic appeared and formed a barrier that started just behind him. Slowly, it began to peel away, allowing Gergo to step through. “A more comfortable venue seems best to continue this.”

Magnus put his hand on Alec’s lower back, steering him gently. He also used the opportunity to his advantage, pressing faint traces of protective magic onto Alec with fingers teasing just under the fabric of his coat, sweater, and t-shirt to brush tenderly across his skin.

They walked towards an old-style mansion that had just dropped its glamour—it looked like the sister establishment to the Sacelláry Mansion. Its exterior was as immaculate and pristine as the day it was built, though it almost seemed to be existing in a place where time didn’t wear down what it touched. There were large columns that barred the front, balconies off every window from the second floor up to the attic. It was painted a crisp ivory color with minimal accents of chestnut brown, still perfectly preserved. The inside was mostly cold, sterile marble in white or black, save for the doors which were large oak double panels. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, with numerous doors on either side, until Gergo stopped at one and opened in, gesturing for the two of them to go inside.

It was the apothecary, markedly different from Magnus’ own with its more chaotic atmosphere. Nearly every surface housed magical objects and items, numerous bookshelves stuffed full with tomes, journals, and volumes were pushed against the walls, and a massive cabinet of glass vials full of potions, tinctures, and salves of varying colors sat snugly in the space just inside the room beside the door. “I’m prepared to prove my innocence, no matter what effort it may require from me,” he stated bluntly, taking a thin stack of papers from the desk in the corner. “This is how I created the warding. Whoever was able to slip between the cracks would have to know even more than just how to find the back doors—they would need to understand the minutia of the mechanisms I applied.”

Magnus looked at the outstretched hand and its proffered notes written in hurried cursive. After a few moments of reading, it became clear that there were extensive adaptations in the spellwork that made it unique. Whoever had managed to hijack it would need some prior knowledge. But… “You put in a tripwire.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I haven’t been allowed access to the Spiral Labyrinth since the breach. So I don’t know.” Gergo walked around the desk to be opposite them and opened one of the drawers. “If it was triggered, this would detect it.” A small, round stone that was milky-white and appeared to encase something living inside that swirled in ceaseless, shapeless movements. “It acts like a magnet of sorts, attracting the energy source it touched.”

Alec came up behind Magnus, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a test tube of a navy blue substance. “One of the best forensic pathologists in our Institutes managed to isolate the energy signatures that were found within the warding and then reduced it down into a concentrated form. This might be able to give us an answer.” He pulled off the stopper and held it out towards Gergo.

As soon as the stone got within a few centimeters of the substance, the swirling insides became frantic and turned a dark gray.

All three men looked up at one another.

“We’ll take this to the Summit tomorrow,” Magnus declared. “The sample Isabelle provided, and the stone.”

For a moment, Gergo just observed him with narrowed eyes.

If Alec weren’t with him, Magnus thinks, maybe he would be more inclined to have faith that he could be trusted with the responsibility. Things had changed when Magnus became Alicante’s high warlock—rumors had circled that maybe his alliance was shifting, maybe he had lost himself in the dizzy daydreams of his shadowhunter lover. He’d had to choose between his love and his people before, and he hoped never to face it again because it nearly tore him apart. But he was loyal to the people it was job, both formally and informally, to protect.

“Swear a blood oath,” Gergo finally said.

Without skipping a beat, Alec, still at Magnus’ side, pulled an adamas blade from his boot. “I’ll go first.” He glanced over at Magnus with an understanding expression that made it clear that he had gauged the situation correctly. He pressed the sharp point to his palm just hard enough to draw blood, and then clenched his hand into a fist so it dripped down onto the stone still writhing inside. “Et sanguis meus, ut accipiat fidem meam. Si fractum ita et ego.”

Magnus clenched his fist tight enough that his nails dug into his skin to break it. “Et sanguis meus, ut accipiat fidem meam. Si fractum ita et ego.” His blood fell slow in droplets, mingling with Alec’s in a way that made something in his chest go tight.

When they left, bloodied hands clasped together, Magnus felt Alec’s pulse against his in the midst of the wet warmth.

“That could have gone worse,” Alec pointed out, speaking quietly among the ambient silence of the woods.

Magnus chuckled wryly, looking over at him. “Politics are rarely ever a situation in which anyone wins.”

The soft crunching of snow beneath their boots with each step was abnormally prevalent with how quiet the city had become. The snow was still falling at a steady pace and accumulating on the ground, making a pristine and untouched layer of soft white.

“Well my love, since we won’t be getting much sleep tonight anyway, how about that bath you tantalized me with earlier?” Magnus suggested as he brought them to a stop.

Alec grinned at him like the sun rose and fell at his command, and Magnus had to look away to keep from being completely incapacitated by it. “That sounds perfect.”

Before the portal home could be summoned though, the clock tower that loomed above them began to toll midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, putting his hands tenderly on either side of Alec’s face to bring him in for a kiss. It was soft and warm and tasted like snow.

“Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

#leetje #malecsanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

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