#putting the quiver within reach of his feet so he can shoot without using his wigns

[thefaeriecreek]

Continuing my series of botw redesigns, I'm working on my boyfriend Revali!

[jimlingss]

It's B from @bang-tan-bitches and I would like to request a yandere fic. It can be BTS OT7 x reader or BTS member of your choice x reader. Similar to your amazing isekai story i would like something similar(a long one shot or a multi-chapter, your choice). Whether YN transmigrates to a game or a novel (not as a villain but maybe as a cannon fodder side character that has little importance to the story and just wants to lay low) but YN captures the attention of the love interest(s) and shit starts getting weird, intense, uncomfortable. Maybe it causes the supposed female lead to turn into the villain, maybe it causes the love interest(s) to turn into the villain(s). Maybe YN realizes that something is wrong with the story/game but can't figure it out. Idk. Time period doesn't matter. Modern. Ancient. Fairytale. Fantasy. Whatever.

If you can do this great! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay too. You're an amazing writer with so much talent and I'm really appreciative of all your work. Thank you for taking requests from your fans, I'm sure you've received a lot.

Take care! 😘💜💜💜

at the start of the pandemic, I was getting back into manga and manhwa and then after a few months, I dawdled off but recently, I’ve been getting back into it again haha so this request came at a pretty good time. Hopefully you won’t mind that I’ve taken some creative liberties with this request lol I think it’s more fun if I keep readers on their toes, including the requester.

On another note, I really shouldn’t be writing all my isekai’s with Taehyung as the main lead but he’s just so fitting asdfghjkl

↳ The Fox Bride

2.6k || 99% Light Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Isekai!AU, Slight Yandere!AU, Nine-Tailed Fox!Taehyung

You are a tutorial character.

But you weren’t always. You still remember being a career woman in the twenty-first century, struggling with overtime and paying bills while trying to keep yourself fed. The success of that ranged from month to month. But more importantly, you still remember that night too.

It was rainy. Your car blew a flat tire. You pulled to the side of the highway and got out.

The last thing that registered was the deafening honk of the semi-truck. 

Then you felt yourself flying upwards.

But when you landed, instead of colliding with the concrete and dying upon impact, you fell back onto your ass in the middle of a market on a dirt road. Transported back a thousand years ago.

Your purpose was fulfilled in the next two minutes. 

“Are you alright?”

The male protagonist had stretched out his hand and helped you up. The hero. The main character. It was obvious with his bright red hair, shining eyes and bronze armour. He was so starkly different from the rest who were gray and drab, including you who was suddenly in a brown shapeless dress. He was practically a neon billboard in the middle of a graveyard.

“Are you Y/N?”

You looked at him, befuddled that he knew your name. But before you could even respond or provide a line of dialogue, he said, “This is a delivery from Baker Jeon. He gives you his thanks.”

The protagonists handed you a loaf of bread. Undoubtedly his first ever quest. 

You looked down, not sure what to do with it.

“Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

You had absolutely no clue. But there was the deafening noise of hammering steel literally ten steps away. You would have to be blind not to see the gruff man shaping a sword at an anvil right on the road and deaf not to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the literal sign of the shop read: ‘the blacksmith’.

So you pointed.

“Thanks.” And he trudged off.

You were utterly confused until a background character who said they knew you waved you over. You shared your bread with her, brushed aside when she asked you what was wrong, and you followed her as she walked up to your supposed cottage.

All the while, you saw yourself in the background of the hero’s main quest as he ran through the town.

And that was that.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out where you were or what the hell this was when you put your mind to it. Without much of a job or a family, and no technology but the candle that you had to conserve when night fell, there was ample time.

So you spent it thinking and you eventually solved the mystery.

You were in Beast Boys Harem: A Forbidden Embrace. AKA. a dumb yaoi otome game app that you downloaded on your phone when you were sixteen and bored. You remember because you were too cheap to buy the routes, so you played the tutorial, prologue and read the summaries of the routes online. Now you regret that you didn’t just fork over the goddamn five dollars. 

Even more than that, you regret that you even downloaded the game in the first place.

But at least you’re just a tutorial character. You’re free from the storyline and the plot—

That’s what you thought.

Turns out living a thousand years in the past in a fantasy realm as a woman didn’t bode well. It was probably no different from how it would’ve been like in the medieval ages. You had no trade skills. No one was willing to accept you as an apprentice when you were a woman. You found that you were essentially illiterate with a reading level of a preschooler, no one was willing to teach you, and you had no power or wealth when you were without a father or a husband.

And you’re certain what the landlord and tax-collectors are doing is illegal.

But in this world, in this unjust realm, there is no such thing as the law.

“We know you’re in there!”

You jolt from the heavy pounding on the frail wooden door.

“It’s time to pay up!”

Your hands tremble as you set the candle down that’s still billowing of smoke, the flame smothered out mere seconds ago. As much as you want to hide and pull the blanket over your head, you know that door won’t last. They’ll find you if you’re trapped in here.

“If you can’t, spread those legs of yours!” a low voice spits and there’s chortling from the men.

Someone adds, “Sell your body already!” 

“Open up! Damn whore!”

Without a single possession but the white nightgown clad on your body, you open the latch of the back window. You cringe at the squeak, trying to keep your movements quiet before the door gives way.

You hoist yourself up onto the window ledge. The door bends with the strength of multiple clenched fists against it. Your feet touch the soft grass outside your cottage. The men shout.

And the door finally slams against the wall, hinges broken. 

But by then, you’ve slipped into the shadows.

“Where is she?!”

The blanket is ripped off the bed, curtains are whipped back, every drawer dumped onto the ground and cupboards yanked open. The floor shakes with the weight of their boots and you press your palm to your mouth to silence your panting breaths, slowly stepping away.

“That damn whore slipped through us—!”

But as your shitty luck would have it, a sudden crack has the whole world coming to a standstill.

Shit. You look down at your feet, realizing that the snapping noise came from you stepping on a twig. And it’s exposed your hiding place.

“There she is!” — “Out the back window!”

You grab fistfuls of your dress and bolt. 

“Get her!”

With your cottage on the edge of town, there’s nowhere to run but through the dense woods. It’s shrouded in the darkness, no doubt filled with wild beasts creeping through the thicket. The rustling canopy of the trees doesn’t allow the dim, waning moonlight to illuminate your path.

So you’re left blind. Struggling up the high incline of the forest, feet slipping on dirt and mud. But you keep sprinting with all your might, even when the pointed, coiling branches scrape at your calves until blood sheds and the hem of your dress tears in the underbrush.

“Run, little rabbit!” one of them mocks, “Run!”

The four men continue to give chase, gripping onto their roaring torches, shrieking and howling after you. One of them is manically laughing as if your efforts to flee only adds to the thrill. Their greased hands reach out to snatch you, but the tips of their fingers graze the ends of your hair.

Your teeth are sunk into the bottom of your lip, sobs breaking through your aching chest. Your lungs burn, dying for a break or moment of relief. But you don’t relent and luckily, you manage to build distance between you and the men. Only, that luck comes crashing down by a fucking hole.

A hole in the forest floor that you don’t see. That has your footing all wrong. That makes you scream and fall.

You twist your ankle in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to be in and cry from pain. 

A second later, you force yourself to get up and keep running with tears flooding your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. But it’s more like limping than running, akin to hobbling on one leg and every movement has pain shooting from your swelling ankle.

The effort becomes futile. They surround you within minutes.

“All finished?” The tax-collector’s head cocks with a spreading grin. “You’re not going to keep running?”

Why couldn’t you just fucking die the first time?! Even if it was an awful death where you didn’t have time to prepare yourself or say goodbye to anyone, at least it would’ve been the end. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer.

But there’s no time to grieve. Or hate the new life you’ve been given. This is it. You have to keep going. You have to survive. By any means. You’re about to pick up a branch and uselessly wave it around at them, shout at them to stand back. Anything that you could do to save yourself—

“Who dares come onto my mountain?!”

There’s a deep timbre behind you. A husky voice that quivers the very core of the forest.

As if the wind has swept through, the trees and thicket rustle and it goes silent.

The men fall back onto their asses, some torches clattering to the ground. Their eyes have grown double in size, nearly falling from their sockets and their jaws have dropped to the dirt.

“I-It’s the nine-tailed fox!”

The man scrambles back.

“Demon!” 

Another barely manages to get onto his feet. He turns around and lurches away while shrieking.

They all run. Scattering away as frantically as cockroaches when the light is flickered on.

From your spot on the ground, you turn around with wide eyes. 

Amber irises meet your gawking and they practically glow in the darkness of the forest. He is dressed in a loose, white robe that’s draped over his frame, open to the middle of his chest. And over his honey hair, on the top of his head, his pointed golden ears twitch. By the torch fire still yet to die out, he is illuminated and his shadow is casted on the ground. The blazing flame warms his cold, sharp features. 

He is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. In both worlds you’ve lived in.

And you know who he is.

Taehyung. One of the love interests of the hero. A seductive, sly creature that eventually coaxes the hero into selling him his soul to grant one of his wishes. But Taehyung grows to become an obsessed character that wants to do nothing but monopolize and possess the hero for himself.

That same Taehyung approaches you with his lip curled as you teeter to your feet.

“Run away, girl.” He leans close. “Before I eat you.”

“Stop!” 

On sheer instinct and adrenaline, you push him back. Your palm shoves against his firm chest.

Taehyung stumbles back with his eyes becoming rounded. He looks down to where you had made contact against his body. “Did...you just touch me?”

“What?”

Taehyung’s head darts upwards and he captures your wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly. He tugs you in and on your swollen ankle, you stumble into him. Bodies flush against one another. Your face pressed to his warm chest. His arm coming around your waist to break your fall.

He is aghast. 

“You’re not from this world.” Taehyung’s yellow eyes swirl as they gaze into you. “Where did you come from?”

…

It’s been three days.

“Wed me,” he begs for the seventy sixth time. 

You don’t know why you’re keeping a count.

“No.”

You’re hugging your knees for warmth. The rice paper-paneled doors are slid open and letting in the chilly air. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold, but you don’t look at him for long. 

You turn into the corner of his home while sitting on the tatami floors as if you’re putting yourself into time out. But you’d like to say it’s your privacy corner. It’s as private as this abode, which was basically one room, could get. 

Taehyung sighs in frustration, placing his hand on his forehead. His teeth grit. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Your silence angers him more. “You can never leave.”

You turn over your shoulder to glare. “Even if I married you, you’d never let me leave anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes on you and then smirks. “You’re right. Wed or unwed, I won’t let you out of my sight. You should feel grateful, girl. You’re the best human I’ve ever treated.”

You quietly scoff.

Maybe you should feel scared. Maybe you should tread more lightly. After all, he’s not a character to be trifled with.

But you know he needs you. That alone gives you power. 

As a beast, Taehyung’s been trapped on this mountain by priests for centuries. The only way he can be free is by feeding off of sexual energy and breaking the barrier. But of course, they also cursed him to be unable to touch any woman in this universe. 

You aren’t from this universe.

You jolt when you realize that while you were lost in thought, Taehyung’s crawled closer. He has a foxy smile, amber eyes searching your expression. “Maybe….maybe I’ll grant you a bit of freedom if you would just give into the temptation and let me have a taste of you.”

As cold as he looks, he is beautiful. He is mischievous when he smirks and sly when he speaks. You are utterly spellbound as you look into his irises. And the temptation he speaks of flickers in the warmth of your belly.

But you turn away.

“I already said we only do that kind of thing after marriage. And I will only marry someone I love.”

Taehyung draws back with an unamused scoff. “What a prudish world you’re from.”

He wanted you the moment you were brought to this house. With the intensity of his stare and your captivated state, you had let him pin you to his floor and you liked it. But then clarity came and you blurted that such an act only happens after marriage. A lie just to buy time.

You didn’t expect for the hero to arrive at Taehyung’s house the next day. With his red hair and bronze armour, he had gotten lost in the forest and knocked on the door. Before you could limp over and answer it, Taehyung jumped off the roof and confronted him.

The guy was thrown off the mountain within five minutes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have a steamy rendezvous. Taehyung was supposed to get the sexual energy from him! 

The story was going off the rails. And you’re not sure what you’re even buying time for anymore.

The both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you break and succumb to his mesmerizing seduction.

Taehyung is cruel, ruthless, obsessive.

But what’s the most bewitching thing about him is the jarring contrast of when he’s clumsy and nurturing. It’s what he regards as his own weakness. What he hides from others. But you felt your heart waver two nights ago when you were shaken awake in the middle of twilight. When you peeked open your eye to see him gingerly wrapping your swollen ankle with bandages.

He looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, ears, tails, sharp features softened—

“Ow!” You wince as he squeezes your ankle, right on your injury.

“You think too much in your head,” he says and looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

A sadistic smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. He lets go, but only to lift your chin with his fingers. His plush lips are inches away, his breath warm on your skin and he gazes deep into you. “I won’t let you return to your world. I won’t let you run away. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“You’re mine now.” Taehyung swears, “You’ll fall in love with me eventually.”

You gulp and he smirks.

The two of you know it’s only a matter of time.

[portgasdacer]

Dom! Nanami: R18*

Nanami Kento/ F! Reader: Dominant Nanami, Bondage with his tie, rough sex, kind of breeding kink a little bit, spanking.

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

You never thought you'd say the day that Nanami Kento killed you. Undeniably dangerous as he was, the entirety of his aggression was usually always pointed towards the curses he exercised for a living. Never would he raise a finger to an innocent human, so why was he so intent on making you suffer?

He hadn't so much as looked at you since he had gotten you in your compromising position; kneeling at his feet, entirely naked and with a vibrator working away within your cunt. Your hands were restrained behind your back with one of the ties from his extensive collection, a smooth and silky piece of material that wouldn't cause too much chafing. A small act of mercy on his part. The news paper in his hands entirely obstructed your view of his handsome features, and you were desperate for him to put the damned thing away so you could see his face. But alas, he was not relenting.

Your thighs had long since started shaking, entire body quivering with a burning need for the man in front of you. You could feel the cold and cloying wetness of sweat setting on your skin, a byproduct of your body's exertion from being denied orgasm for so long. The vibrator within you was thrumming at much too slow a tempo for it to push you off the precipice and frustrated tears were beginning to well in your eyes.

"Kento-"

You press your forehead to his knee, breaths coming and leaving in heavy puffs. There's not a single response from the man and you adjust with a whine, prickles shooting up your legs which are steadily turning numb.

"Please..."

The silence from him continues, and had you been any less depraved then you were, you'd have half a mind to make a snarky comment asking if he was deaf. You're on the verge of losing hope that you're ever going to garner any kind of acknowledgement from the man, when suddenly, the news paper in his hands is being closed and folded. He tosses it onto the small, round coffee table at his side, before finally, finally, turning those impossibly keen eyes onto your trembling form. Propping his elbow against the arm of the chair, Nanami slots his high cheekbone against his knuckle, peering down at you with a gaze that looks entirely indifferent.

A foot comes up, and your chin is suddenly being hooked onto one of his sleek dress shoes, keeping your hazy and lust-filled eyes on him.

"What is it that you want?"

A shudder runs through you at the sound of his voice. God, you'd never tire of that lazy drawl. You were sure he could sit there and recite pythagoras' theorem to you and you would still be as infinitely aroused as you are.

He rolls your chin slightly with his foot, watching intently as you try to fit your tongue and mouth around the words you want, but each and every attempt at vocalising comes out in no more than broken whines of "please." He isn't pleased with it, evidently, as he sighs and reaches back over for the paper he had only just discarded. Panic bubbles up within you then, and Nanami halts at a broken little cry of "n-no! Wait!"

His eyes are back on you, narrowed now and demanding as the toe of his shoe juts your head up sharply.

"What do you want, (y/n)?"

"You!" Your voice is high in pitch and wavering, body bowed forward towards the warmth of his legs, "you! I-I can't- I need you- please!" your voice trails into whimpered little mumbles, eyes squeezing shut in a desperate attempt to halt the tears that are quickly becoming large enough to fall in streaks down your flushed face. He's quiet again for a moment, listening to your pathetic little snivels and mewls for attention, and the dull buzz of the vibrator that hasn't given you rest for a single moment.

"Look at me."

His demand cuts through the thickening heat of the room, and your eyes open again on command, but just barely. He can see the wet glisten in them, knows that you're getting close to breaking.

"Please what?"

You heave a shaking breath at that. Know exactly what he wants, having given it to him a dozen times before. Keeping your eyes fixed on his as you wet your lips, you find your voice one more time.

"Please Sir."

He hums, considering you for a moment, before the weight of his foot withdraws from under your chin and he stands.

"Get up."

You do as he says, albeit slowly and very wobbly. Almost all of the sensation has left your legs and the painful throb of blood finally returning to the appendages makes it hard to stand on your own, nevermind the fact your hands were bound and unable to help your ascent. Your thighs clench around the toy still firmly lodged and working between them, and Nanami takes silent delight in the little tremors he can spot working their way through your body.

Again, something catches under your chin, his hand this time as he lifts your head to look at him once more, pressing a fleeting kiss to the bitten up flesh of your lips. A low murmur of, "good girl," has you thrilling, before he's catching your bound hands in one of his own, and marching you over to the adjoining dining room table, pressure at your back alerting you that he wants you bent over the thick wood. You do so eagerly, chest and cheek pressing into the solid structure uncomfortably without your hands to cushion you.

Warmth envelops your ass as he presses a hand to either cheek, spreading them to get a better look at the toy slightly protruding from your entrance.

"You're soaked," he comments, fingers accompanying his statement as he drags two digits between your folds; starting at your clit which pulses at the fleeting touch, and stopping at the end of the vibrator. You gasp as he grabs the plastic, removing it slowly from you and turning it off. Relief cuts through you as you relax somewhat against the table, tension ebbing away when you catch a moment to rest. You're vaguely aware of Nanami putting the toy on the table beside you, but you don't pay much mind as you focus on catching your breath for a moment. It is only just a moment however, when a hand makes contact with your behind again, this time as a sharp smack that rings through the room.

You're crying out before you can stop the sound, hands straining against the tie that binds them, body lurching away from the sting.

"Kento!"

"Hmm?"

Another smack. Another yelp, and you're wriggling until the hand that isn't abusing your rear comes to steady you on your hip. Your breathing stops as he leans over, and you can feel the fly on his trousers bite into your ass over his erection. The buttons of his shirt press into your back, and you only manage to find air in a gasp as his breath breezes past your ear.

"Try again."

You're not doing well tonight, you realise. This is the second time you've failed to use his title without him asking, and you imagine that his patience with the matter is swiftly running out. You attempt damage control by whining the honorific out to him, pushing back on your toes and pressing into the hard-on he's sporting. His breath catches for a moment, and then he's swiftly removing himself from you.

"Ordinarily, I'd have you begging until you remember who it is you're addressing," he rumbles and your heart springs into a rapid flutter when the tell-tale sound of his belt coming undone rings through the room, quickly followed by his zipper. You could've sobbed when the head of his cock slides against your lower lips, maybe you do, your brain feels so unaware to anything other than the way his tip bumps over your clit. One of his hands snags your own, keeping them pinned to your back with a firm grip on where the tie stretches between your wrists, his other coming back to rest on your hip once more. And then, he's sneering, "but I think I've kept you waiting long enough."

The sensation of Nanami sliding his cock into you is a feeling you can only describe through a wrecked moan, your toes curling and digging into the polished tile floor. His answering groan seems to come right from the depths of his chest, and you wished once more that you could see his face, but he seems intent on depriving you of that pleasure tonight. The walls of your pussy cling to him eagerly, sucking him in as he bottoms out and you vaguely register the cold metal of his belt buckle against your thigh.

"God, you feel good, love."

The praise is hissed between clenched teeth, and you can do little more than mewl in response as he starts slowly rocking his hips. The languid drag of his cock has you wanting to purr, but not more than the low grunts that punctuate the air every time he sinks his dick back into your waiting warmth. He builds a slow but steady tempo, the smacking of his hips against your ass rhythmic.

Your walls are over sensitive from the vibrator, and you begin to quickly feel the sparks of release buzz between your legs. You want to tell him. Between the satisfied keens and sobs you let out, you try, but they quickly drown out between the sounds of your depravity until all too suddenly, your orgasm hits. Your body seizes as you cum, another loud cry leaving you as it thrums through you and you're left shaking like a leaf against the table. You don't realise Nanami has stopped his movement until your head returns from the clouds, and you think he might be displeased with you for a moment, until he starts to move again.

A squeal tears itself from you as he fucks into you at a pace far more punishing than he had been previously, quickly driving you into overstimulation. His voice is at your ear again, a low growl of, "you're going to cum again for me," and then he's leaning back again, tugging your hips back into every forward drive of his cock. You're entirely incoherent now, babbling dumbly through the pleasure that makes your body burn up, and he matches every single sound with a sneer of his own.

"You're going to take my cum, do you understand? I'm going to fill that little cunt up."

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good girl."

Your climax hits for the second time, and just like he had before, he continues to fuck you through it. You're on the verge of asking him to stop, that it's too much now and you can feel the restrained tears soaking down onto the table, feel the obscene wetness dripping down your thighs, when his pace falters. The exhale he gives is rough and staggered as he swaps his brutal fucking to grind his cock into you in slow pulses, and then, halting entirely as his load paints your insides white. He hisses as his orgasm hits, the grip he has on your bound hands deadly, groin pressed taught into your behind. He stays like that for a few moments, seated snugly inside you until you feel his release begin to leak.

You're still, panting and boneless as his orgasm dispels, eyes closed and exhausted. There's a quiet whine as he pulls out and rights his trousers, but you don't move at all until he's tugging you up carefully against his chest, working the tie off from around your hands. He doesn't collect the fabric, simply let's it pool on the floor. He turns you to face him.

"Are you okay?"

His low voice is barely above a mumble, fingers now gentle as they brush against your cheek, wiping away the path your pleasured tears had made. You respond with a hum and affirmative nod, smiling in a haze against his lips as he kisses you.

"Can you get to bed on your own?" He asks softly, and it's almost as if the question brings awareness of your legs back to you. They ache. Terribly, and you can feel how weak they are, but they should manage to get you to bed before they pack it in for the day. You give him confirmation, and he smiles somewhat.

"I'll clean up here. You get to bed, and I'll join you shortly with a snack and something to drink. If you'd like a bath, you need only tell me and I'll run one for you. I'll give your shoulders and arms a rub too. They were positioned oddly for quite a while."

His insistence makes your body warm and you nod again, indulging in another kiss with the man, before he sends you off with a hand on your back and an utterance of his affection. A statement that you gladly return.

[marvelousstevetony]

Can we have “that has to be a record sneeze sequence with Tony sneezing? Can be any ship you want! Thanks :)

You can most definitely have this, anon! Like I said in my last post, this prompt is just too adorable, and I also think it’d be very cute for Tony as well! I decided to do winterironshield, so I hope that’s okay and that you enjoy this little snippet.

Warning: there’s no plot in this. Like, at all. Basically just allergic!Tony with his two favorite guys :)

***

“Honey, we’re home!” Tony calls as he and Steve toe off their shoes in the hall and make their way to the living room.

Bucky glances up from his book and over his shoulder when he hears two sets of footsteps behind him, smiling when Steve places a kiss on his cheek from behind and Tony basically throws himself on top of him, placing his head in Bucky’s lap with a tired whine.

“Hey, you two.” Bucky marks the page in his book and puts it of the coffee table, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “How was debrief?”

“Long,” Tony complains, his voice muffled as his face is pressed against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky looks over at Steve who gives a weak smile.

“What he said,” Steve sighs as he slumps down into the armchair opposite the sofa Tony and Buck are sprawled across.

Bucky hums sympathetically. He and Sam had a short mission and therefore also a short debrief. Steve and Tony, however… well, at least they’d both managed to escape without serious injuries, and they’d even had time to shower and get changed before heading to debrief.

“You’re back now, though,” Bucky says, “and there’s takeout in the kitchen.”

“Italian?” Tony ask, voice hopeful, as he turns to peek up at Bucky.

“Chicken parm and baked ziti,” Bucky answers, grinning when Tony quickly gets to his feet and walks speedily towards the kitchen. “Someone seems hungry,” he says warmly.

“Mhm…” Steve murmurs thoughtfully and gives Bucky this soft, grateful look. “Thanks for grabbing dinner for us, Buck. I would’ve— I just…“

Bucky shakes his head. “Hey, don’t thank me, Stevie. You know I’m happy to,” he speaks softly and reaches to pull his hair out of the bun he kept it in while reading. Getting to his feet, he goes to nudge at Steve. “C’mon, we better go before Stark’s eaten all of the food,” he says fondly.

Tony’s plating the food when the two super-soldiers enter the kitchen. There’s still steam coming from the takeout boxes and Steve immediately smells the seasoning, a nice, comforting scent.

“Who’re the flowers from?” Steve asks when he spots a large bouquet on the kitchen counter that definitely wasn’t there earlier and sniffs at them.

“Oh, I almost forgot. They’re for Tony,” Bucky clarifies. “From the shelter he visited last week.”

“That’s nice of them,” Steve smiles and loads a great portion of baked ziti onto his plate. “They smell great,” he adds.

Tony seemingly hadn’t seen the bouquet either, because his gaze draws away from the food when he hears Bucky say his name. They lovely flowers; a colorful arrangement of what Tony can identify as chrysanthemums and Gerber daisies. He too gives them a sniff before sitting down at the small table in the kitchen.

For a while, they eat in relative silence. They’re all tired and hungry, and it’s nice being able to just be in each other’s company, in a comfortable tranquility after a long day. The only real noises are the chewing, cutlery hitting the plates and Tony’s quiet sniffles, which, within a few minutes, become less quiet and more frequent.

Tony scrunches up his nose and swipes against a sniffle with his index finger. His breath wavers and his eyes begins to water as Steve and Bucky share a look.

“You okay, doll?” Bucky asks, putting his down his knife and fork.

Tony sniffles again. “Think I’m g-guhh— huhh? gonna sneeeh-ehhiishoo! huiiSHH’iieww! So-sorry…”

“Bless you.” Steve rubs a hand up and down Tony’s spine and lets in settle between the shoulder blades when Tony tenses and draws in a desperate breath, nose quivering.

“hpt’sh! h’tshh! tiishh! tsh’oo!” The sneezes rush over him, barely giving him time to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. He tries to keep them small and subdued, but his nose itches so much all of a sudden. He pushes the chair out from the table so he can turn away from Steve and Bucky.

“huhEShhuhh! huh-uhh! EISShiew!” The double is more urgent than the previous, leaving him breathless, and Steve makes a concerned noise when Tony lets out an exhausted wheeze and clutches his shirt in his fist.

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asks while standing, his voice dripping with concern.

“I-I-I don’t know,” Steve stammers, eyebrows knitting together in a mixture of confusion and overwhelming worry.

“Can y-you get me a t-tiihhiessch’oo! iiSHhhieewshh!” The last sneeze is all tickles and spray that Tony aims at his shoulder.

Steve is still in a paralysis-like state, but luckily Bucky’s reflexes are fast and within mere seconds, he’s pressing a handful of tissues into Tony’s hand. “Here,” Bucky stresses and lays a hand on his shoulder.

Tony accepts them with a grateful nod and folds the Kleenex over his nose. “ehhYISHhee! eiiishh! uhh… huh! fuck… huh-USHhh’oo!” If Tony hadn’t already been seated, he would’ve stumbled with the force of the sneezes ripping though him. The itch is still insurmountable, he feels it all through his head, and trying to shake it off only coaxes out another double. “hep-tSHHiiew! huh-Chushh!”

“Try blowing your nose, see if it helps,” Bucky instructs, but all it does is make Tony cough ticklishly and snuffle even more into the soft material. “What’s happening?” Bucky turns to Steve, both frowning deeply.

“I have no idea, I— wait.” Steve’s eyes go wide as realization dawns on him. Grabbing the bouquet of flowers, he leaves the kitchen and comes back with a wet washcloth and a dry towel. “I bet it’s the flowers,” Steve explains and takes a seat on the chair, facing Tony. “Here, let me wash your face, sweetheart,” Steve coaxes and cups Tony’s cheek while wiping the cloth over his face.

Suddenly, Tony swats Steve’s hand away and reaches for the towel, tucking it over his nose and mouth and muffles a series of back-to-back sneezes into it. “ISHuh! Hih-Eeshoo!… Ish-ish-ish! Oh mby God,” Tony hisses, emerging bleary-eyed from the towel. He blinks the allergic tears away and snaps his head to the side when he hears a stifled laugh. “What’s so funny, Barnes?” Tony scowls.

Bucky is covering his mouth with a fist, trying to choke back the laughter that’s bubbling in his chest. Safe to say he’s not very successful because, at once, it becomes impossible to impede, and now Bucky’s full on giggling.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but the wide, fond smile that reaches from ear to ear doesn’t help his case. “Sorry. I just…That has to be a record sneeze sequence.”

Beside him, Steve huffs a laugh and he’s unable to keep a similar foolish smile from tugging at his lips. Tony rolls his eyes. “Very funny. Hilarious, actually,” he grumbles.

“Bless you, sweetheart. Like, a dozen times,” Steve says, his tone affectionate and warm.

“That was way more than a dozen,” Bucky assesses and Tony levels him with a disapproving glare that shoots daggers at him. Bucky winces. “Bless you?” he says instead, sweetly, and innocently bats his eyelashes at Tony.

Tony rolls his eyes again, but this time he can’t help but smile either.

[ilguna]

pyrrhic (Finnick Odair)

summary; Rosecelli protects herself and Finnick from traitors in their group.

warnings; swearing, murder and heavy gore.

wc; 1.5k

NOTES; FROM THIS BLURB THAT’S BASED OFF OF THIS SERIES.

double notes; listened to THIS song while writing.

--

“We can’t trust them, Peeta.” The words are clear as day, “You saw what they can do, how (Y/n) killed in the cornucopia. If they live, we won’t make it home.”

“Katniss, they saved me. You saw it yourself, Finnick pulled me from the water and saved me after the forcefield. They’re not bad.”

“The girl is.” Katniss insists, “You can’t tell me I’m wrong. The way she won in her games… the Training Center and her score… Peeta, we either run or we kill her and blame it on someone else.”

You settle on your back, now. Your fingers dance along the leaves while you’re making noise, and you end up finding your knife right where you left it. Buried in the dirt to keep it from hurting you, but still within hands reach. 

The talking pauses for a moment, you think that they’re worried you’ve woken up. They wait a while, not saying anything. When they speak again, it’s below a whisper, even quieter than it was before. But since the jungle is so dead, you’re able to hear their words as clear as day. As if the gamemakers purposely killed all the insects to make sure that the Twelve tributes would be heard.

“We should do it now.”

“Katniss…” Peeta trails.

“You want to go home, don’t you? You want me to go home?”

It’s manipulative, you can feel the tension in the air, and hear the moment that Peeta caves. There’s a quiet sigh that comes from him.

“Do we wait a little while longer, or do we do it now?”

“Wait half an hour.” Katniss says, “Make sure they’re asleep. We kill (Y/n) and Finnick if we have to.”

“What about Mags?”

“Mags…” Katniss trails off, “We can leave her.”

“She’s not going to come with us.”

“We leave her in the jungle.” Katniss clarifies, “We run. She won’t last long on her own, but I don’t want to kill her.”

Conversation drops off, the cicadas go back to their noise. You end up pressing your thumb against the blade of the knife, not wanting to doze off in this time. After traveling all day, running uphill and sweating, you’ve run yourself dry. You’re exhausted, and you nearly passed out the second you laid down. You’re glad you decided to wait it out to make sure nothing suspicious is going on.

Both Peeta and Katniss taking up watch? Right.

Katniss and Peeta don’t speak again until the thirty minutes is almost over. 

“I’ll get (Y/n). Focus on Finnick.” Katniss whispers.

Your heart starts to beat in your chest. If Peeta even dares to lay his fucking hands on Finnick, you’ll make sure to draw out his death. No one will be touching Finnick like that. 

No one.

You move the knife around in your hand, gripping the hilt. You can hear the shuffle of the leaves as they get closer. Katniss is clearly right over you, you can hear the scrape of the metal arrow against the metal base of the bow. Peeta seems to have stopped a step or two back, his breathing is heavy, he’s not very quiet on his feet.

You remember this during their games. Katniss is a hunter, an illegal one. She’s been hunting in the woods her entire life, has learned to be quiet on her feet. The shuffling must have been Peeta, who’s never really had to be quiet in his entire life. 

Unfortunately for Katniss, you know your ins and outs of using a bow. You’re a pretty good bowsmith yourself. You know the moment she inhales, she’s ready to let the arrow fly.

You spin towards her feet right as the arrow hits where you were a moment before. You’re on your feet by the time Katniss has another arrow loaded. You hit the bow up, aiming towards the star-filled sky. The arrow shoots at a diagonal angle, it won’t be falling onto anyone.

The blade of the knife is facing your forearm, and you swing the hand as if you’re going to punch her. When really, you’ve slit her throat. The blood squirts, hot and sticky and in your mouth, running down your face. You kick Katniss’ leg, making her buckle. Her hands have flown to her throat, coating in red as she tries to stop it.

You turn to Peeta next before he can have his go at you. His eyes are locked on Katniss for a moment, completely mortified by the sight of his lover drowning in her own blood. It’s easy to take him down, you sit on his hips, raising the knife above your head.

“You think you could kill me?” you snarl, spitting Katniss’ blood all over his face, “Fuck you.”

He reaches up, thinking you’re going to stab his head, but you slam it into his heart. His mouth opens, eyes popping wide, falling limp. The cannon is immediate, there’s no chance he survived.

You ditch the knife, slipping off of Peeta’s body as you pull your sword from the grass. You turn back to Katniss, still alive, eyes wide, mouth gaping. It looks like she’s begging for you to spare her, trying to apologize for something that she can’t take back.

You will not be killed by a pair of tributes from District Twelve of all places. Filthy fucking miners. Their district has always been fucking useless and a laughing stock. Here they are, proving that they’re nothing but that, yet again.

You swing the sword in your hand, pointing it right at her chin, “Who can’t you trust?” you mock, stomping your foot into her stomach.

Blood and air fly from her mouth, face turning blue from suffocation.

“Fucking pigs,” you snarl, “Nothing but scum on the bottom of my pretty shoes.”

There’s tears in her eyes, hands shaking on her throat.

“Come on Katniss, let me hear you say it. Who can’t you trust?” You balance the sword over her heart. She chokes, still no words forming on her lips, “It’s you, Katniss. You’re the fucking traitor.”

You push the sword in, leaning into it to watch the light leave her eyes. Another cannon sounds, signaling her death. You sigh, letting out all the air you were holding onto.

“What…?” you hear.

You look over your shoulder, eyes finding an awake Finnick and Mags in the darkness. You can hardly see them, but with the moonlight it’s easier. Finnick’s wide-eyed, staring at the bodies of your former allies. Mags has got her lips pressed together, her age is showing here.

“I just saved us, the correct reason is ‘thank you’.” you pull the sword from Katniss’ chest, “Go ahead and go back to sleep, I’ll take care of this.”

You wipe the sword on Katniss’ suit, and then toss it off to the side. You strip the quiver of arrows off of Katniss’ body and set it beside her bow. Finnick and Mags refuse to go back to sleep, and they watch your every move. How you sit Katniss’ limp body up, lean down and get her over your shoulder without a noise of complaint.

You walk some distance into the trees, and then drop her body onto the ground with no regard of what might happen. You walk all the way back to the camp to see that Finnick’s being helpful like he normally is. 

Frustrated, you grab him and make him face you, “I said go to sleep.”

“You can’t get Peeta on your own.”

“It’s not your problem. I killed them, I’ll put their bodies elsewhere. Go to bed.”

You let go of him, and repeat the process that you did to Katniss, with Peeta. Once his body is sat up, it takes you a moment to get him onto your shoulder, since he’s much wider and heavier. But the moment you’re on your feet, it’s easy to carry him. You dump his body right on top of Katniss’.

When you come back to camp, Finnick’s got a woven cup made out of tree leaves made for you, filled with water from Katniss’ sponsor gift. You drink it through, and then push Finnick to lay down next to Mags. With how tense he is, it’s going to be impossible to get him to sleep. And if you’re not going to be energized tomorrow, he needs to be.

Without speaking to him, you decide to fall back on a tactic that your mother normally did when you had restless nights of insomnia. Your fingers carefully comb through his hair, being gentle when it comes to tangles. At first, it’s gross, especially with how much you’ve been sweating all day, but you get used to it eventually.

You listen and watch as the hovercraft comes in, collecting the bodies from the Twelve tributes. They’re gone for good. You can finally relax.

Mags falls asleep relatively quickly. And considering the circumstances, so does Finnick. No matter what happens, you don’t stop running your fingers through his hair.

[rohad93]

Moonlit Masquerade: Ch 8

On Friday Amity is tired, but she relishes every minute she spends at school and not home, because the weekend was looking to be just as exhausting. 

Blue moon masquerades are a Blight family tradition, her parents have been throwing the parties for as long as she can remember and it’s a tradition that they begin throwing these parties at sixteen. With this being the first blue moon since the twins turned sixteen it's finally time for them to do it. 

Normally the two are all about parties, but considering all the rules and protocols their parents have set for the event, any enthusiasm the twins might have had is well and truly dead before the party planning even begins.  

Now it’s just one more thing expected of them and Amity can tell how much they hate it, so she tries to help them with the planning whenever she can.

Someday it will be her turn after all. 

She also still has yet to speak to Luz since Wednesday and she feels bad about it, but facing her is too hard right now, especially when the object of her affections seems to actively pushing her toward this secret admirer she has.

She clutches her book to her chest as she walks down Hexside’s quiet and deserted hallways. 

Maybe Luz is just a pipe-dream she needs to try and forget about. She was never going to have the courage to face her and tell her how she feels, and if Luz had any inclination toward her at all she wouldn’t be advocating so hard for a mysterious stranger. 

Her lips quiver and her eyes burn but she quickly shoves it down. She is not going to cry at school, she’s a Blight!

A mantra she uses to steel herself even as she hates it. 

She shakes her head and continues on toward her locker. 

When she stops to stand in front of it the creature looks annoyed and she realizes why when it opens its mouth unprompted and sticks out its tongue.

She's started to get a little more used to these surprises but the one waiting for her this morning makes her gasp. 

Sitting there on her locker's tongue is a small maroon colored velvet box she knows immediately is a jewelry box. A piece of folded paper sitting beneath it.

She hesitates a minute before picking up the box and the note. Curiosity gets the better of her and she opens the box before anything else and stares wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape.

Nestled within the satin lining is a brooch. 

Fine lines of gold shaped to look like thorned vines twist and loop in random but pleasing patterns, overlapping each other in places. At the center of the vines is a small tear-shaped gemstone in a gold setting. She's not sure what kind, but it's a deep fuchsia color that sparkles and gleams when it catches a stray beam of light from the hallways overhead lights. 

It's beautiful and Amity is in awe of it as she pulls it from its box with hesitant fingers and holds it gently in her hand. She runs her thumb over the hard and smooth facets of the stone, feeling the different, sharp cut sides press into the pad of her thumb. 

The metal is cool and hefty in her fingers and her heart thuds in her chest that someone would go through all this trouble for her.

It's a common misconception among the student body that Amity Blight must be beating suitors off with a staff, but the truth is no one had ever pursued her.

Her family was highly influential and well off, everyone assumed she was above them, unattainable; so they didn't try. Not that she’d done much to change that opinion. 

Of course, when it finally does happen she's head over heels for someone as unattainable as people think she is…

With gentle fingers she puts the jewelry back in its box and finally turns her attention to the piece of paper, unfolding it.

"Amity,

When I saw this in the market I could only think of you. I hope you like it. This is my final gift as your secret admirer.

Even if you can't return my feelings, would you dance with me tomorrow night?

I'll be wearing a black and purple horned demon mask.

~Your soon-to-be-not-so-secret Admirer 

Amity's heart is thumping loudly in her chest, the meaning of the letter is clear. Her secret admirer is going to be at the masquerade tomorrow night. 

She clutches the box in her hands and bites her lip.

Maybe… this was her chance to let go of Luz… 

Her heart aches at the thought, but her mind knows that it would be the better choice. 

Luz is human and while it's rather uncertain right now if she'll ever actually leave the Boiling Isles since the only known portal has been destroyed, Amity's parents would have an aneurysm if they were to ever find out she was in a romantic relationship with a human, the Owl Lady's apprentice no less. 

Despite that, if the opportunity presented itself Amity would still leap headfirst into it without any reservations.

She's never known anyone like Luz in all her life. The girl is kindness and sunshine incarnate, something exceedingly rare in a place like the Boiling Isles. 

She’s made her a better person in the time they’ve known each other. 

Looking back now she finds it hard to believe that she ever hated her.

She looks down at the maroon box in hand and frowns, chest tight. Conflicted emotions run rampant through her mind

For all the things she loves about Luz, of which there are many, she knows that she'll never have the courage to tell her so, and Luz has made it clear in just as many ways that she doesn't see Amity in the same light, and at the end of the day, all her longing and feelings are for not if Luz doesn't return them.

But here, in the palm of her hand, she has a chance at something that might be real and not just a flight of fantasy.  

She takes a deep breath and puts the box and note in her bag and heads to class.

She doesn't see Luz at lunch, for which she is grateful but disappointed. She sits with Willow and Gus when they wave her over.

"Hey, Amity, have you seen Luz today? We missed her this morning," the plant witch asks. Amity frowns.

"No, I haven't seen her all day." 

"She must not be at school today…" Willow frowns.

That's unusual, Luz loves school. Amity wonders if she's sick, but in the back of her mind, she wonders if Luz is avoiding her.

She looks down at her lunch and is suddenly not very hungry, but she stays and chats with Gus and Willow.

~ ~ 

Luz probably should have told her friends that she decided not to go to school today in order to have more time to get ready for Saturday night, but she’s on a deadline, there was no time to go to the school to tell Gus and Willow. She really needed to get a scroll. 

She only has one real problem left.

Hiding her ears.

If either of the Clawthorne sisters had magic it would be an easy thing to cast an illusion spell over her ears, but they don't; so it's not.

She's been leafing through Eda's various magic books, searching for a practical solution to her problem.

So far, no luck.

"Ugh!" Luz groans, shelving the books and stalking to her room, grumbling under her breath. "Why couldn't I have been born with a bile sac!?" she laments, dropping face down onto her sleeping bag.

She’s running out of time and unlike the way she handles most things, no plan, full steam ahead and flying by the seat of her pants, she needs to have this figured out before the party or everything was going to be for nothing! Now wasn’t the time to sharpen her improv skills. 

She has her clothes and her mask, they were easy. She was pretty pleased with herself on that front.

“Aghhhhh” she yells into the fabric before she ran out of air and was forced to flip over onto her back. 

Her time is ticking away and she can’t waste anymore with her frustrations. With a sigh, she hauled herself up and looked around her room, spotting the book about ancient, wild magic Amity had leant her and leaned over to grab it, dragging it into her lap and flipping it open.

She quickly leafs through page after page, hope waning as the minutes turn to hours and the next thing she knows the orange rays of the sunset are leaking through her window.

She sighed and twisted around, trying to relieve the pressure in her back from sitting hunched over the heavy tome for so long.

Maybe she could wear a hat, would it be okay to wear a hat?

She tiredly flips another page and scans it quickly as she reaches for the next but stops. 

In front of her are some illustrations of witches, but unlike other images in the book, these ones have what look like glyphs drawn on their skin; tattoos maybe?

Some of the book is written in a language she knows and some of it is not, and this section is, of course, not. 

But the longer she studies it the more an idea forms.

She sets the book aside and scrambles to her bag for a pen.

With one in hand she moves back over to the book The studies it again before laying her hand flat against its pages.

Steadily she draws the illusory glyph she'd been experimenting with across the back of her hand. She observes the final product and hesitates.

This could be dangerous.

She doesn’t allow the thought to take up much more than a few seconds of her time as she slaps her other hand over the glyph and willing it to do what she wants.

Her hand is enveloped in a light blue glow and when it fades her hand is tipped with long claws, the glyph still visible on the back of her hand. 

She flexes her hand tentatively and slowly a grin begins to split her face.

“It worked… It worked!” She jumps up with an excited whoop. She licks her thumb and rubs at the ink, as soon as the circle is broken the illusion fades with the same soft blue glow as before. She takes her pen and closes the circle back up and casts the spell again, and again, her hand transforms.

Giddy energy is filling her to near bursting as she shoots out of her room and runs into the bathroom.

It's an hour later that King is banging on the bathroom door.

“Other people live here and need the bathroom!” he squeals angrily, stomping his feet.

He almost falls over when the door suddenly swings open just as he’s pounding on it.

“Weh!” He stumbles, but catches himself and looks up, ready to lay his wrath upon whoever is hogging the bathroom but stops short at the sight in front of him.

“Well? What do you think?” Luz asks excitedly, but she doesn’t wait for his answer before bolting down the hall.

“Eda, EDA!” She calls pounding down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where she can hear someone moving around. Lilith looks up from her place on the couch as the girl passes and does a double take. 

“What?” Eda grumbles looking up from the large pot of potions she’s stirring. “Where’s the fir-” she trails off when she actually sees Luz.

She looks totally the same.

Except where once her ears were round, they are now pointed like any other witch on the Boiling Isles. 

“Wha-?” Eda looks at her wide eyed.

Lilith has followed into the kitchen to get a better look at the girl.

“Fascinating, how did you accomplish this?” She leans in close to get a better look. The illusion is seamless and if she didn’t know better she would have never guessed Luz wasn’t a witch.

“Well, you know that illusion glyph I taught you?” she asks and they nod. “Well, I was looking through this book Amity gave me and it showed wild witches with glyphs drawn on their bodies. So I figured I'd give it a shot!” she grins and reaches up to flick the tips of her now pointed ears. 

Eda walks over and turns her around, brushing Luz’s dark hair out of the way, she can see that  drawn on the back of both of Luz’s ears are small illusory glyphs. The older with grins.

“Kid, you’re brilliant.” She ruffled the girl's hair and Luz beamed. 

“Thanks, Eda.” 

“And think of the scams we could pull with this!” She grins and Lillith rolls her eyes.

Luz just chuckles, not even a little surprised.

[marsbutterfly]

The Scientist’s Gamble - Part 2

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: As the formation rides out, Hanji takes a moment to meet your eyes, and you smile at her. Today is going to be a win for humanity, you think to yourself. You could not be more wrong.

AO3 Version! | Wattpad Version!

After an hour or so peacefully riding your horses towards the forest, you begin to feel the floor shaking in the distance. Not long after, the first red flare is fired. A Titan. Thinking back on your knowledge acquired studying Titans with Hanji, you know it is a 5m from the way the ground is trembling - not tall enough that it will necessarily take more than a couple of Scouts to kill, but could still cause damage if it wasn't stopped in time.

You move your face to the right, enough so you can look at Hanji to see if this is the one she wants. She shakes her head - she doesn't want a regular titan. You know that that crazy look in her eyes can only mean one thing. She's after an Abnormal. Goosebumps travel up and down your body, and you reposition yourself on your horse to face forward once again. Without even realizing it, a smug smirk spreads across your face. This is going to be so fun!

"Reiner! - " you scream. Your throat hurts from the effort you put into the sound, yet you still prepare yourself to do it again.

" - I need you to ride to the center of the formation. Inform the Commander that if an Abnormal appears, bring it closer to us. Tell them they should not kill it unless absolutely necessary!"

"Of course," Reiner screams back, allowing his cloak to fall back against his shoulders. His blonde hair ruffles in the wind, a ridiculous smile plastered across his face, "but I'm just curious," he says, and you know exactly what's about to come out of his mouth before he says it as he yells, "Who the fuck put you in charge?"

Before you even have time to laugh at his stupid comeback, the beautiful brown haired scientist riding alongside you responds, "I did!"

Eyes wide, his lips scrunch up as he turns away to avoid eye contact with you and Hanji.

"Now go, Reiner!" Hanji says.

"Yes ma'am!", is all he says before he steers his horse left and rides out of sight. He doesn't give you the chance to say anything in response.

You can feel the laughter bubbling up in your chest, from deep in your throat to burst out of your mouth. You try to hold it in until the blonde soldier is out of sight, but you know he can hear you.

Tears form in your eyes as your stomach starts to hurt. You just can't keep it in. The look on Reiner's face is the funniest thing you've seen in a long while. Once you finally manage to slow down and take a deep breath to pull yourself together, you look over to Hanji to find she's been carefully watching you the whole time.

"Thank you for defending me!", you shout, flashing her the biggest smile you can manage.

"Of course! I'm not going to let anyone undermine you! You are my second in command right now! You know me better than anyone else! That's what makes you such an amazing assistant," her grin widens, "and an amazing friend!"

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks once again, but before you can reply, you notice something in the corner of your eye.

It's a black flare.

You and Hanji lock eyes for a brief moment before you both let out an excited scream at the same time - "LET'S GO!"

.

You can see it now. The Titan is easily 7 meters tall, if not taller. It has blonde hair and brown eyes, and a relatively normally-proportioned body and facial features, but you notice it's walking with a strange limp. At its ankles, the Titan's feet were pointed in the opposite direction they should be. Yet, it runs ahead eagerly as if nothing is different. You've never even thought this was possible.

Perfect! You think to yourself.

You stand up on your horse and switch to your 3D maneuver gear. You shoot your grapples around the top of a tree branch and swing on top to land on your feet with a sense of balance that you're proud of. Multiple horses ride toward where you and the rest of the Scouts stand above them. The massive titan follows the Scouts closely, too close for anyone's comfort, but they're not giving up.

Once the monster is close enough, you and Hanji share a look before you run towards it, preparing yourselves to jump down on its shoulders, cut off its limbs, and strap it to the floor before it regenerates.

Data collected on previous missions showed that it takes approximately 4 minutes for its arms to regenerate, but it shouldn't take you that long to trap it. You're all extremely prepared for this, you've practiced for this and almost every other situation.

Now it's the time to prove you know what you're doing - except nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

The trap used to capture the titan is a fraction of a second late. You're already in the air, arms flung back in preparation to cut its underarm when you notice something is wrong.

Everything happens in slow motion as you see it's massive arm intercept the cables of your grapples, yanking you like a yo-yo across the trees. Your body collides against one of the many enormous trees surrounding you. The pain shoots all over your body. It is too intense, and your vision gets more clouded by the second. You could hear Hanji screaming your name, but you didn't stay conscious for much longer than that.

A few minutes pass by, but the damage caused by the titan makes it seem like much longer. You could see bodies all around you, at least 10, 15. Your comrades, your friends, dead because of a mistake out of your control.

Huh?  you think, and that's all that goes through your brain at moment. There is blood dripping down your face, and you're unable to tell if it's yours, the Titan's, or to one of the many bodies lying next to you.

A 5m titan wanders closer to you with every second, and somehow you manage to pull all the strength left in you. Your body is finally forced to sit up, despite all the pain, in your head, your bones, your heart.

"Why is this happening? This is not how today was supposed to go. We prepared for this expedition for weeks!" suddenly you stop talking. Your mind starts spinning as you desperately look amongst the pile of bodies, searching for one in particular.

"H-Hanji?" you manage to force out a whisper, but as soon as you take a deep breath, all the pain you were feeling, the grief for your fallen comrades, the rage towards titans, "HANJI!"

As you become more aware of your surroundings, the warm blood dripping down your face and the pain of your broken ribs are almost enough to make you stop fighting, but a small voice in the back of your head says: You need to find a way out of this forest and back home. You can't let the titans win!

You grab your blades and swing them with all your might, trying your hardest to keep the 5M Titan away for as long as you can until you have a plan. The truth is you just can't die now, but you also can't fight for much longer as you feel your body starting to cave in. The pain from your ribs is becoming unbearable, and your lungs feel like they will collapse at any moment. With every breath is getting harder to breathe. You want to keep fighting for longer, but in your condition, it just doesn't seem possible.

It's alright Y/N, you think to yourself, Your efforts weren't enough, but that's ok. Putting the blade down, you accept your fate, but hopefully, it will be quick. You close your eyes as the massive hands wrap around your already crushed body.

"Oh no, you don't!" someone screams, and their voice is the last thing you hear before passing out once again.

.

You wake up to a bright light shining in your face. Your eyes open slowly, groggily.

Is this the afterlife? No. You can hear the saline dripping, in what kind of afterlife would you be hooked up to an IV in?

The pain in your head travels all over your body as if it's using your veins to move around. You try to readjust, but stop when a new pain shoots through your chest. You count one, two, three broken ribs. It could be worse. At least you're still alive. Your eyes slowly travel down the bruises that cover your body. Some scratches, stitches, broken fingers and toes. You are not even certain that you still have all of your teeth.

The shape beside you shifts ever so slightly, but it's enough to catch your attention. You turn to look, and into focus comes Hanji. Her head lay on her arms, which rest on top of your mattress next to your right hand. This is one of the few times you've ever seen her hair down - it looks a little messy, but it's still as beautiful as ever. Her glasses are folded on the bedside table in front of her. How long has she been sitting here?

"Han...ji..?" The effort you put into making the sound for only her name to come out is considerable. It scratches and burns, to your frustration, but the weak noise is enough to get her attention.

"You're awake!" she says as tears fill her tired brown eyes. "I was so worried about you - please don't ever do that to me again!" A small hiccup forms in the back of her throat. Her lower lip quivers.

The mere sight of Hanji crying is enough to shatter your heart. You try your best to comfort her within your confines. You reach to touch her hand, eyes softening. The sharp pain of your ribs again forces you to gently recline your back on your pillow once again, but you hold her hand tightly.

"What happened?" you ask.

"The Abnormal we were trying to trap moved faster than anticipated it would. The soldiers fired the net approximately 1.9 seconds late but it was enough to derail the entire plan."

She lifts your hand to plant a kiss on it, almost like she was buying herself time before she had to tell you what the rest of the losses were. Flashes of memories come back to you snippets at a time, not enough to give you a full understanding of what happened, but enough to make your heart sink.

Hanji continues, "Your jump would have been perfectly timed if everything had gone according to plan. When the Titan got out, it tangled your line, and you went flying into a tree." You remember the pain you felt at that moment, you've never felt anything like that before. You could remember clearly the sound your ribs made as they broke.

"After that, it became clear to everyone that our mission had failed, and by the time Commander Erwin gave the retreat order, the Abnormal had already eaten everyone around you. Your body was laying among all the corpses around you and I thought I lost you forever -" Hanji abruptly cuts herself off. She catches her breath and closes her eyes to compose herself.

"I heard you scream my name. I ran back to find you, and you were in the Titan's hand. I couldn't let that happen, obviously. I cut off its arm and caught you while Captain Levi went for the nape. I carried your body to the medic's cart, and I haven't left you since."

"How long?" you croak.

Hanji sighs, "Four days."

"And you've been here the whole time?"

Hanji smiles. "I only left for bathroom breaks."

You roll your eyes, but for a few moments, you forget about the pain covering every inch of you. You were never one for impulsivity but now, your body moves on its own. You're more than familiar with how this scene plays out - you think about it constantly. Your hands shake, and you feel your nerves getting worse the longer it takes.

You've been wanting to do for this for years, and now you have the perfect moment. After what happened, you need to kiss her, even if it's the only time you ever do. So, gently but quickly enough that you can't take it back, you grab her face and pull her to your lips. As they seal together, Hanji is taken by surprise, but just as quickly melts away in your embrace. She places her arms on your shoulders as you deepen the kiss.

It's exactly the way you imagined it would be. Goosebumps rise on your body in response to her soft breath against your mouth. A tiny sob escapes your lips as you're all at once reminded you of how much it hurts to move. But that doesn't stop you. After what feels like hours, you pull away reluctantly. You don't want this moment to ever end.

The bright red blush covering her cheeks makes her look even prettier than usual. She gently touches her lips, looking off into the distance like she's lost in thought.

You pull her back into the moment "Squad Leader..." you begin, taking a deep breath and forming fists with your hands. You gather every ounce of courage you have in you. It's now or never. "I've been in love with you for quite some time, and I should've said something before but I was scared."

Once you've started talking, the words pour out of your mouth.

"Now that I almost became Titan food, I don't want to keep it in any longer. I love the way your eyes sparkle when you're talking about Titans. I love the way your hair falls over your shoulders when you're training, and the way you adjust the straps of your glasses. I could sit here and list everything that's great about you because you are the most amazing person I have ever met."

Your hands start to shake, and your throat burns with effort, but you push out your most important statement. "I'm deeply and completely in love with you, Hanji."

Her mouth hangs open slightly.

Did I just make a huge mistake? It doesn't matter - I had to get this off my chest, you think to yourself.

She's extremely quiet for a few seconds - no more than a minute, but enough time for you to start panicking.

"Since when?" she asks.

"Since I listened to your guest lecture on titans when I was still in the Training Corps."

"Why haven't you said anything up until now?"

You can't help but laugh. "Everyone in the Survey Corps, and probably everyone in the entire military already knows. I just assumed you weren't interested."

"Huh?? I've never noticed!!" she says, waving her hands above her head. You laugh again as you readjust yourself on the bed. "But now that I think about it, I guess you did hug me a lot for no apparent reason... and Erwin did insist that you be my assistant..." she counts off on her fingers, "and you always blushed when I touched you and - oh wait."

She looks down at her legs, her fingers flying to fidget with her hair. "I can't believe I didn't notice..." Her blush spreads deeper once the realization hits her. "The truth is, I've been liking you too, but I thought you liked Captain Levi, or Eren."

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. Hanji laughs, standing up to wave you over to the other side of the bed. She lies beside you on the hospital bed, placing her head on your shoulder while carefully lacing your fingers together. She's careful not to bump your injuries. The smell of her hair awakens the butterflies in your stomach, and you place your chin on her head to wrap your free arm around her shoulder.

"I'm glad you're alive." Hanji says. Her voice is barely audible, her words meant for you alone. "From now on, I won't leave your side. You'll be out in the forest killing titans in no time."

You smile. "Right now, there's no other place that I'd rather be than right here next to you." She looks up at your face, flashing you a grin before she pulls you closer, and your lips close against each other once again.

.

A week later, you listen to birds chirp outside of the window while you read your book. The sunlight feels warm and nice against your legs, and the rare silence you're in is much appreciated. It doesn't last long.

"Y/N!!!!!!!!!"

The door barges open to reveal a gaggle of teenagers stumbling over one another.

"Y/N! I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!" Sasha yells as she runs to hold your hand, but her attention quickly shifts to the half-eaten bean soup on your bedside table. She looks at the soup, and then at you once again.

"You can have it, Sasha," you say with a smile, gesturing to the small bowl. The starved brown-haired girl doesn't lose a second and instantly starts to devour it. A giggle escaping your body as you watch her.

"How are you feeling?" Eren asks before sitting on the bed.

"I'm alright, but I'll need to stay behind during the next few expeditions. I should be good as new in a month or two!"

They stay with you for a little less than an hour, telling you all about their experiences with the failed mission. You find out from them which soldiers were lost and which were injured, along with other small details Hanji didn't mention.

A knock on the door causes all eyes to turn away from you for a moment. Hanji starts to enter, and then gasps as she realizes you have guests.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asks.

You flash her a caring smile while reaching your hand out to grab hers. She blushes slightly, but sits beside you. "Of course not. I was wondering where you were," you say. Mikasa makes eye contact with you, and then looks pointedly at your hands as they sit clasped. You blush too.

"Meeting with the Commander," Hanji sighs, "It went on for longer than expected, I'm sorry."

You could hear the giggles coming from your friends as their eyes rest upon you and Hanji.

"We should get going now, but we'll be sure to come over again soon!" Armin says as he and Mikasa push the rest of the group through the door.

Hanji leans forward to kiss your forehead. You close your eyes, and when you open them, you meet Mikasa's emotionless gaze from a crack in the doorway, Hanji's lips still on you. Your eyes widen, but Mikasa just nods, face unchanged, and closes the door behind herself.

"They're good friends to you," Hanji says after a few seconds.

You smile."They're also a handful. But yeah, you're right."

A long, rather comforting silence passes between the two of you. During the silence, you take time to focus on how soft her skin feels against your fingers, tracing the visible veins on her hand as your mind drifts away. You're pulled back to reality as soon as you hear her voice.

"It's a beautiful day outside, would you like to sit on the grass with me?"

.

The breeze rushes through your messy hair as you adjust yourself on top of the blanket. You squint your eyes and places your arm against your forehead in an attempt to keep the sunshine from hurting your vision.

"There's something I want to ask you, Hanji," you mumble.

"Yes?" She inquires, tilting her head while looking at you.

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" The expression on your face remains the same as when you had been peacefully basking in the sun, but you can hear your blush rushing, heart pounding in your ears. She looks away while blushing, and you're able to notice a smile appear on her face.

"There's nothing I would like more," she says, turning to face you once again. "Well maybe an abnormal, but I do want this a lot."

"You're impossible!" you say while gently pushing her arm.

As you two laugh, your bodies get closer as if they are moving on their own until your lips are sealed in a love-filled kiss. You wrap your arms around her neck while she grabs your hips, slowly pulling you onto her lap.

"I'm in love with you, Hanji." you whisper against her lips, not wanting anyone else to hear these words but her.

"And I'm in love with you, Y/N."

You hug her tightly, feeling her hair against your face as the smell of her shampoo fills your nose. For the first time since you started to prepare for the now-failed mission that led to your injury, your body isn't in pain anymore. You can relax in Hanji's arms, knowing that your long time crush is finally your partner. You can worry about researches and experiments and missions later, right now all you need is Hanji.

"Let's stay here for a little while longer," she says before resting her back against the grass, carefully pulling you towards her. Your head rests on her shoulder as your fingers lace together, a feeling of peace takes over your body knowing that from now on, you'll have her by your side no matter what.

"Yeah... I would like that." You say as you close your eyes, focusing on her breathing as the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze lull you to sleep. Maybe the next time Hanji comes up with the idea to capture another titan, you'll stay in the lab instead.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Week 2020: Day 6 - A Measure Of Strength

Prompt: Training Pair: Azutara Song: Disturbed - The Light

Summary: Azula loses an arm and Katara helps her through the recovery process.

It happens in a flash of red. At first she isn’t sure of what has just happened, it doesn’t quite register and when it does, it almost as feels as though it hasn’t happened to her, but to someone else entirely. But then the pain settles in. It radiates from her where her left arm should be and spreads out to encompass her entire being. “Zuzu?” She utters softly.

His face is twisted in shock and horror and perhaps rage.

“You missed her, dumbass!” Declares a voice from a distance.

Neither she nor Zuko react. She is in capable, already feeling plenty dizzy and weak. And he, taken too aback to manage.

“Nah, ya ass, I go’d her.”

“Not in the right spot.” Declares the first voice. She hears the snap of a bow string and the whistle as something just misses Zuko’s ear and another spot of agony blossoms in her middle. Tears slip down her cheeks as she stares at her brother. Her remaining hand more or less absently goes to cover the spot that the arrow juts through. She feels blood gush between her fingers. Her hand is slick with it. “Zuzu, I…” She falters. Her mind is going. There is so much blood, it is emptying from her body faster than she can comprehend.

“You ain’t get ‘er neither.” Remarks the second assassin. She thinks that the only thing worse than a hate driven aggressor is a hate driven aggressor who lacks a brain.

He finally acts, in one sweep he catches her weak body and shoots a good burst of fire. She wishes that he would have paid more attention to her when she’d tried to teach him to bend lightning. He takes the first man, the smarter of the two, down regardless. At least he has paid attention to her lesson to take the hardest opponent down first.

She isn’t sure how the rest of the battle goes because her head gives one final dizzying tilt and her body goes limp.

.oOo.

She is numb when she wakes, her senses dulled and mercifully muted. Briefly she thinks that she shouldn’t be alive. She feels along her belly until her fingers find the bandages. The spot radiates a sort of warmth can only a terrible wound can. But that burning sensation is much worse at her shoulder. She knows what she isn’t going to find when she brings her hand to it. Her lower lip trembles.

“You’re finally awake!” Zuko exclaims, eyes wide with relief. “The doctors were telling me that they weren’t sure if you would. But you’re awake. I told them that you would be, you always were lucky.”

Azula swallows, “lucky!?” She snaps, the shrill, franticness in her tone saves her from sounding argumentative. She just sounds...scared? Terrified. The hand she holds to the remaining stump of her arm shakes.

Zuko gently pulls her hand back. “You shouldn’t touch it, it’s still fresh.”

Fresh enough for it to hurt like hell, but not enough for the bandages to be bloodied.

“I…” She sputters, “how am I supposed to bend like this?”

“You’re not!” He says too quickly. “You’re supposed to rest now and when you’re healed you can figure out how to work around this. You always do…”

“I need two arms to bend lightning…” she says softly.

“You need to lay back down and rest.” Zuko replies. “Katara is going to be here to heal you…”

She approaches as he mentions her. “She’s awake?”

“Just woke up.” Zuko answers. And then to Azula he says, “I’m going to bring you something to eat.” Azula isn’t hungry but she lets him leave.

“Hold still, okay.” Katara instructs.

Azula doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Katara lifts Azula’s shirt and tenderly peels the bandages away. The water is cool against Azula’s tummy as it alleviates some of the pain. The waterbender holds her hand there for a few moments more before pulling the water away and replacing the bandages. Azula tugs her own shirt down.

“It’ll be easier if you take it off. Don’t worry, they gave you a sleeveless undershirt.”

Azula sits up and lifts the shirt over her head, but it catches, awkwardly tangling her within her own clothing. Katara pulls it the rest of the way over her head. The princess’ stomach and mood plummet. She can’t even take her own shirt off without help. And suddenly she begins to hate herself. What good is she if she is going to need help to do the most basic things? She balls her fists into the blankets.

Katara creates a sleeve of water on her shoulder, as far as she can tell anyhow. She averts her eyes, not yet willing to see the damage yet. She gnaws on her own cheek, she knows that she shouldn’t wait. It’ll be better to get it over with so that she can get used to it sooner. Azula takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze to her missing arm. Her lip quivers again and tears burn in her eyes. She should have waited for the waterbender to leave.

Said waterbender puts the water away. She seems to hesitate before wiping the tears from Azula’s eyes. But it is a pointless effort as more come to take their place. More and  more until her whole body is wracked with sobs.

Katara takes her in her arms and rubs soothing circles over her back. “Careful, you’re going to hurt…”

Azula is well aware, her stomach is already aching again. She lets Katara  lay her back and bring the water to her belly again, driving away the dull pain that she’d coaxed back.

“It’s going to be fine, Azula. You’re going to be fine.”

It must be in  the waterbender’s nature to be a nurturer because they certainly weren’t on particularly good terms before the assassination attempt. No one was on good terms with her. No one but Zuko, and their relationship had still been so delicate.

“I don’t feel fine.” She mutters. She is very certain that she won’t be. She knows for certain that things will never be the same and that her new normal is going to be much worse than what she’d had before.

“Maybe you don’t right now, but you will.” She presses. “Zuko tells me that things usually work out for you.”

This only dims her mood further. “They don’t. They haven’t, not since the Agni Kai.” She thinks that she had lost her luck alongside her mind, dignity, and aspirations that day.

“Well then you’re due for some good luck soon.” Katara tries.

The waterbender visits again the next day and the day after that. It is now part of her routine, sometimes Zuko or Sokka come with her, most of the time she is alone. Azula yearns to leave her bedrest, but both the doctors and Katara advise against it.

Katara is caring with her, more than anyone has ever been and it makes Azula feel embarrassingly weepy and emotional all over again. She thinks that this might be the first time anyone has invested so much time into her well being. Maybe that is why it was so easy for Azula to grow attached.

.oOo.

She is allowed to leave the hospital bed a few days later, but activity is restricted. Azula itches to get back to training, itching to find a work around to her handicap. Though each of her choice training rooms are guarded; she can throw around all of the titles she wants, they override her for her own wellbeing.

Each rejection has her increasingly more frustrated. Her frustration carries her onto the bench in the palace garden. She sits, uncharacteristically hunched, her arm hanging limp in front of her, lips pursed in a full pout.

“I take it, they wouldn’t let you into your training room again?” Katara finds a seat next to her. Azula crosses her remaining arm over her chest, her frown deepens. “I can’t even convey the extent of my dissatisfaction correctly.”

Katara laughs, “trust me, you’re conveying it just fine.”

Azula almost cracks a smile, but her mood is too dim.

“Here…” Katara mutters. She pushes Azula’s sleeve up and the princess feels a familiar controlled current. Her wound is rather decently healed, but it still feels kind of have the soothing of a good healing session. She feels some of the tension leave her. “Feel better?”

“Somewhat.” Azula replies. “I’d feel better knowing that I’m not useless…”

“Then you can start feeling better now.” Katara assures. She gives Azula’s hand a small squeeze.

“I mean that I’d feel better knowing that I can still bend like I used to.” Her stomach sinks further, she knows that she won’t be able to, not exactly.

Katara cautiously takes the firebender into  a hug and pats her back.

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.” Azula mutters. She is dreadfully tired of people treating her as though she will break at the slightest touch.

“We just don’t want to hurt you.”

She doesn’t know how to tell her that it hurts infinitely worse to feel so vulnerable. To be treated like she is weaker. “You won’t.” She states simply.

.oOo.

Azula is starting to grow accustomed to being short an arm. Reflexes to use the arm she no longer has are becoming frequent; she forgets that she has lost it less. Climbing is no easy feat, and it won’t be until she strengthens her core and her right arm enough to compensate.

With a tired huff, she lets go of the rungs of the ladder and pushes herself up with her feet, gripping the next rung up before she can drop to the floor. Weeks back, Zuko had the ladder made specifically to cater to her training needs. Its entire purpose is to train her to scale buildings and cliffsides again.

If nothing else, she has a rather impressive grip. She reaches the top of the ladder and lets herself drop.

“You finally made it to the top.” Katara notes with a smile.

“It took much longer than it should have.” Azula scowls.

Katara rolls her eyes and ruffles the firebender’s hair. “You’re always so grumpy. I got something for you.” She fishes around in her bag and pulls out a sleeveless shirt.

“You know that I don’t wear sleeveless in public anymore…”

“I know that you’ve never let insecurities stop you from doing anything before.” Katara shoves the shirt into her arm. “Why shouldn’t you wear a sleeveless shirt?”

“Because nobody wants to see this.” Azula motions to the stump.

“I don’t mind seeing it.” Katara shrugs. “Toph likes it too.”

“Because she is spared the grotesque details.”

“Because she finally has someone else sort of like her. Someone who is still...badass despite a handicap.”

“If I wear the sleeveless shirt tonight, will you promise to never timidly say ‘badass’ again?”

“I guess, that that’s a fair deal.” Katara agrees, though Azula thinks that she has offered herself the short end of the deal. “Have you started working with lightning again?”

Azula swallows and nods, this time she is the meek one. “I need two arms.”

Katara frowns and purses her lips. “Or… you need to redirect the flow. Redirecting lightning borrows waterbending techniques....”

“That also require two arms…”

“That’s the thing about water, when it’s path is blocked it usually just changes it’s flow.”

“Or it gets blocked and has nowhere to go.”

“And then it bursts through with more power than before.” She points out. “Even if it takes a while.” She pauses. “Have you tried bending lightning using a waterbending technique?”

Azula nods, “believe it or not, I’ve tried earth too.”

“I’ve heard of benders who could bend with their minds. If anyone could learn to do that, it’s you. You’ve already trained your mind so well in other areas.” Katara holds her hand at Azula’s temple. “Why not try to direct your flow of lightning using your mind?”

“I suppose that I can give it a try.”

Azula stands up, for now she will focus on her firebending. At least that is going decently enough.

“You’re going to look beautiful tonight.” She pecks Azula on the cheek. A cheek that is now faintly pink. She still has to get used to receiving so much affection. Somehow she thinks that that will be harder than getting used to having one arm.

“You are distracting me from my training.”

Katara rolls her eyes. “Your training is distracting you from me.” She flashes a mischievous smile. “Come on, let me train with you, don’t you think it’d be useful to have some combat training.”

Azula considers, “yes, quite.”  Though there is a part of her that hesitates. The last thing that her ego needs is for her to get her ass completely kicked.

“Remember when we were in the caverns of Lake Laogai and I had you trapped in those water tentacles?”

Azula’s face colors again.

“Maybe you can make a fire version of that and use that as an arm in battle.” She suggests, “I can show you how to do it.”

“You wrap the water around your arm.” Azula reminds flatly. “Right…” Katara trails off. “Well why don’t we just have a little dual like I first suggested?”

“Sure, just don’t completely destroy me.” Azula mutters.

Katara wraps her arms around the princess. “We’re not trying to see who the better bender is, we’re just trying to get you used to fighting again.” She reminds. “I think it’ll be much easier for you to figure out how to approach attacks if you experience them.” She pauses. “Actually, the whole point of this will be to try new methods. Only one of us is going to attack, the other sticks to defense. And then tomorrow, we’ll switch.”

“Right, yes.” Azula agrees. “I suppose that does make much more sense than starting with a dual.” She silently adds that it makes more sense to begin with defense as well. “And when you aren’t around I can work on trying to bend with my mind.”

“I was actually planning on sticking around for that. Combustion Man made all kinds of great faces while doing it.” Katara laughs. “Sort of like the one you’re making now.”

Azula, with nothing else to chuck save for fire, tosses the shirt at Katara who quickly sets it aside. “Alright, so I’ll come at you with a water whip.”

“With two.” Azula insists. “I can easily block one.”

Katara lets the water slide down her arms. “Two it is. Ready?”

“Don’t baby me either.” Azula requests. “If I get hit, I get hit. I should have blocked it.”

Katara’s expression softened. “I’m not going to hurt you on purpose. I know that you guys can be brutal here, but you don’t have to be. I won’t go easy on you, but I’m not going to throw you around either.”

“Just throw some water at me already.” Azula grumbles.

Without warning, Katara obeys. Azula is pleased that her reflexes remain, she ducks down and evaporates the stream with a steady flow of fire. Katara comes at her with the second water arm. Other reflexes are still intact, she goes to throw up her left arm to defend. In battle she would have taken a good slash to the face. She grits her teeth and fights to keep tears of frustration at bay. “Go again.” She requests through gritted teeth.

Katara looks on in concern, but ultimately decides that, for the sake of the princess’ ego, to oblige. She comes just as quickly, but Azula knows what is coming this time. For it, fending the faux attack off has no satisfaction. Not until she notices the third and fourth water arms. This time Azula springs up and cuts through the twin streams with a kick of fire. She has only enough time to land before the water begins to rise again.

She sends a good portion of her chi to the soles of her feet and heats the water beneath them until it turns into nothing but mist.  Mist that rises rather thickly. She realizes that she no has the element of surprise on her side. Briefly she thinks of taking the offensive role, but a sense of honor takes precedence. “I’d be able to attack you very easily right now.” She lets Katara know.

“She, we’ve only just begun and you’ve already found a new approach to combat.” She can hear the bragging, ‘I told you so’, but the excitement in her voice takes the edge off of it. “I figured that you would.”

Azula drops into a roll as Katara sends the next water tentacle in her direction. From the floor, she gives it another fiery kick. She thinks that the move is more reminiscent of Zuko’s bending style than her own. She blasts herself up right with her arm and propels herself forward and under the next water arm, with the agility that is all her own. The water arms pursue her until she reaches the west wall. She runs up it and somersaults over the streams, raining fire over them. They evaporate in another cloud of mist.   She lands next to Katara.

“I don’t think that I have to go easy on you.” The waterbender remarks. “It seems to me, like you’re just as good at this as before.”

“I still can’t…”

Katara rolls her eyes. “Lightningbend? You’re really fixated on that, aren’t you?”

“It’s what sets me apart, everyone can firebend, it takes true mastery to lightningbend.”

Katara quirks a brow. “Really, you think that it’s your lightning that sets you apart? Zuko is learning to lightningbend. If anything it’s--I don’t know--your blue fire that sets you apart.”

Azula holds a small flame in her palm and watches it flick and dance. Katara cups her hand under Azula’s. “You’re the only one who can do that.”

“I suppose.”

“But do you know what really made you such a strong combatant?”

“What?”

Katara taps the side of her head. “Your mind, Azula.” She pauses. “You’re really clever and you think fast. That’s what always made you so effective. You didn’t lose that Agni Kai because you were less powerful, you lost it because you weren’t all there.”

Azula lets the fire die down.

“You didn’t need your bending during the eclipse.” Katara continues. “Because you had a plan and you’re good at improvising when you don’t.” She squeezes Azula’s hand. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you won’t be able to bend like you used to for a while. But you don’t need to because you can think like you used to.”

Azula swallows, this time her eyes well with a different sort of emotion. She isn’t quite sure what it is, but it is moving enough for her to have to wipe her eye with the back of her hand. “I guess that I hadn’t considered…” She trails off.

“Well, now you know.” Katara sits herself down in Azula’s lap and Azula wraps her arm around the waterbender’s torso. “So you can give yourself a break.”

Azula stares at her palm as Katara nuzzles her head in the crook of her neck. “I’d still like to bend lightning again, though.”

“You will.” Katara assures. “Until then, you’ll just have to get creative when kicking ass.”

“We had a deal.” Azula nudges her lightly in the ribs.

“Put your new shirt on.” She pecks Azula’s nose. “And let's get ready for our dinner party.”

[frostsinth]

The Bard’s Bounty - Pt. 4

Part 1|2|3

Injured and without supplies, Iara is without options. Only thing she has? One very annoying bard.

This part was fun to write. Its a bit shorter than usual, but I thought it better to end where it is then start feeding into the intro of the next part. Likes and comments for more updates! Tell me what you think so far!

“H-hey!” Came a shout, and I blinked through the fog.

The sensation of falling was abruptly cut short, replaced by warm arms that were both firm and simultaneously soft. I managed to open my eyes again, and as my swimming vision settled, I recognized the goofy, lopsided grin looking down at me.

“I always knew you would fall for me.” Balam teased.

---

I groaned, shaking my head. I quickly stopped, as the movement made my pounding headache even more vicious. I weakly shoved a hand at him, blinking slowly.

“Get off me,” I mumbled, “Put me down.”

“Damn you’re stubborn,” Grumbled the orc, shaking his head. I felt the sensation of movement dully, and tried to turn my head to see what was going on. “Can’t even accept a little help when you’re bleeding to death.”

I snorted, reaching up a hand full of numbing fingers to my ribs. “I’ve had worse.”

My side was slick and hot with blood. My hand shook as I tried to feel the extent of the damage. I groaned again, blinking, and tried unsuccessfully to look around again. It had gotten darker than the pre-dawn light it had been a moment before. And the air smelled damp.

“Where are we?”

“Cave.” Balam said with a sigh, and I felt the cool stone at my back as he slowly put me down. “Beyond that, I don’t know where.”

“Gods, can you do anything useful?” I groaned, trying to sit up.

A big, meaty hand caught my shoulder, pushing me back down. “I can keep you from bleeding out…. Hopefully…” His voice dropped off a bit at the end.

I couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. “Well that’s reassuring.”

“Would you shut up?”

“That’s my line.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “You need to lie still. Try not to make it worse.”

My lips twitched weakly. “Yes, nurse.”

“Creator’s ass, stop sassing me for two seconds you bitch.” He snarled softly.

I sensed him moving away for a moment, and blinked a few more times, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Cave seemed an accurate assessment. Rock. Rock. Stone. Rock. Something wet and dripping in the corner. It was shallow, maybe a body length or two deep. And probably just high enough to stand in. The faint morning light drew an outline around the cave, and I could just make out the forest beyond the wide entrance. A soft whicker reassured me that Goda was not far. I slowly tried to ease myself up again.

“What did I tell you?” Sighed Balam angrily, returning to the cave with an armful of branches and other assorted things I couldn’t make out.

He dropped them by the wall and dropped down next to me. Catching my good shoulder in his hand.

“Goda,” I breathed, then reached up one hand to press my palm to my forehead.

“She’s fine. There’s water and grass right outside,” He told me, pushing me back gently. “She’s earned a break.”

I nodded faintly, sighing as the back of my head touched the cool stone again. It wasn’t exactly comfortable; about as hard as a rock. I chuckled internally at my own dumb joke.

“Why’d you have to go do something stupid and get yourself stabbed?” Grumbled Balam.

I gasped slightly as he pressed something to my side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll just let Sigi shoot you.”

He laughed incredulously, shaking his big head. His dreads bounced about with the movement. “My life was only at risk because you kidnapped me.”

“Collected, not kidnapped.” I corrected him weakly, then tried to crane my neck down to see his hands at my side. “What are you doing?”

He sighed heavily. “Old Tlaloc trick. This moss is very porous. Works as well as cloth to staunch bleeding.”

“Goody.” I breathed, laying back and closing my eyes.

I felt his hand wrap around mine, his large, warm fingers swallowing my hand whole. They felt firm, and strong, and my hazy mind lingered on the sensation for a moment. He brought our hands to my side, and gently pressed my palm against the moss on my wound.

“Here, hold this for a second. I’m going to start a fire so I can see what I’m doing better.”

I didn’t reply, but did as I was told. My head was still pounding, so I tried to focus on some benign point in my brain that might allow my thoughts to soothe. Balam’s face drifted to the surface of my mind’s eye, irritatingly. I brushed it aside with a silent snarl. I so desperately wanted to sleep, and my eyes, even closed, ached. But the adrenaline was still coursing through me, and the anxiety of my situation left a twisting knot in my stomach.

I listened to the sounds of his shuffling, as he gathered the branches into a pile. It was muted, as the soft sound of rain slowly filled the spaces between sounds. But I heard the soft twang of stone on metal, then the sizzling of flames on wet wood. I frowned, opening my eyes.

“Is that my sword??” I demanded weakly as he bent down to blow on the tiny little embers.

“You dropped it when you fell off the horse.”

“Oh, so you know what it is?”

He snorted. “Of course I do.”

“Great. Then why the fuck are you smashing it with a rock?”

The orc shot me an irritated look. “We are a little short on supplies here, in case you didn’t notice, princess. And I’m not about to spend half an hour rubbing two wet sticks together.”

I coughed lightly. “Rubbing sticks together? Thought that was what bards were all about.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but I honestly think I preferred your cold, frigid bitch act.” He came back over to my side, tossing the sword to clatter a few feet away and dropping back to the ground.

“And I preferred you unconscious.” I mumbled, blinking blearily at him.

Sighing again, he took my hand away from the wound, inspecting it under the light. I saw the furrows on his forehead deepen, and his eyebrows pinched together.

“That bad, huh?” I asked with a soft chuckle.

He glanced up at my face. “...It’s not good.”

I closed my eyes, tilting my head back slightly. “You’re free now, you know,” I told him bitterly.

When he didn’t answer, I opened my eyes again. Found him watching me, staring at my face. I smirked a little, then lifted my arm weakly to shake my bracelet.

“You won’t be able to take it off yourself, but I don’t have the strength to use the enchantment,” I turned my head away, looking at the stone wall instead of meeting those soft brown eyes, “So you can leave anytime. The magic only works within a certain proximity.”

He snorted softly. “You seriously think you can manage on your own?”

“Always have.”

I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Tried to keep it flat. I knew what was at stake in that moment. New exactly what would happen if he did choose to leave. Darkness was eating at the edges of my vision, and my breathing was ragged. But I was ready for it, I thought. If this was my time, if I couldn’t fight it. I was ready. I would face death as I had faced life. Alone. And it was better that way.

I felt his hand squeeze mine, and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. There was a complicated look on his face. I didn’t have the energy to think it over too much. But I knew I didn’t want to see it anymore. So I closed my eyes and let out a slow, shuddering breath.

Sniffing, I felt him gently place my hand on the ground near my face. 

“Nah. No thanks.” I heard more shuffling, then felt the sharp stinging pain as he pressed something against my side. “Don’t feel like having your frigid ass haunting me.”

Surprised, I opened my eyes, looking at him. He made a point not to meet my gaze, steadily working on cleaning my wound instead.

“... If I get better, I’m still taking you in,” I told him, my voice a little sharper than I meant it to be. “Nothing has changed.”

He shrugged his big shoulders, a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Not maybe. I’m a bounty hunter. And you’ve got a huge bounty on your head. A payout like that would have me set for a long time-” I narrowed my eyes a little at him- “I’m not passing up that chance.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, simply cleaning my wound. He ripped up some plant with his teeth, and began chewing it thoughtfully as we worked.

“You could’ve killed me.”

“What?”

“You could’ve killed me,” He repeated softly, still chewing, “The bounty is just as good with my severed head. But you didn’t.”

I gave an angry sigh. “I’m not a killer.” I grumbled irritatedly under my breath.

He chucked again, the sound darkly unfitting to his usual jovial nature. 

“Neither am I.”

Then he spit the chewed up plant into his palm. Using two fingers, he scooped some up and began smearing it against my side.

“Oh gods! What in the nine hells are you doing?” I snapped, jerking a little.

“Hold still,” He ordered, still smearing the half masticated goop on me, “Its Threnweed. Good for healing and staving off infection.”

“It’s gross,” I shot back, scowling weakly, “I don’t want your spit on me.”

Balam’s head fell back as he laughed loudly. “Well, the last time we swapped spit, you poisoned me,” he reminded me with his now familiar lopsided grin, “Let’s just say this makes us even.”

My face burned at the memory, but my scowl merely deepened and I turned away from him again. He finished his work, wiping me up as best he could with what he had. Then I felt him pat my good shoulder.

“Get some rest now. That will help the most.”

His hand lingered for a moment, his tough fingers warm against my cold skin. It tingled beneath his touch, and for a moment, I thought he might do more. Stroke my hair back. Turn me to face him again. Strangle me. But he didn’t, and eventually the weight of his hand disappeared.

My whole body quivered from exhaustion, but after a few moments I forced myself to turn and look for him one more time. He was still sitting next to me, surprisingly close, and I blinked stupidly for a moment. I could smell his musky scent, and feel a little of the heat of his body.

“What are you going to do?” I asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. “I’ll find a way to entertain myself, don’t you worry.”

I sighed heavily, feeling the tension in my muscles. Even laying on cold stone rock, I couldn’t fight my exhaustion anymore. I blinked a few more times stubbornly, but my whole body felt like a throbbing pile of lead.

Balam was fiddling with something in his hands that I couldn’t make out. I fought against the sleep, turning my head this way and that. Shifting my legs, rubbing my hands against my face.

I realized suddenly that a soft, gentle humming had filled the air around me. It was distant, like bees in a hive somewhere hidden among the trees. But it was soothingly deep. I swore I could feel it vibrating in the ground beneath me too.

Along with the sound of the rain, it soothed my tattered nerves, and slowly, I relented. Giving in to my absolute exhaustion. I plummeted into darkness like an anchor dropped into stormy waters….

....

UPDATE: Part five HERE

[geniusgub]

north//chapter seven

enjoy lovies!! it’s action time!!

genre: angst

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: gun fire, mention of blood, a lot of time/location jumps sorry

word count: 6.5k

SPENCER

SIX MONTHS LATER

"Wheels up in thirty."

The team nods and gathers our things from the round table, leaving the briefing room to return to our desks and grab our go-bags. I take a seat at my chair and reach under my desk, eyes widening as I realize my go-bag isn’t there. I retrace my steps of the last few days of not being on a case and my brain produces an image of my leather go-bag in the corner of Amelia’s bedroom. Upon checking the time, I realize I won’t have time to hop on a train, get to Amelia’s apartment, and then catch a train back here within thirty minutes. I’d miss the plane and then I won’t be able to go on the case.

My phone sits on my desk, screaming at me to make a call. I know I need to call Amelia because I need my clothes for the case. But having her come here and show her face would mean that our secret would no longer be ours. It would give the team more material to make fun of me with and to tease me about but besides that. It would mean that our relationship goes from being just two people to being eight people. I’m sure Amelia doesn’t mind as much as I do, but the fear of something happening to her because of my job will linger forever. However, I really need my clothes and I can’t take the time to worry about the long term issues of telling everyone I have a girlfriend. 

I pick up my phone and dial Amelia’s number. A glance around the bullpen tells me that nobody is looking my way and that means they won’t be eavesdropping on my conversation. What am I even nervous about? Amelia gets along with everyone so I’m sure the team will like her. They will absolutely love her, Penelope surely already does. Everything will be okay, right? I can stand some teasing about her. I already endure the teasing about basically everything else in my life so I can stand some more. At least I can be open about Amelia and bring her to dinners at Rossi’s and she can bond with my best friends and we just won’t have to hide anymore.

“Hi, dove! What’s up? I just saw you like, ten minutes ago. Aren’t you at work?"

“Yeah, I am but I've got a problem and I'm hoping you can help." Once again, I glance up to make sure that nobody is listening.

"I'm at your service, Spence. I'm still at home and I just got dressed. It's your lucky day. What do you need?"

"I left my go-bag in your room. Do you think you could bring it over here for me?"

"Yeah, of course I can but are you sure you’re okay with that? You want everyone to meet me? I know you said you wanted to keep us a secret for a little while." 

No, maybe I’m not so okay with Amelia meeting the team yet but I can’t keep her a secret forever. I have some level of confidence right now so I can’t miss this opportunity to introduce Amelia to my friends. "It’s okay. Not a big deal,” a white lie never hurt anyone, right?

"Okay! I’ll be there in a couple minutes!” I can hear the beautiful smile on her face when she speaks and the thought of getting to see her once more I leave for this case somehow makes all my anxiety and hesitation float away, leaving elation in its wake. We say our goodbyes and then I’m left to my own thoughts without Amelia as a distraction.

I tap my fingers against the desk as I wait anxiously for my girlfriend’s arrival. I try to pick up the case file to observe it again but I just can't focus. Every time I try to read about the details of these dead prostitutes, my brain drifts off to something else and then I realize that I didn’t process anything I just read and I have to start over. All that is happening is that Amelia is dropping off my go-bag, saying hi to everyone, and then she’s going to leave. Simple. That’s all.

"Hey kid, you good?" I jump at the sound of Morgan right next to me, leaning over my shoulder and totally invading my personal bubble.

I nod quickly, shifting away from him so he’s not almost on top of me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Morgan furrows his eyebrows and he doesn’t let up, moving around me to lean against my desk. “You’re being very quiet. That isn’t like you. And if-”

"Amelia!" Penelope squeals, running over to Amelia as she comes through the glass doors, throwing her arms around my girlfriend. This shrieking catches the attention of everyone in the bullpen, and even Rossi pops his head out of his office to see what's going on. "Is the cat out of the bag?" She holds Amelia out at arm’s length and then her eyes dart to me and then to the team around them. Penelope laughs nervously. "Well if the cat isn't out of the bag then I've definitely just ripped a hole in the bag for you!"

"It's okay," Amelia laughs, moving away from Penelope and holding my go-bag out to me. "Here."

"Thank you. You're a lifesaver," I set the bag on my desk chair and move beside Amelia so the vultures can’t swoop her up first. Amelia places her hand on my back and rubs up and down to soothe me, out of the view of anyone else.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up as he saunters over, adorning a smirk that I’ve seen far too many times. “Who’s this? A super secret girlfriend?”

"Um, yeah," Amelia steps closer to me and holds me even closer as I gesture to every member of the team, "this is Amelia. Lia, this is Alex, Morgan, JJ, Hotch is in his office, Rossi, and you already know Penelope."

When I look back down at Amelia, there's something in her eyes that I've never seen before. Her nostrils are flared just a little bit and her jaw is flexed, and she stops rubbing my back, grabbing a fistfull of my shirt instead. I wouldn't even peg this as nervousness to meet the team, this is just weird. I've never seen her act like this. She looks, I don’t know, maybe frustrated? Angry? Pissed off? All my profiling skills go out the window now and I’m absolutely baffled with the way she is holding herself right now.

Rossi is the first to speak up after the introductions, pointing his finger at Amelia. "Have we met before? You look familiar." Everyone, including myself, is utterly confused. Is that what I saw in Amelia's eyes? Recognition? Has she met Rossi before? But how?

"Um," Amelia clearly grasps for words as she retracts from my embrace, "it was really great to meet you guys but I've got somewhere to be so hopefully I'll see you all soon," and with that, Amelia gives them the fakest smile I’ve ever seen from her and speeds off towards the glass doors and eventually the elevator.

Without a second look at any of my bewildered friends, I run after her, catching up just as she's pressing the down button. "Amelia, what the hell? What was that? Do you know Rossi?"

She keeps her head forward, facing the elevator doors. Amelia huffs, tugging on the straps of her backpack and I just barely catch sight of her lip quivering before she twists her head away from me. "Just be careful on your case, okay? Keep being smart and be safe and come home in one piece and-"

"Please don’t change the subject. What’s going on? Why are you like this?” 

"Just drop it, Spencer," Amelia shakes her head at me and sniffles, obviously combating the tears that are threatening to fall. "I don't know who that Rossi guy is. I'm going to lunch with Jenna and I don't wanna be late or else she'll get annoyed."

"You go to lunch with Jenna at Camille's which is a ten minute and thirty two second drive from here. You meet at noon and it's only 11:30 so you have plenty of time. You're not gonna be late," Amelia shakes her head once more and that’s when the anger starts to rise in me. I’m just trying to comfort her and figure out why she is acting like this and she is blowing me off completely. It’s unfair to me. It’s unfair for Rossi to act like he did and it’s unfair for Amelia to blow me off when I’m trying to help. That’s all I want to do- help. 

“Please, Spencer. Don’t.”

I retract from Amelia, my jaw tightening. I watch helplessly as she slips into the elevator doors before they fully open. She slams her finger down on a button and her arms rise to hug her waist, head hanging down. If we were under normal circumstances, I would rush forward and scoop her into my arms and shower her in affection and listen to every word she has to tell me. But now there’s nothing from her and too much from me- too much frustration, too much confusion, and a lingering feeling of betrayal. 

I scoff at Amelia’s disappearing figure and turn on my heel, marching back into the bullpen. All eyes are on me as I snatch up my satchel and go-bag, stomping right back out of the bullpen and down the stairs.

///

THIRD PERSON

///

"Well, that was really weird," JJ grimaces, dragging her feet back to her desk and collecting her go-bag and case files.

"That was weird," Penelope pouts, shoulders hunched forward, watching helplessly as everyone’s faces match JJ’s when they start to scatter. "Guys, Amelia was the girl from the video chat like, six months ago that was braiding my hair, and she has never been like that. She has come by here a few times to leave things for Spencer and to hang out with me when you’re gone. She isn’t like that, guys! She’s funny and energetic and really friendly and not like that!"

"Rossi, do you actually recognize her?" Morgan asks next, turning to his colleague, interrupting his reverie. The group of profilers regularly steal glances out of the glass doors where the young couple is arguing in front of the bureau elevators.

"I do," Rossi continues to rack his brain for an answer. But matter how many times he recalls Spencer’s girlfriends face and continues to think Amelia, Amelia, Amelia, he can’t put a situation to the person. Spencer storms in and then out again, leaving a tense silence in the bullpen in his wake. Everyone shares wide-eyed glances at Spencer’s seemingly dramatic reaction.

"One of you check up on the kid, but Garcia come with me,” Alex goes rushing after Spencer and follows him down the stairs while Penelope hurries after Rossi, all the way to her cave and into her perfectly adjusted seat.

"Sir, what are we doing in here?" Penelope wonders, her fingers instinctively at the ready on her keyboard.

"Do a background check on Amelia. I'm sure you know her last name," Rossi leans over Penelope’s shoulder, watching her type in Amelia Stark. "I swear, I know that name."

“But why? You know I hate digging through someone’s personal life,” Penelope whines, slapping her hands over her eyes when information pops up about her friend. She feels Rossi lean even closer to her screen and she whines out. “It’s different when I do this alone because I do it out of love! This just feels wrong.”

“Then just forget I’m here. I know this name,” Rossi mumbles absentmindedly.

"I started doing a background check on her when she was here and no red flags immediately popped up," Penelope slowly drops her hands from over her eyes and starts to read the information that feels much more invasive now. "Okay, Amelia Stark- she's 25, moved to Virginia when she was 21, right out of college. She went to Carnegie Mellon and studied fine arts. She's an artist and an amazing one, at that. It looks like she has a couple low grade arrests in here but it's all for graffiti and street art. Friends all bailed her out and that was it, she was never charged with anything. Ooh, bad girl."

"No, no," Rossi shakes his head, "that can't be all. Keep digging."

Penelope whines out when she continues to type, slower than ever before in an attempt to drag out the invasion. "I don't know what you're expecting me to find, Sir. I also don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for so it makes it harder to- oh," Rossi gets even closer to the screen at the sound of her inflection change. "Many, many sealed court records- is that what you're looking for?"

"Unseal them," Rossi demands.

With a few simple yet hesitant clicks, Penelope unseals the court documents and Amelia Stark's entire life is opened up to them.

"This is how I know Amelia," Rossi breathes out. "Do you think Reid knows?"

Penelope shakes her head slowly, her eyes filling with tears as she buries her face in her hands. The air suddenly feels much more tense, they both realize, and a low level of guilt fills Rossi. "No, definitely not. He would've realized why you recognized Amelia if he knew. She definitely hasn't told him. And when I was joking about doing a background check, she seemed kinda nervous, but I just thought it's that kind of nervous we all get like when we're driving and there just happens to be a cop driving on the same road as you- not because of this!"

Rossi tugs his keys out of his pocket and taps Penelope’s shoulder. "Send me her address and tell Hotch I'll meet you guys in Texas."

///

AMELIA

///

I slam my apartment door shut, sending a sloppy and incoherent text to Jenna to cancel on lunch. I can barely see through the tears in my eyes as I try to hang up my keys on a hook and put my backpack beside it. My hands are trembling and even when I stop moving around so I can ground myself, the shaking doesn’t stop.

There's a sharp knock at the door, and I debate not even answering. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my cries, trying desperately to wipe my cheeks but it doesn't really work. There’s no hiding my red face and my melting makeup, I’m sure.

"Amelia, I know you're in there. I hear you crying."

I grind my teeth when I hear the voice behind my door, anger bubbling up inside of me and it sizzles over before I can even think to stop it. I stomp over and throw open the door, finding Dave standing there with his hands casually tucked in his pockets. "Are you kidding me? You followed me home?"

"I knew you were familiar," Dave strolls right past me, glancing around my apartment like he was invited in. I don’t bother to close my door when I follow him into the living room, slapping his hand away when he reaches out to touch a canvas on the wall.

"You can't just show up and waltz in and start touching things! You're supposed to be on a plane going to god knows where! Get out, Dave. This is absolutely ridiculous!"

"Does Reid know?" Dave turns to me and crosses his arms, his face stoic and emotionless. I try to keep my tears from falling but it's a useless feat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to answer but then all I can do is shake my head no. "No? You haven't told him? You've just lied about your entire childhood? Amelia, that's-"

"I didn't lie about anything!" I shout at him. "I just didn't tell him anything at all and he's fine with that because he cares about me. I don't need you fucking that up, Dave. So thank you for ruining my relationship because Spencer is pissed at me and he probably will be for a while and it's all your fault." It’s a wet kind of anger, the kind of anger that leaves you sobbing and grasping for words. It’s unfair. It’s unfair that I could lose Spencer over this situation, a situation that I’ve spent our whole relationship trying to avoid. 

"You can't blame me. I did recognize you. I just couldn't place why," he tries to defend himself because now he suddenly realizes that he interfered with something he shouldn’t have. He recognizes my tears and my anger and how Spencer stormed off and he sees that this is his fault. He has ruined our relationship.

"Dave, seriously, can you just get out? You're supposed to be on a plane by now," I march back to the door and place my hand on the handle- another invitation for him to get out of my apartment.

"Actually, we're going to Texas," my head slowly trails up at Dave's words and I meet his eyes for the first time since I was standing in the bullpen with my hand in Spencer’s. "We're going to Mike's police department. He called us in."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Dave nods at me, "I'm sure it'll be nice to see him again after all these years."

"Can you, um," I let go of the door and run into the kitchen briefly, picking up a box that I've yet to put a label on, "can you give this to him? I meant to mail it but I didn't get around to it. I sent the kids art a couple of months ago but they wanted more."

"Of course. Anything else you want me to tell him?"

"To be careful," my voice cracks, more tears streaming down my cheeks. Imagines of Mike coming home with bruises and stitches surface in my mind and they make me shudder. But then my mind switches and I’m suddenly picturing Spencer in stitches with a black eye and a busted lip and I slap my hands over my eyes as if that would make the mental images disappear. "To be really careful. And please, make sure Spencer is careful too. He's upset and-"

"I'll look out for the kid. I always do, we all do." Dave takes the box from my hands and pats my shoulder in the least comforting way possible. "Listen, I really am sorry that I exposed you like that. I didn't mean to do that, I just genuinely recognized you and I didn't know why. I had Garcia pull up court records and then I remembered why I knew you."

"Don't tell Spencer, please," I practically beg. "I-I don't ever wanna have to tell him but I know I do eventually. Besides, he'll probably," I roll my eyes and let out a sarcastic laugh, "look at what color socks I'm wearing and then be able to tell me my entire life story."

"Spencer's good at that," Dave gives me a small, proud, almost fatherly smile and starts heading out the door. "I won't tell but you shouldn't keep it a secret for too long. Like you said, he's good at what he does and he'll connect the dots. I'll bring this to Mike and tell him what you said."

"Thank you," Dave gives me one more smile before heading down the hallway. Before he can get out of the building, I stick my head out of the doorway and yell, "and don't ever show up at my apartment again."

SPENCER

"Did I miss some event in the bullpen before?" Hotch asks nonchalantly as he walks onto the jet.

"No," I answer coldly, not even looking up from the book in my hands. I’ve been staring at the words for almost half an hour yet I haven’t processed a single one. My mind is racing too quickly to actually attain any new information, no matter how hard I try. It doesn’t help to feel everyone’s gaze on me, their eyes boring into the back of my head. It’s a feeling that is far too suffocating for me to ever feel comfortable until they have averted their eyes elsewhere.

"I heard some commotion but I was on the phone," Hotch keeps talking and it enrages me that he’s supposed to be the best profiler on this team, considering he’s lead profiler and unit chief, but he can’t tell from the tone of my voice that this conversation needs to end. He just ignores my tone of voice and moves on with his life. I guess I should be used to that by now.

"Just some chatting. No commotion," Morgan gives me a look as if to say ‘how did I do’ but I just look back at my book.

"Alright,” Hotch accepts Morgan’s answer with ease, but not mine, “well, let's call Garcia and get started."

The rest of the plane ride is awkward and tense. In his normal fashion, Hotch ignores the tension and gives us all directions on where to go when we touch down in Texas. I only contribute a few facts here and there but I stick to attempting, and failing, to read my book. I just can’t seem to bring my attention anywhere but Amelia and Rossi. The questions swirl around in my mind and they won’t stop, no matter how many times I splash cold water in my face or try to have a conversation or read the case files. The questions keep swirling.

Why did Rossi recognize Amelia? Why did Amelia leave so quickly? Why was she on the verge of tears? How come Rossi isn’t on the plane right now? Is Amelia okay right now? Is she mad at me? Is our relationship over because of this one moment? Why did Rossi recognize Amelia? Why did Rossi recognize Amelia? And why did she recognize him too?

I don’t say a word as we land and split up in SUV’s, heading off to our assigned locations to start working. I cling to my distraction book and try, for the millionth time, to process the words on the page. But my brain is filled with nothing but Amelia, Amelia, Amelia.

"Agents," the sheriff comes up to us when we enter the station, shaking Hotch's hand before reaching for mine. I just lift my arm and wave at him, not even bothering to attempt a smile. The sheriff gives me an unsure look but drops his hand back to his side. "Thank you guys for coming out."

"It's our pleasure. I'm Agent Hotchner, this is Dr. Reid."

"Well, I'm Sheriff Michael Stark, you can call me Mike. I know your unit chief, Matt Cruz, and I asked him to bring this case to you because I could really use the help. We've never seen anything like this before. But I'm not gonna lie, I thought there'd be more of you," he leads us further into the police station and gestures to the very full evidence board against the wall. Oh gosh, that has to be refined and taken apart. Great, even more work for us. 

"There's other agents are the crime scenes now," I tell the sheriff, eyeing the evidence on the board that is incorrect or won’t help the case at all. Sometimes an enthusiastic police force is really helpful but in times like this, they’re doing more harm than good. I start pulling down all the evidence that won’t help and throwing it aside.

"Great," Mike watches me destroy the evidence board for a moment before plastering on a smile, “I’ll gather the force, and let’s get working.”

///

THIRD PERSON

///

Dave Rossi, go-bag and cardboard box in hand, struts into the Texas Police Department. Some officers smile with recognition as he passes them but he ignore all the attention. He’s used to it, anyway. Rossi goes straight to the sheriff’s office, knocking firmly on the door.

The door flies open and a smile instantly stretches across Mike’s face at the sight of an old friend and colleague standing in front of him. "David Rossi. Wow. It's been quite a while."

"That it has," Rossi steps inside the office, setting the cardboard box on the first chair he sees.

"I thought you retired a while ago. You published those books, I've got them all in my house.”

"Came back. The retired life wasn't for me," Rossi explains, then taps his hand on the top of the box. "I ran into a certain child of yours and she gave me this to give to you and your other children."

Mike's eyes widen when he finally notices the box, tilting his head to read Amelia’s writing on the side. "You saw Amelia?"

Rossi turns his head towards the window and gazes into the main room in the station, where Hotch and Reid are chatting over the evidence board. "Have you met Dr. Reid yet?"

"I have," Mike nods, already slicing the packing tape on the top of the box. "He's-” his hand freezes mid-air, eyes widening in realization, “oh my god. Amelia told me she was dating an FBI agent that works for the BAU. I can't believe I didn't put it together!"

"But Spencer doesn't know. I asked Amelia and she hasn't told him anything."

Mike scoffs dramatically, pulling out a large canvas and admiring the beauty of Amelia’s artwork. She has never disappointed him, Mike thinks. "How is it possible that she hasn’t told him anything? Her tattoos are basically the story of her life. She's got tattoos of her brother and a bunch for her mom, she has a cactus, a bee, a turtle. Her arms basically tell her life story."

"My guess?" Rossi suggets. "It's been cold. She avoided it because she was wearing long sleeves. But she asked me not to say anything so I have to ask you the same. She swore to me that she would tell him eventually so I don't want to come between them."

Mike’s gaze moves out the window again, eyes locked on the quick-talking doctor who politely refused to shake his hand. "She’s gonna have to tell him soon. But right now, we have better things to worry about. Someone’s killing prostitutes,” Rossi nods and saunters out of the office, joining his teammates, getting nothing but a cold, hard glare from Spencer. But Mike doesn’t see this interaction because he’s fishing though his desk drawer, searching for command strips to hang Amelia’s painting on the wall outside. 

/// 

SPENCER

///

I stare out the window as Morgan drives, studying all the sites that pass us. I know that Amelia grew up in Texas. I'm not entirely sure where because she never specified where, but I wonder if she ever walked these streets as a kid. I wonder if she held her brothers hand when they walked to school, or if her mother held her hand and dragged her away from a toy store. Or maybe an art store would be a more apt location for Amelia to get attached to. Did she draw her first picture while sitting on the curb and waiting for the bus? Did she run down these sidewalks with her friends in the middle of the night after they all snuck out? 

"Reid. Hey kid! You're spacing out again," Morgan reaches over and lays his hand on my shoulder. I quickly shrug his hand off my shoulder and pat my cardigan down on my shoulder to correct the wrinkles Morgan just created.

"Sorry, sorry. Was someone saying something?"

Deputy Bennett in the backseat speaks up, "I was just telling Agent Morgan about Joe's Bar and about Dinah. She's the woman who runs it."

I do what I can to keep my mind off Amelia. I miss her immensely, more than usual. We used to text each other constantly while I was away on a case but I haven't heard from her at all, and that breaks my heart. She's my sunshine, and if I don't have my sunshine, there's no way I'll be able to think straight. Her short and sweet texts that I always seemed to get when I’m away quickly became the things that encouraged me to work harder. They encouraged me to solve the case so I could get home and see her smiling face again. But now there is none of that. Not a single ‘hope everything is going okay’ message or a phone call that she swears she didn’t mean to do or a silly selfie of her in her studio or sitting on the couch. There’s no motivation and no encouragement to get home.

But I do what I can in the bar to distract Dinah and the deputy while Morgan goes to talk to the other girl. I don’t even remember her name. All I know about her is that she looks hauntingly similar to Amelia and I can’t get myself to look at her a second time. I ask meaningless questions with answers from Dinah that are all lies. But whatever Morgan is doing seems to be working so I keep going, trying to seem casual and nonchalant.

Morgan comes stutting back with his hands in his pockets, giving me a shrug as if to say got nothing, but his eyes tell a different story. "Alright, Dinah," the deputy says, "we'll get out of your hair now."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help, gentlemen," Dinah says with a completely fake southern charm, returning to cleaning the bar with a rag.

I tuck my head down as we get back in the car and drive back to the station. My head floats back to the clouds, and I barely hear Morgan and Bennett's phone conversation with Hotch about Preacher Mills that they now have in for questioning. I pull my phone out a check for any messages from Amelia, only finding one from JJ, asking if I'm feeling okay. I ignore her, putting my phone away again and huffing in frustration.

"Lady troubles?" Bennett chuckles from the backseat, patting my shoulder in the same horrible way that Morgan did. "I don't need your profiling skills to see that from a mile away."

"I'm fine," I snap as Morgan pulls into a parking spot at the station and I’m stumbling out before the car is even in park.

I have every intention of dashing inside and ducking my head in a book to distract myself, but before I can even get to the evidence board, I stop in my tracks. That painting wasn’t there when we arrived. This is a new addition and it looks similar to the art I have on my desk at Quantico. I take a step closer to the canvas and my blood runs cold when I spot Amelia’s distinctive signature on the bottom right of the painting.

“You like the art?” Bennett is at my side once more. “We get a new one every few months.”

“Um, uh huh,” it takes me a split second to remember how to speak. I’m just so utterly confused. I thought I was close to learning every about this woman and she keeps surprising me. Amelia sells her art to museums and rich people who fill their houses with legendary artwork. What is this painting doing in a police station in Texas? “Where do the paintings come from?”

Bennett shrugs in an annoyingly casual way. “Sheriff Stark’s daughter is an artist or something. She sends them over here sometimes. He’s got a house full of little brats at home. Don’t know how he does it,” he chuckles and leaves me high and dry, even more confused than I was before. 

///

The case turns out to be much more complicated than we imagined. At first glance, we seem pretty convinced that the preacher is the unsub. But when all the evidence lines up, it’s clear to see that he is being set up. So we set off on the mission of trying to find the preacher to tell him we know he’s innocent.

"Preacher's car was just spotted at El Lobito's diner," Hotch relays the information to us. "Reid and Blake, Sheriff Stark is gonna drive you over. JJ and Morgan, take another car over. Rossi and I will coordinate from here."

Everyone nods as we pull on our vests, adjusting guns and double-checking ammunition. We rush off to our cars and speed off to the diner, sirens blaring. I refrain from checking my phone, knowing I need to clear my head if I'm about to go into a potentially dangerous situation. I can’t think about Amelia right now. I can’t think about her laying on the couch in her nearly-sheer pajamas with a glass of wine in her hands. I can’t think about her wrapped up in her duvet and sleeping without me. I can’t think about her crying over the event in the bullpen without me there to hold her. No, I can’t do that. I need a clear head. 

We arrive at the diner and we're all eyes, searching for movement from inside. Lorenzana comes up to us, her hand poised on the gun on her hip. "He's been in there a good five minutes now," she tells us. "No movement inside yet."

"What about patrons?" 

"Diner's closed," Lorenzana says.

"Looks like two entrances," Blake says, her hands on her hips. "The question is, is he alone?"

"Uh, guys," Deputy Bennett says just as JJ and Morgan run up beside us, "I've got movement. We should move in. We should move in right now."

"Actually," I glance inside and see that all the preacher is doing is peering through the window. Bennett needs to calm down and stop being so dramatic about everything, "we're better off establishing the perimeter first. Then we can open up a line of communication." 

"I think you're right," Sheriff Stark nods, effectively dismissing his defensive officers. "I think we should-"

Suddenly there's the loud screech of a gunshot and everyone ducks as an initial reaction. Sheriff Stark falls to the floor in front of us but Blake and I duck behind the open door of our SUV. The preacher starts reining bullets down on us, haphazardly aiming for anything and everything. So much for telling him we know he’s innocent and bringing him in for protection. 

"Blake," I tap her shoulder, gun drawn in my other hand, "we gotta get the sheriff."

Without another word to me, she runs right into gunfire. She grabs one arm of the Sheriff's arms and starts to pull him, but clearly can't. My eyes go wide and the gunshots pound against my eardrums as I push myself away from the car.

"Blake!" I’m screaming as I shield her from the bullets coming her way. There’s no doubt she would have been killed by any of those bullets. She should be more caeful. She has a husband to return home to.

There is a searing pain in my neck and it takes me a second to process that I've been shot. The world starts to move in slow motion when I crumble to the ground and stare up at the dark sky. There are tears falling down my cheeks and stinging my gunshot wound, but the stars seem to calm me. I wonder if these are the same stars that Amelia used to look at with her brother. I wonder if Amelia is looking up at the stars right now. 

Amelia. My girl. I can't find it in me to have an ounce of anger in me towards her anymore. I'd give anything to be able to hold her right now as my body fills with indescribable pain. I can feel her hand in mine and her laugh echoing in my ears, drowning out the gunfire around me. How does she do that? Her laugh always overpowers everything around us. I swear I can feel her lips on my face and I can feel her hands on my skin, and I want to reach for her. I can see her right in front of me, leaning over my weakening body and whispers sweet nothings in my ear. Is she actually here? I can feel her. Why is she in Texas? Why is she in the middle of a shootout? Why isn’t she wearing a bulletproof vest? She needs a vest. She needs it now.

With the little amount of strength I have left, I reach my shaking hands for the velcro on my shoulders, tugging on them. I tug, and tug, and tug, and nothing happens. The vest won’t come off. I can’t save her. I need to save her.

I'm jolted out of my beautiful daydream when I feel myself getting dragged against the pavement. My view of Amelia dissipates and I cry out, reaching my hand out for her. There's a face in front of me but I'm looking past them, smacking my lips together in an attempt to speak. But then the person is gone and I'm left alone again. I try to call out for my girlfriend, who has disappeared, still tugging at the velcro on my kevlar vest. She needs it. I need to save her.

I sit there helplessly for what feels like forever, hands shaking and covered in blood. The sound of gunfire starts to warp in my ears and it seems to get more and more distant by the second. Maybe the gunfire is stopping. Maybe Amelia is safe. If she isn’t safe then I don’t know what I would do. I try to speak again, but my jaw just goes slack and suddenly I can’t move it anymore.

Blake rushes over and crouches in front of me, pressing her cold hands against my bleeding wound. The temperature of her fingers jolts me in the most shocking and aggressive way, a gasp coming from my wide-open mouth. "Medic!" She shouts. "We need a medic now! There's too much blood!"

I can feel blood dripping down my body and my head is starting to get fuzzy. The blood soaks my kevlar but it doesn’t stop me from continuing to pull on the velcro. I don’t feel bullets flying past me anymore but Amelia still needs it. But the more energy I put into tugging at my vest, the more parts of my body start to render useless. My fingertips tingle and my eyes start to roll.

"Hey, you're doing great. Just keep your eyes open and on me," Blake tries to give me a smile, but it never reaches her eyes. "Eyes on me, eyes on me," I try to trail my eyes up to hers, but they just cross and my head starts to pound. "Spencer! I need your eyes on me!"

My vision starts to sparkle and then those sparkles burn out until all I see is black.

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[cockasinthebird]

if you wanted to write that little thing about billy being cuddles for the first time since the mind flayer - that’d be okay 🥺

Dear Anon, I hope these 5½ pages finds you well!

-

It's dead silent. As the grave.

The only light here a slight blue where the moon peeks in from drawn curtains, reaching across the floor and onto the bed. Gently caressing where Steve's feet lie under the blanket.

Billy sits with his knees under his chin, at the foot end of the bed, watching the calm rise of Steve's chest, his hair a huge mess, lips spread slightly as he sleeps.

Another night of no rest, of his head full of voices. It's not really a voice in the way you'd expect, it's more like a... feeling. Like a foggy residue from... before.

Sharp teeth biting, tendrils everywhere, stealing away all his air, piercing through his chest.

It all stings in his eyes, and forms an overwhelmingly uncomfortable knot in his throat, just short of it being painful.

And when he thinks he sees something moving in the obscured corners, a sound all too close to a sob escapes his quivering lips.

He knows it's fake, just hallucinations, the lack of light playing tricks on his exhausted mind.

But the darkness of his nightmares seep all too easily into the shadows surrounding him at every waking moment.

"St-Steve-" voice like broken glass, he stops in shock of how pathetic he sounds now. And he wouldn't have believed it was him that spoke, if not for the grinding pain in his throat.

He hides his face in his knees, believing that if he doesn't see whatever is lurking here, it'll go away. Squeezes his eyes shut till he sees white stars behind his lids.

Tries to call out for his boyfriend again, “Steve...” and again, “Steve...” and seven more times after that, but the words are barely even there; they're more similar to whimpers; scared and ashamed of what a little wimp he's become.

Oh how far he's fallen from grace, from Keg King and the talk of the town, to... this.

Mane gone. Baggy eyes. Skin paler. Scars everywhere.

He can't even remember when he last took his shirt off for longer than it takes to get the next one on. How long has it been since he's felt Steve's hands on his skin? How long since he last felt the sensation of body heat...

Must be nearing half a year by now. He doesn't keep up with time or space anymore, just goes to the doctors and psychologists when Steve says it's time.

And what would become of Billy without Steve.

Who else would care for him? Not a soul. He couldn't ask that of Max. Never had to ask that of Steve. Because Steve fucking Harrington is an angel, and Billy knew that from the first time they locked eyes in the parking lot.

Knew it just the same when he woke up at Hawkins Lab, all stitched together and weak, and saw that Steve was curled up on a chair, asleep and undoubtedly uncomfortable.

It was the first time he cried from happiness in all of his life.

His heart aches. Beating against his ribs as if he's running and struggling all over again, hanging on for dear life. And through that rabid movement, loneliness cuts through, slicing like a white hot knife.

Eyes still shut tight and pressed against his knees where the sweatpants absorbs his tears, he reaches out into the void.

Hand feels its way across the bed covers, inching forth in blindness till it finds purchase; Steve's foot. Every movement trembling, he continues till he can wrap his fingers around an ankle, and squeezes.

But there's no reaction.

Clenches his hand tighter.

Hears Steve mumble something best described as “Mmhm.”

So disgustingly desperate and needy, Billy tightens his grip and shakes Steve's leg.

“W-what?” He slowly wakes up and tries to pull his leg away, but the hand there clings with an iron-like tenacity. “Billy?”

And as if he suddenly remembers something important, Steve shoots upright. He has to squint to see where his boyfriend sits just close enough to reach, balled up and hiding his face.

Billy lets go of the ankle and rushes his hand back.

“Billy? Billy! Are you ok?!” Steve's quickly up on his knees, a good distance between them now. A safe distance.

He shakes his head. The pressure in his throat unbearable, and he sobs.

“It's ok- everything's fine,” Steve's voice a mess of panic and sleep as he speaks quickly. “I'm right here with you, just- just... breathe.”

His shoulders quake with every lurching inhale, and he covers his head with his arms, hiding deeper inside himself.

“What can I do to help?” he asks with forced calmness, for there's no helping anyone if they're both freaking out. “I'm here for you, whatever you need.”

Ever so slowly, a weak and uncertain hand extends, as Billy reaches out. His stomach is churning and sweat cold down his back, but he's trying.

And Steve knows that, even the limited light here, he sees how Billy is trying to connect with him. “I'm- I'm gonna take your hand, ok?” he asks gently.

But his heart beats wild just as well, because he can't remember the last time Billy was the one to initiate contact this way, and in bed of all places. The trust he's showing here enough to warm Steve to the core.

So he reaches out too, meets Billy's fingertips with his own, and when Billy doesn't pull back after the initial twitch that always comes forth, Steve continues. With great caution and care, he runs his fingers along the other's, slowly moving to the back of his hand and grazes his wrist.

“I'm going to move closer to you now, and just say stop when it's too much, yeah?”

And he can just sense the way Billy nods, hand still outstretched but unmoving.

The bed creaks quietly as Steve moves closer on his knees, attentive of where Billy makes the bed dip, as to not accidentally touch and startle him.

“You're doing so great, baby, I'm so proud of you,” he coos and pauses as close to Billy as he dares.

Steve's every word and gentle motion brings insurmountable joy to Billy's frail heart, yet it still takes fighting every instinct not to run away; feels his biceps twitch with flight response. But the way Steve's soft and tender and loving fingers rub small circles on his wrist just breaks him; tears flow faster till they drip from his chin.

“I'm going to bring your hand to my cheek, is that ok?”

Billy nods quickly.

And Steve sits completely still, save for where his fingers gingerly wrap around Billy's wrist with barely a notion of tension, and guides it up to his left cheek. Notices how the hand stops shaking as it presses against the side of his face. Instinctively, he leans into the touch and can't help but smile sweetly.

Billy moves his thumb; caresses the smooth cheek and focuses all he can on the moles.

“Oh Billy...” Steve hums low. “I love you.”

And he sobs louder, every breath a cry now as he's reminded of that. Of love. Affection in such a tender and pleasant way that he never got used to before.

“It's ok to cry,” Steve whispers into the hand, “you deserve a break from everything.”

When in the blink of an eye there's a hand on his other cheek, and Steve stares wide eyed at the faint shape of Billy, head still low. Feels every tremor of every breath that he takes travel up his arms and vibrating into his head. Steve doesn't have the power to fight the one solitary tear that trickles down.

But he stays still. The hand he's got on Billy's left wrist remains the only place where he's touching. Scared in a slight way that if he moves it'll all fall apart, and he's patient enough for the sake of Billy's fragile attempt.

“Billy,” voice as delicate as a feather, “can I touch you more?”

“N-no...” Billy whines as if he's in pain, but nothing hurts more than love and the self-doubt that comes along with it.

“That's ok,” Steve reassures him. “I'll stay like this with you for as long as you need. I can call in sick tomorrow, if you need me. Nothing matters more in my life than you.”

And Billy wants to tell him the same; wants to express just how dear Steve is to him, how he means everything, how he's the only good thing in his life that's left, and how he wants him to stay with him forever.

But such words simply don't exist in any language. The best he can do is show him, even if it is just...

He holds on to Steve's face. Moves his legs away, head still low and dodging those dark brown eyes, as he gets up on his knees. He's still a shivering mess, but he crawls closer, breath hitching and face wet with constant tears, but he crawls closer. Voices and thoughts an indefinite amount, screaming in his head so vigorously, that all he can do is attempt to ignore it

Steve has to spread his legs as Billy crawls closer. The hands that clings to his face slips behind, into his soft, unruly hair and buries his fingers there.

Slowly, but surely, Billy doesn't stop inching closer till he's met with Steve's chest, where he curls up. He's wearing one of Billy's band tees, because they've both always shared an odd pride in that gesture of closeness.

Steve, wearing any of Billy's clothes, just a size too big due to the differing in muscle mass. And he remains unmoving.

Billy rests his forehead in the crook of Steve's neck, choking back cries and scrunching his entire face together in hopes to just stop everything.

“Fuck, Steve...” he whimpers, voice cracking and high pitched.

“I'm right here for you, Billy.”

“It just- it hurts.”

“What hurts?” The concern in Steve's voice so palpable and near.

“Everything.”

“I know, baby, I know.” It pains Steve as well to see the love of his life like this – to know that he can't take it away from him, that he can't share the burden the way he wants to. All he can do is just be present, and it hurts. “You need to breathe, Billy, ok? If you can, put your hand on my chest, yeah?”

Billy sniffs hard and swallows. “Y-yeah.” And he moves his right hand down. It takes a while, full of short movements and plenty of pauses on the way, so hesitant and doubtful.

He splays his hand flat on top of the AC/DC logo, feels the heat and beat from within. Steve used to sleep naked whenever he had the chance, but after Billy's... accident, he started sleeping in a shirt as well, to hopefully show his boyfriend that they're in this together; an attempted sign at solidarity when there's not much else to do.

“Good,” Steve smiles again. “Now exhale completely, and breathe with me, yeah?”

And Billy nods slightly before exhaling.

“That's it, and now-” He takes a deep breath. “-In through your nose, and-” Exhales. “-out through your mouth.”

Billy follows the instructions perfectly, inhales deep through his nose, and out with a shudder. He pays attention only to the rise and fall of Steve's chest. Every breath slows down his heart, puts a brick in the wall that keeps the voices away. He can still hear them, barking orders, telling him to...

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Their breathing syncs up perfectly.

“You feelin' any better?” Steve whispers.

“A little...” Billy murmurs. Tears still fall, but he's back to breathing somewhat calmly. “Can you... can you touch me some more?”

And Steve smiles big. “Of course, baby. How do you want me to touch you?”

“I-I-I...” He furrows his brow in anger at how he stutters, but rather than fight like he used to, it just makes him want to cry more. His whole life has been flipped upside down. “Can you... rub my back? Please.”

“Anything for you.”

Carefully so, Steve moves both his hands to the back of the white tee. Billy's almost stopped shaking, but every now and again there's still a hitch in his breath.

“Mmm...” he trills; the first pleased noise from him all night.

Steve runs his hands up and down, counts every ridge of the spine, swirls his fingers around whenever he reaches the small of his back, then glides back up to massage a bit at the shoulder blades, and all over again. He would guess that he's enjoying it every bit as much as Billy, if not more perhaps. This is the most intimate they've been since before everything happened, and it is far better than anything he could ever have hoped for.

Arms wrapped around Billy, feeling his peaceful breathing tickle against his neck, hearts beating in tandem, he can't help the overly satisfied little sigh.

“I love you, Billy.”

“You've already said that,” Billy huffs out, maybe with a hint of a smile?

“Doesn't change anything, no matter how many times I say it, it's true every time.”

“I... I love you, too, Stevie...”

And Steve hums happily. “This all good?”

“Actually, can we...” he pauses as if to reconsider whatever it is he wants to say, and although he frets about it being dangerous territory, he continues, “can we lie down?”

The caressing of hands falter for a moment, as Steve takes in those words. “Are you sure you're ready? We don't have to go any further than this- I don't want you to feel pressured into anything,” there's a clear hopefulness to his tone, but Billy understands that Steve means those words.

Steve would probably agree to going celibate for years if that would make Billy feel better. And he smiles slightly at that.

“Yeah princess, just lie down and I'll... I'll figure out the rest.” He lifts up his head to try and catch Steve's gaze, but it's really fucking dark.

But he feels his breath tickle across his heated lips. Feels a certain pull to meet the source, but he knows- he fucking knows that that's all too soon. They've been sharing careful kisses and light pecks most every day, but not in here – in the bedroom. It's too... dangerous.

“Okay then...” Steve smiles and slowly moves away. “I'm just gonna...”

He moves his hands from a warm back to the cool mattress, pats around till he finds where he threw the covers, and crawls backwards, every movement perfectly calculated to be delicate and precise. He slips his legs underneath the blue duvet and lies down with his head on his pillow again. “There.”

“Fuck, okay, uhm...” Billy's mind all too close to doubting, and the longer he hesitates the worse it gets. He already misses Steve's touch.

“We don't have to-”

“Shh, don't, just...” He reaches down and finds Steve's left arm. Places it against the bed and, gradually, lays down till his face rests on the bicep, lying lower than Steve and facing his chest.

Billy waits. Waits for the panic to set in, for his skin to squirm as if he's filled with jittery worms, or for his stomach to drop. But only finds himself breathing calmly, despite how his heart is galloping.

“Can I... hold you?” Steve's so excited and happy, his heart thriving off of this moment, jumping and dancing on the inside as if this is their first time lying in bed together. And in a way it is... most things feels like it's their first time, at least he cherishes every waking moment together as if it was.

“Yes...” Billy's voice made up mostly of hesitation now, but he knows Steve will stop immediately. “Please...”

While still respecting the space that Billy has put between their bodies; only points of connection are where he rests his head on Steve's arm, and the slight nudging of knees, he brings both arms around Billy. Hands on his back again to stroke him through the shirt, drawing out little love notes and hearts in the fabric there, slightly damp from the panic attack.

“That's... really nice...” Billy breathes. Perhaps he's finally ready to sleep.

[namfine]

MOTHERLODE | NAMJOON X READER | GOLD RUSH AU | PART 2

❂ pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

❂ word count: 7k

❂ summary: Following the death of your father in 1849, you travel across the United States in search of finding gold in California. There you stumble upon a young geology professor eager to find his way in the world as well.

❂ tags: 18+, smut, virgin reader, first time sex, oral sex (fem receiving), foreplay, light dirty talk, falling in love, mutual feelings, gold rush au, time period au, alternate universe, outdoor sex? (they’re in a tent so?), smut with plot, marriage

❂ part: 2 of 2

Part 1 

❂ a/n: Hi guys! Here is the second and final part of the Motherlode story. I hope you are all staying healthy and safe out there and that this can bring a bit of joy to your isolation. It got away from me a little bit and turned out longer than I thought but what can ya do. Let me know thoughts and if it worked for you! Enjoy~

- ☆.｡.:* Zesty .｡.:*☆

The camp was a flurry of activity. Dust was heavy in the air, making it hard to see and breathe. People dragged others from the entrance of the mine. Some of them were moaning, screaming. Others were silent.

You ran, desperately, from tent to tent. Poking your head in and doing a quick sweep for Namjoon’s dark hair and tall form.

Nothing.

“Namjoon!” You screamed, pushing through the chaos. “Namjoon!”

A man burst past you, covered in soot and grasping his arm, shouting for help. Another ran to his aid and you stared at them in shock before the crowd pushed you closer to the entrance of the mine. Debris littered the outside of the cave like a huge force had imploded from within. A few large boulders made it impossible to see deeper and more fell from the ceiling, making exit nearly impossible. Dust clouded the air making it difficult to breathe and you lifted a hand to your mouth to try and block it out.

Chaos ensued around you and you reached to grasp an old man who darted past.

“Sir,” you choked, coughing on the dust. “Sir, have you seen the professor anywhere?”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen him, he’s probably still inside.”

Inside.

The earth trembled again although this time, it wasn’t from a quake.

“The mine, the mine’s collapsing!” A man shouted. People frantically tried to pull survivors out as the shaking intensified. There were only a handful of seconds left. You pushed against the crowd, the only one moving towards the entrance.

“Namjoon!” you screamed again, voice hoarse from repetition.

That’s when you saw it. A tall form, struggling to make its way out of the entrance of the mine, the figure of a young man draped over his shoulders. The boulders were making it nearly impenetrable and the form stopped, gently placing the man down and sticking his face through a gap in the rocks, searching for air.  

He was covered in blood and soot, but still recognizable.

He would always be recognizable to you.

Namjoon.

The earth released another shudder, a plume of smoke burst from the cave.

He’s not going to make it.

You ran faster to close the distance between you and the mouth of the cave.  Men reached out to stop you, save you, but you darted around them. You knew how stupid this was, how dangerous, but it was your job to save him, keep him from harm. And it was a promise you intended to keep, feelings aside.

The wooden beams holding up the entrance shook as Namjoon struggled to  move the boulder. You reached the other side and gripped the rock, trying to pull as Namjoon pushed but it was no use.

He looked up, seeing you for the first time and you nearly cried in relief. He was bleeding from a head wound, soot covered every inch of his body and dried blood coated his limbs. Whether it was his own, or others you didn’t know. But he was alive.

Not for long.

“Y/N,” He choked. “What are you doing here? Get back.”

“No,” you responded, pulling on the rock before turning to shout out into the chaos. A small crowd had gathered to watch your actions, scared from the quivering of the earth. “Help! I need some help!”

“Y’N, the mine is going to collapse,” Namjoon said, his voice stern. “Get back.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Namjoon,” you answered, holding his gaze. “And I’m not leaving without you.”

Before he could talk back, two men broke out of the crowd to help. When they reached the boulder they assisted you in pushing it as much to the side as it could go, creating a tiny gap big enough for Namjoon to shove the unconscious boy out.

He couldn’t have been more than twenty and was quite the scrawny thing. In a few short seconds one of the men had the boy under the arms and was lifting him out of the hole. The man half dragged the boy back into the crowd. You turned to look at Namjoon. His turn.

He made to exit out of the hole but his shoulders were too broad. Frustrated, he turned and tried another angle. It was no use. He was too big.

The other man and you shoved against the boulder again, but it wouldn’t budge. The walls of the mine shook and debris crashed to the ground, mere feet from where Namjoon crouched.

“Y/N,” Namjoon said quietly.

You threw yourself against the boulder again. “No.”

“Y/N, listen to me. You need to get out of here. This mine is going to collapse and it is going to shoot out all sorts of shit. Please.”

“I’m not going without you.”

Namjoon sighed, addressing the man who had bravely stayed at your side. “Get her out of here.”

The man’s brow scrunched. “Her?”

“You heard me,” Namjoon growled. You threw yourself at the boulder again, letting out a shout when it collided wrong with your shoulder. You had never heard Namjoon take such a forceful tone, even when he was dealing with the ignorant remarks of the miners. “Get her out of here. Now!”

Before you could react, the man grabbed you by the shoulders from behind. You struggled, but he was bigger than you and he wrapped his arms around your torso, lifting you up from the ground, legs kicking out.

“No! No! Put me down!” You shouted. The rumbling grew louder. “Put me down! If we don’t help him he’ll die!” The man didn’t respond, following Namjoon’s wishes as he half carried half dragged you to the crowd. “Please! Listen to me he’ll-”

The mine exploded.

It happened so quickly. One minute, it was there, spitting out dust and debris, and the next it was rubble. You don’t remember screaming. You don’t remember anything other than the man covering your body with your own as dirt and rocks rained from the sky.

When it was over, he lifted himself off you and you searched the smoke for signs of Namjoon. Signs he had made it, somehow, despite the odds. Coughs racked out around you as men covered their mouths and struggled to stand.

You rose, frantically, but your field of vision was limited because of the haze.

“Namjoon!” You screamed. At some point your cap had fallen off and your hair hung freely around your shoulders. You had never cut it after the journey. You had intended to but forgotten. It hardly seemed important now, anyway. Your identity. Why did it matter if the man you loved was dead?

Loved.

Did you love Namjoon?

You had strong feelings for him, sure, but love?

Would you ever have a chance to figure it out?

“Namjoon!” You couldn’t keep the desperation from your voice even if you tried. You could feel the tears streaming down your dirty face, carving paths of cleanness down to your jaw.

Then, you saw it.

It started as a dark splotch in your vision. You shook your head, wondering if it was a trick of the light. The Californian sun trying to burn through, despite everything. But, no, it was a shape. A humanoid shape. And it was getting darker.

Namjoon.

You ran through the haze, shouting his name. The figure became clearer and clearer until it materialized to be the lanky, goofy man you had come to know so well in the past month. You didn’t know how he’d gotten out and you didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was here. He was alive.

When you reached him, you leapt onto him, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. He embraced you happily, his arms holding you towards him as he smashed his lips onto yours.

It was a sloppy kiss, your faces collided too hard, and the dirt made everything taste strange but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because it was Namjoon and he was alive. You laughed and he responded by kissing you with more fervor, his hands reaching down to cup your ass, to hold you closer to him.

You were vaguely aware of the men watching, as the haze cleared, what appeared to be an underage boy making out with a dashing professor but you pushed their thoughts out of your mind. With your hair and your shrieking if they were truly too dense to notice, then there was no hope for them after all.  

He broke the kiss to pepper your forehead, cheeks, neck with smaller, more frantic kisses. You clung to him, paying no mind to the way the dried blood and soot rubbed off onto your clothes.

“God, you stubborn woman,” he whispered between kisses. He was smiling, the relief setting in that you were both safe. “Why don’t you ever listen?”

You pulled back, grinning up at him. “You wouldn’t like me half as much if I did.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips again, before pulling back to look into your eyes.

“You’re right.”

***

As the camp struggled to deal with the aftermath of the collapse, Namjoon and you retreated to his tent to deal with his wounds. You helped him peel out of his filthy clothes and inspected his body carefully, but came up empty. Other than the head wound and some minor scrapes, he appeared to be generally unscathed.

When he was standing before you, with only his undergarments on, you struggled to keep the thoughts of this being the most of a man’s body you had ever seen from your mind as you pulled him to the corner of the tent where you kept the water basins. You put a pot over the fire to warm it and gathered some clean  towels. Namjoon sat there, quietly, the events of the day rendering him in shock. Enough so, that he also didn’t seem to mind that he was exposing himself to a young lady.

You brought over the water when it was warm and settled yourself on a stool before him. Moans of the injured and many voices could be heard outside the tent but you tuned them out as you squinted to study Namjoon in the firelight. His eyes were glassy, his breathing shallow as he watched you. The trust that was in his gaze was evident and you gripped his jaw as you poked gently around the wound. He cringed.

“I don’t think you need stitches,” you said, bringing a damp cloth to his brow. “But I’m no doctor.”

“I may be soon,” he whispered.

You stopped your patting to look at him. “What?”

“Of geology,” he stated. “That’s part of the reason I took this gig. I’m working towards my doctorate.” His voice was devoid of any tone. Just simple, stated fact. Completely out of character from his regular self.

You cupped his face, searching him for any signs of the man you had come to know the past month. The shock seemed to be slowly wearing off and exhaustion was creeping into the lines around his eyes. You couldn’t imagine the horrors he had faced down in the mines. The things he’d seen.

You dipped your towel back into the warm basin of water and brought it up to his face, washing away the dirt and grime, careful to avoid the now clean head wound but making a note to grab some alcohol from the cabinet later to splash on it. Bet that would wake him up. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes with a soft groan when you ran the  towel through his hair to get as much dirt as possible.

“Joon,” you whispered. “What happened?”

He shook his head, slowly, eyes cast to the floor.

“Hey, look at me,” you tipped his chin up so you could meet his eyes. “Y’know you can talk to me, right?”

He reached up, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re the only one I talk to.”

You waited patiently, his eyes on your lips. After a few seconds he seemed to compose himself and he sat back, breaking contact. “I was with some boys, when the earthquake struck. We were deep in the mines trying to extract some silver.”

“It wasn’t bad at first,” he continued his voice low. “The shaking stopped and we laughed about it for a minute, but then we heard it. The crumbling.” He looked up at you, meeting your eyes. You waited patiently for him to continue. “The mines collapsed, Y/N. Just like that. One second, the tunnels were there, showing us the way to freedom. The next, they were reduced to rubble and stone.”

“We ran, the boys and I, and the tunnels collapsed behind us. It took them all, one way or another. When it was just me and one boy left, the ceiling caved in again and caught his legs. It took nearly all my strength to free him and even then, he passed out from pain. I carried him up until you found me.”

“Oh, Joon,” you said, reaching for him. He allowed himself to be pulled into your arms and you pulled yourself between his legs to hold him. He cupped your body, essentially pulling you onto his lap.

You pressed tender kisses to his forehead, jawline, the column of his neck quietly saying his name over and over. His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you  even closer as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“God, I couldn’t save them Y/N,” Namjoon whispered against your neck. His lips tickled but you didn’t flinch, encouraging him to talk about the trauma by rubbing soothing circles against his back. “They were just kids, on the brink of adulthood, eager to find riches to help kickstart their life and I couldn’t save them. It-it collapsed on them all. One by one. Sheer luck is the only reason I’m here today.” Defeated, he lay his head on your shoulder. “I don’t deserve to be alive.”

You pulled back to look at him, grasping his face in your hands. “Don’t you dare say that Kim Namjoon. You absolutely deserve to be here. It was a terrible accident that no one saw coming. You tried your best but there was nothing more you could do.”

He looked at you, his eyes soft in the glow of the fire. “You don’t blame me for not being able to save them?”

“Never.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “It’s not your fault, Joon. There’s nothing you could have done.”

He closed the distance between your faces, pressing his lips against yours. When he pulled back he moved his lips up to your ear and whispered a simple “Thank you.” His breath tickled your ear and you nuzzled your forehead against his.

For a few minutes you both sat there in silence, your previous job of cleaning him up forgotten. You murmured sweet nothings to him, running your hands over his body, and he massaged lazy circles on your back.

You don’t know who instigated it but suddenly you were kissing again, your mouth open to his advances as he swirled his tongue against yours. You groaned into his mouth and Namjoon lifted you both off the chair and laid you down on one of the many carpets he had spread out before the fire.

He covered your body with his own continuing to spread soft kisses down your neck and over the fabric of your loose shirt. Briefly aware of how filthy you might be you laughed as you pushed him off.

“Joon, your wound is going to get infected if it keeps getting dirty,” you said motioning to your gray shirt that had started the day stark white.

“I don’t care,” he reached for you again, eager to continue his assault.

“Well, in that case,” you pulled the shirt over your head exposing the bandages wrapped around your chest to conceal your breasts. Namjoon halted in his tracks, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the binds, feeling the itchy material on his skin.

“You do this every morning?” He asked softly.

You nodded. “It’s the only way to hide them.”

He found the pin on your side that marked the end of the wrap and tugged on it softly. “May I?”

You nodded. You had never been one to care much about sex. You knew what people thought of women who lost it before marriage but honestly, you weren’t exactly in their favors right now anyway what with all the crossdressing.

That didn’t change the fact that-

“Joon, wait.” You reached out to clasp his hands as they worked to undo the pin. He looked up at you, his face all angles and wide eyes and you resisted the urge to brush back the hair that had fallen onto his face. “I’ve never. . . I’ve never-”

“Had sex?” He finished for you.

You nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching out to cup your face. “We don’t have to do this. We can stop right now-”

“No,” you shook your head. “I want to. I’ve never felt these feelings before for anyone, Namjoon and I want my first time to be with you more than anything else. I just wanted you to know, in case. . .”

He smiled. “In case what? You being a virgin doesn’t deter me any, Y/N. I still love you all the same.”

Your eyes widened. “You love me?”

He blushed, looking down at his feet. “Yeah, I just blurted that out right then, didn’t I?” He rubbed a hand behind his neck, avoiding meeting your eyes. “Uh, I guess I’ve known for awhile? Probably the day I first met you and you were cursing like a sailor and stomping around like some horrifying monster when, in actuality, you were just this cute girl who thought she could conquer the world with a hunk of precious metal.”

You laughed reaching for his hands to stop his blabbering, forcing him to look at you. “I love you too, Namjoon.”

He stared at you, in shock. “You do?”

You leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on his lips. “I do.”

That did it, in a few seconds Namjoon had scooped you up onto his lap and was kissing you so fervently you thought your lips would fall off. His hands found the pin on your side and before you could react he was unwinding the bandages around your chest. When he was done he pulled back slightly to take in the beauty of your chest.

“God damn,” he whispered, bringing up a hand to massage your right breast. You moaned under his grasp although his hands were warm. “How in the world did you manage to get them as flat as you did?”

“A lot of deep breathing and vigorous cursing,” you responded, your head lolling back under his massage.

“Ah, so basically how you approach every situation?”

You playfully shoved him and Namjoon laughed as he fell backward, you now straddling him as he lay back on the floor. He rested his hands behind his head and looked up at you, the picture perfect definition of a confident male specimen and you grinned down at him. You could feel his clothed cock pressing up into you from below and you rolled your hips gently, grinding down onto it, eliciting a sharp moan from Namjoon. It was amazing how fast his features changed, you thought, continuing the motion. In a few seconds a lustful darkness settled into Namjoon’s eyes and he gripped you around the waist and flipped you both over so that he was back on top.

He covered your mouth with his, massaging your breasts eagerly. His fingertips toyed with your sensitive nipples and you let out a guttural sound that had Namjoon growling in response. He abandoned your breasts to begin working on unlacing your pantaloons. When they were free, he lifted your pelvis so you could wiggle out of them. He planted large, open mouthed kisses on your torso, your pelvic bone, your clothed mound before nipping at the fabric of your panties.

Namjoon brought his large hands up to your hips to peel your soaked panties from your form.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered. “If we do this right, it won’t hurt.”

You had read about the pain, but it really didn’t concern you. You had a high tolerance and quite honestly, suspected you liked a bit of pain. “It’s okay,” you answered. “I trust you.”

Namjoon smiled before lowering his mouth to your soaked core. He kissed the peak of your mound before making his way down to your center. When he opened his mouth and started moving his lips, you could have sworn you had died and gone to heaven. You didn’t think you had ever felt something so wonderful.

“Namjoon-” you sputtered, reaching down to clutch his hair, holding him in place. He continued his kisses before he plunged his tongue into you. It was a weird sensation, one that had you squirming but it was shallow and warm and overall pleasant. He brought a hand up to your pelvis to stop your movement and another hand to massage the bundle of nerves at the peak of your thighs that you thought only you knew about. In a period of short moments he had managed to produce a flurry of feelings deep in your core that threatened to explode.

“Come on darling,” he whispered, lifting his mouth up to look at you. “Cum for me.” His fingers continued the circular motion on your clit and he lowered the other one to insert one finger into your cunt and you lost it. The reverberations that racked your body had you groaning out his name and you were grateful for a second that the camp was still in chaos because having to explain this to the warden would not have been fun for either party.

When you came down from your high you looked down to find a rather cheeky Namjoon grinning up at you. You rolled your eyes before sitting up and wrapping your hands around his neck. He began another kissing assault on your neck, licking and sucking hard enough that you knew there would be marks tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

“Hm, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Let’s see if we can get two.”

He maneuvered one of his hands down your front and slotted himself between your legs again. This time he inserted two thick fingers into your cunt and you groaned at the sensation.

“Is this okay?” He asked and you nodded. He began to move them slowly in and out of you, using your slick to properly lubricate. When he was satisfied you were open he gently moved you off of him to shimmy down his underwear.

You gasped at the sheer size of him when he broke free. His cock was hard already but you reached forward to take it tentatively in your hands. Namjoon groaned as you explored the silky softness before grasping it in one hand and pumping him slowly.

“Is this right?” You asked and Namjoon nodded vigorously, throwing his head back.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered and a wave of pride spurned you to pump faster. Only you could earn this reaction from him and it felt fucking great.

After a few more pumps Namjoon stopped you and lifted you back onto his lap. “If you go anymore, darling, I’m going to spend myself right here.” He whispered. “Let’s start at this angle, okay? That way you can lower yourself at your pace.”

You nodded as you lifted yourself over Namjoon. He adjusted himself so that he was perched at your entrance and you could feel the tension in his abdomen stopping him from thrusting into you in one fell swoop.

Lowering yourself onto Namjoon’s cock was one of the most exhilarating and powerful feelings of your life. You took him in, inch by inch, slowly. He whispered into your ear, running his hands over your back, telling you what a good girl you were being as you took him deeper into your core. Namjoon had been right, it was an uncomfortable feeling at first, but not necessarily painful because of his prepping. When you felt your hip line up flush with his you leaned forward to capture his mouth with your own.

“Are you okay if I move?” Namjoon asked and you nodded, not sure where to go from here. He looked down at where the two of you were joined and moaned as he lifted you up and gently settled you onto your back.

He set a slow pace at first, gently rolling his hips in and out of you.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, his breath hot on your ear and you shook your head, letting yourself revel in every feeling of him moving in and out of your core.

“No,” you responded, turning your head to brush his lips. “It feels amazing.”

Namjoon grinned as he increased his tempo, never breaking eye contact with you. For a second, you felt like you were the only people in the world, the only ones that mattered. He wasn’t aggressive, he wasn’t forceful, he was just Namjoon. Namjoon telling you how much he loved you, appreciated you, with the way his hands caressed your body, the look in his eyes, the pulse of his hips.

You arched your back as you felt another orgasm growing, throwing your legs up over Namjoon’s hips to grant him deeper access. From this angle he was hitting you in all the right places and you let out a series of breathy moans as you came around him again. The sensation of your convulsing cunt elicited a deep groan from Namjoon and his pace began to get erratic. You knew what that meant and urged him on with dirty words and murmured nothings. Namjoon focused on you, and only you, as he pistoned himself into you again and again, chasing his end. Right before he blew he pulled out of you, thrusting himself into his hand at a rapid pace before finishing himself off on your torso.

When he was finished, he grabbed one of the moist cloths you had been using earlier and used it to clean both you and him before pulling him into your arms and following you both into the warm darkness

***

You awoke feeling safe and warm for the first time in a long time. Some time in the night Namjoon had brought over blankets from his cot and wrapped them around the two of you to keep out the chill of the desert air. You were lying on Namjoon’s chest, head in the nook where his shoulder met his neck with one of your hands pressed against his heart, the beat lulling you in and out of consciousness. One of his large arms was wrapped around your back, nestled in your waist and your legs  were intertwined beneath the thick quilt.

You stayed like for many moments after you awoke until you felt Namjoon’s breath stutter and him readjust to look down at you. You met his gaze, tracing his cheek in the early morning light.

“Good morning,” you murmured, trying to memorize the contours of his face. You had an idea of what the day would bring.

Namjoon smiled. “Good morning, beautiful.”

You blushed at the word but a harsh voice outside of the tent drew you both from your nest.

“Professor Kim! We demand that you come outside immediately and bring the- er . . . . boy out with you! We know she’s in there!” The warden bellowed proving that his voice really was that unpleasant at all hours of the morning.

You didn’t have time to wrap your chest and honestly, you figured it didn’t really matter now. You started to pull on your soot covered clothes, but Namjoon stopped you. He crossed the tent and pulled out fresh clothes from his chest and handed them to you. You quickly pulled on his trousers (much too big for you) and a dark grey shirt (that nearly swallowed you whole). You didn’t mind though since they smelled like Namjoon and comforted you slightly. You weren’t sure how this would pan out but figured this was probably the end of you taking control of your future in this camp.

Another shout outside of the tent had you shoving the shirt into the oversized pants as fast as you could. When you were done you looked to see Namjoon already dressed and watching you.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, moving across the room and pressing a quick kiss to your brow. “We’ll figure it out.”

The sun was blinding when Namjoon pulled back the door to the tent and you squinted as your eyes struggled to adjust. When they finally did you were greeted by a small crowd that had gathered outside Namjoon’s tent, the warden at the head.

He sized you up, his eyes observing all. How you were still dressed in men’s clothes (not your own), hatless and with your hair loose around you and that bold look in your eyes. You stared him down, refusing to let him see how much his gaze affected you. You hadn’t come this far to fail now.

He nodded in Namjoon’s direction. “Professor Kim.” He turned to you. “Boy.”

“Warden,” you responded, your tone like ice.

“It appears, we have a traitor in our midst,” the warden began, pacing slightly. His men parted to make room for his movements. Namjoon stepped closer to your side. “A woman dressed in men’s clothing. Comin’ out here and lookin’ to steal the very riches from our hands.”

“I came here for the same reason as you,” you stated. “Only looking to kick start a new life.”

“Yeah, but here you are startin’ it on a bed of deceit and lies,” the warden spit.

“Would you have hired me if you knew I was a woman?” you asked. The warden was silent. You took that as a sign to continue. “I was only doing what I had to do to survive, same as you.”

The warden spat on the ground by your feet. Namjoon flinched, moving towards him but you put a warning hand on his arm. You would fight your own battles.

“Your work here is done,” the warden bellowed. “You gather your things and you get the fuck out of my camp. If I see you here past sundown, I’ll be giving you to the men as an after dinner treat.”

“You will do no such thing,” Namjoon hissed and the warden laughed.

“And you, professor. You are on mighty thin ice. You finish your work here and you get the hell out of my camp.” The warden stared at you and you held the gaze, an eye for an eye. “Sundown, witch, and consider yourself lucky that’s all I’m doing. My word is law.”

The warden spun on his heel and stormed across the camp and the crowd slowly dispersed. Some of the men shot you dirty looks and others seemed regretful of the warden’s actions but no one spoke up in your defense or to you in general, for that matter. Namjoon seethed beside you and you turned to enter his tent, him hot on your heels.

The second you got into the tent you gathered up the few belongings you had left scattered, preparing to go to your own tiny tent and see if any of your stuff had survived the night or if the men had stolen it once you were deemed unworthy. Namjoon paced, clearly agitated. When the seething silence was too much to bear, you spoke up.

“Well. I think that went mighty well, all things considered.”

Namjoon stared at you like you had grown two heads. “Well? You think that was well?”

“I mean, I’m unharmed and have been given permission to leave, albeit empty handed but,” you shrugged. “Ya  take what you can get I suppose.”

Namjoon shook his head, letting out a forced laugh. “You really are something else, Y/N, y’know that?”

You moved to his side, running your hands up and down his arms. “It’s okay, Namjoon. It really is. You’re almost done here and I-”

“I can’t finish this without you.”

“Don’t be dramatic. How much longer do you have left?”

He looked at you. “A few weeks.”

You smiled. “Namjoon, that’s nothing. There are plenty of other camps nearby where I can lay low and then we can meet up once you’re done. Easy.” You didn’t actually know how easy it would be. Your cover was blown and word traveled fast out here. Plus, thinking about leaving him tore a hole in your heart. Unfortunately, it was your only option.

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can,” you demanded, searching his eyes. “Namjoon, you can’t give this up. You are too close to the end. I’ll be fine. I’ll go back to being the nameless boy who no one pays attention to for a few more weeks and then, when you have all you need, we can start over in San Francisco. I hear it’s really starting to boom.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair before letting out a meek “Okay.”

“What was that?” you asked, a smile on your lips.

“Okay,” he responded, cupping your chin. “But only for a few weeks. You go on ahead to San Francisco. I have a friend there, Jin is his name. He owns a bed and breakfast in the Western Sector, by the sea. You go there and tell him I sent you and he’ll put you up until I come to collect.”

“Collect?” You asked leaning up to brush his nose with your own.

“Yes, Y/N, collect. What? You think you can use me for my body and then leave me forever?” You laughed and he kissed you, catching you by surprise. “I intend to find you there in a few weeks, my dear, where I’ll be greeting you with a doctorate and a wedding ring.”

“Oh my,” you placed a hand over your heart, feigning surprise. “Is that a threat of a marriage proposal, Professor Kim?”

Namjoon pulled you in for another kiss, breaking it to whisper softly in your ear “It’s not a threat, Miss Y/L/N. It’s a promise.”

***

With Namjoon’s assistance it didn’t take long to finish gathering your things. You didn’t have much. You retrieved your horse from the camp’s stable boy, meeting everyone’s stares along the way. You weren’t going to let them see how they affected you. When you stood, next to your horse, watching the late afternoon sun sink on to the horizon, you let the events of the past 24 hours sink into your bones. The thought of leaving Namjoon right now seemed unbearable, but you knew it was the only option.

He approached you now, a small satchel in his hand. He thrust it forward into your hands, without a word.

“What is this?” you asked, taking the bag. Namjoon shrugged. You opened the satchel to see three apples, some jerky, a journal, and a huge lump of gold in the bag. You closed it, quickly.

“Namjoon,” you hissed. “I can’t take this! You need it for your work. What if the warden finds out?!”

Namjoon grinned, clasping your hands over the bag. “He’s never going to find out. Besides, I have plenty to do my work with. That should be enough to get you to San Francisco and take care of you until I join you.”

“Namjoon, it’s too much. I can’t accept.”

“Y/N, please, just once in your life will you listen to me? I’m not doing it out of the kindness of my heart. Think of it as protecting my assets.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I am not an asset to be bought.”

“I never said you were,” he replied. “It’s for the horse.”

You looked at your horse. Then back at him. Then once more at the horse, for good measure. “That is my horse!”

“Yes, but he’s one of my favorites. I come here often and feed him apples. I’ve grown quite fond.”

“I’ve literally never seen you here before!”

Namjoon groaned. “For God’s sake, woman, take the gold!”

You laughed, shoving him gently and Namjoon pulled you into an embrace, his grip tender but firm. You pressed your nose against his chest, inhaling deeply, before turning your face up to his, once again trying to memorize his features. The gentle slope of his nose to his full lips. The curve of his brow over his dark eyes. His hair, dark and permanently tousled.

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his own and his kiss whispered all the feelings he had been showing you the last few weeks and the gentle murmurings of his love the night before. It spoke not of goodbye but rather until next time. He broke it and leaned his forehead against yours, both of your eyes closed as you reveled in the moment.

“Don’t forget about me on your grand adventure,” he whispered, his thumb moving back and forth against your shoulder.

“I could never,” you responded. “Besides, you know where I’ll be. Kind of hard to forget when you could burst in at any moment and ruin all my fun.”

He chuckled at that and nuzzled into your neck for a brief second before stepping back to break the embrace.

“You should get going, it’s going to be dark soon and you need to make it out of wild country before sundown. Shouldn’t be too far to the nearest town.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. You swung yourself onto your horse in one smooth motion and Namjoon approached you for one last kiss before slapping your horse gently on it’s rear, sending it trotting down the path.

You turned back only once, right before a bend in the path that would take you from Namjoon indefinitely. You found him standing there, ever loyal, his hands in his pockets and that lazy grin you loved so much plastered on his face. He waved a little before turning on his heel to walk back into camp.

It was going to be a long few weeks.

***

Epilogue

You sighed as you put down the paintbrush, unsatisfied yet again with your work. You felt like no matter how much you painted, you couldn’t get the colors right. You were on the upstairs balcony of Jin’s Bed and Breakfast watching the bustling crowd below. Merchants from all over the world, people searching to prosper from the gold rush, and immigrants here to help with the railroad all contributed to make San Francisco quite the booming metropolitan center. It was no New York City, but aspects of it certainly reminded you of home.

You had done a lot in your time away from Namjoon, making it to San Francisco in just a little under a week. Jin had welcomed you with open arms, allowing you to stay in a suite on the second floor away from his other guests. The lump of gold Namjoon gave you was more than enough to kickstart your life and pay for an abundance of new canvases and paints to pass the time.

You took a minute to search the bustling crowd, as you always did, for the man who’s figure you knew better than any other but turned up empty. You had expected Namjoon a week ago and with each passing day, worry struck your gut. What if he’s hurt? What if he never truly cared for you at all and ran the first chance he got?

You shook your head, clearing the thoughts and began to clean up your supplies. You stacked the paintbrushes precariously on your arms while balancing the cup of dirty paint water as you tried to maneuver inside. It was no surprise, really, when you stumbled and the water sloshed over onto your clothing. Brand new clothing, I should mention, that Jin had ordered specifically for you.

“God fucking dammit!” You blurted as you threw the brushes into the sink loudly.

“Y’know, has anyone ever told you that you have quite the dirty mouth for a lady?”

You froze. You knew that voice. You spun around to see him, the man you had come to know so well, standing in the doorway to your studio. He looked older somehow, tanner and leaner than he was before but that grin on his face was unmistakable.

“Namjoon!” You exclaimed, charging across the room to leap into his arms. He plastered your face with kisses, not giving a care for the way your dirty clothes rubbed off on his own. “You came for me,” you whispered into his neck, your smile reaching almost to your ears.

“Of course,” he answered, nuzzling the top of your head. “I made you a promise and besides, I came to collect.”

You snorted. “The horse is out back. Safe and sound.”

Namjoon grinned. “And what of you? Have you given any thought to my offer?”

“Offer?” you asked. “Do you mean the marriage thing? Because I’m pretty sure you never proposed, Kim Namjoon-”

“Dr,” he interrupted. “It’s Dr. Kim Namjoon now.”

You threw up your hands. “Wow, we’re getting big and fancy here. As I was stating, I don’t believe you ever actually proposed, Doctor.”

Namjoon dropped to his knees before you could react. You stared at him, surprised. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Get up this instant!” you demanded.

“No,” he smiled his signature goofy grin up at you. “Y/N,  despite your many flaws-”

“Oh wow, what a start” you interrupted.

Namjoon wasn’t deterred. “-and your foul mouth, I have fallen inexplicably and uncontrollably in love with you. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you.”

You snorted.

“Y/N, I am trying to be sincere. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He knelt there, his eyes wide, and your heart melted. Melted like it did every time you saw him, every time he kissed you. You knew your answer. You had known it for months. Probably from the first time you watched him pan for gold but definitely from when he got excited over a new discovery or made love to you in the tent. There was no one else for you either.

“Yes.”

[desiraypark]

Drawing the Line (Final)

Characters: Kylo Ren x Tiffany (OC, Blk/F) Setting: Modern/Current Universe - comparable to an urban area in present-day U.S.A. Content: PLEASE READ AND PLEASE HEED: Infidelity; stalking (via third party); domestic violence (choking); threats; threats of false accusations Word Count: 2,027 Part I / Part II

Tiffany knew she was being watched. She climbed out of the Uber car with her duffel bag and purse and made her way to her apartment. Before opening the door to the lobby, she looked over her shoulder and spotted a black car slowly riding past. The windows were tinted, but she knew the driver was watching her. She walked into the building, rode up the elevator, and found her way to her quiet apartment.

First, she made herself some lunch. Then, she pulled out clothes to wear to work the next morning. She’d called out for Friday, the day after her procedure, and knew she needed to show up Monday looking lively--like nothing had happened. Like she had nothing to be ashamed of. She needed to convince herself. She pulled out a blue blouse, gray slacks, and the gray blazer that came with it. Just when she began to fill her garment steamer with water from the bathroom sink, she heard her lock turn and the door open. It only took him two hours.

He stood in the hallway in front of the bathroom, just staring at her in disbelief. She said nothing. She just filled her garment steamer up.

“Why did you do that, Tiffany?” he asked.

She turned off the faucet. “I already told you why.”

“When I left that night, I assumed that we’d settled everything,” he said.

Tiffany walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She plugged her steamer into the socket beside her dresser and placed it down.

“When you left to go home to your family,” she said. She brushed past him--wincing at the smell of liquor that on his breath--and walked to the kitchen. He followed behind.

“I’m going to start packing tomorrow evening,” she said, opening the refrigerator.

“For what?” Kylo asked.

Tiffany grabbed a can of ginger ale. “You told me if I did, I should start packing, right?”

He stepped to her and held her face in his palms. “You know I didn’t mean that shit.” Then, he rested his forehead against hers. 

“Look, we can move past this.”

Tiffany put the soda can down on the counter behind her and pried Kylo’s hand from her face. Then, she walked out of her little kitchen and put space between them. 

“No, Kylo. I’m leaving either way. I’m leaving this. I’m leaving you.”

Kylo stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at her. His neck turned and he looked out of the window. Tiffany watched him, awaiting his response. Then, he looked back at her. With just two steps, he was in front of her.

____________________ Brown leaves flew outside of Tiffany’s window as she sorted through the belongings on her dresser. Everything was valuable, but not to her anymore. Every few seconds, she held up a necklace or a bracelet and remembered when he gave it to her and why. But she’d shake the memory off and put whatever piece of jewelry in the small plastic crate. She had plans to take the items to a thrift store. Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.

Before going to the door, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen. Then, she adjusted her turtleneck sweater, walked to the door, and looked through her peephole--eyes greeted by the sight of thick faux fur and wavy brown hair. Tiffany opened the door--a forest green skirt peeked out from underneath the fuzzy jacket, as well as tan-colored Valentino shoes.

“Did you leave him?” Chelsea asked with a huff.

Tiffany’s eyebrows furrowed. She looked past Chelsea, seeing if someone was with him.

“Huh? How do you know wh--”

“I know everything, Ms. Palmer,” she said. “May I come in?”

Tiffany searched the surroundings again and opened the door. Chelsea stepped inside.

“Thanks,” she said.

She looked over the apartment, then at Tiffany. “Did you leave him or something?”

Tiffany shook her head. “I--”

“He’s been a fucking mess since yesterday. Came home drunk and started yelling at everybody, including the kids. I had a mind to shoot him in the fucking face as he slept...” Chelsea said.

Tiffany stared with crinkled brows and a lax jaw. Then, she licked her lips and nodded. 

“Yes…” she said. She swallowed. “I left him. I’m moving out.”

“Why?!”

“Why?!” Tiffany asked. She shook her head again. “Because he’s married with kids.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ms. Palmer. Kylo and I could give two shits about each other. I have a guy in the city, and he has you. We’re only married for b--”

“Business purposes,” Tiffany cut across, rolling her eyes and walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah, business purposes,” Chelsea finished. She walked to the half wall separating the kitchen from the living room. Tiffany grabbed a bottle of water from her fridge and twisted the top off.

“Why are you leaving him?” Chelsea asked. 

Tiffany leaned against the counter and contemplated her answer. She avoided Chelsea’s curious gaze. “Because he can’t give me what I want.”

“And what is that? A house?” Chelsea looked around the apartment. “I must say I expected something a little more posh than this with the way he started moving our fucking money around…”

Tiffany sighed and took another sip of water.

“Oh, marriage?” Chelsea asked. “White picket fence, cute dog and kids. It’s all overrated, honey.”

Chelsea scoffed. “We don’t even have that shit and we can afford it. But I know it’s because he wants it with you. He really loves you. I know he wishes he were with you. I can tell when the two of you have fought. I can tell when you’ve made up. I see the way his face lights up when he texts you…”

Chelsea placed her hand on top of the half-wall, her fingers bumping into a key on a ring. “If you want all of that fluffy shit, I can definitely work something out. You have my blessing.”

Tiffany rubbed her temples and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Ren. It’s over between us. I’m getting out of this apartment,” Tiffany said.

She put her water bottle down and folded her arms. Chelsea sighed.

“Such a fucking shame,” Chelsea said. “Now, I have to deal with these fucking tantrums and hissy fits for however long…”

“Oh, poor you, Mrs. Ren!” Tiffany shouted. “How about this?”

She walked toward the half wall and yanked her turtleneck down. “I sure hope his tantrums don’t last as long as these fucking bruises! I really do.”

Chelsea’s jaw dropped and she stepped back. ____________________

“No, Kylo. I’m leaving either way. I’m leaving this. I’m leaving you.”

Kylo stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at her. His neck turned and he looked out of the window. Tiffany watched him, awaiting his response. Then, he looked back at her. With just two steps, he was in front of her--and without hesitation, he wrapped both hands around her neck and pushed her against the wall.

“This is the only way you’re fucking leaving me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Tiffany fought to breathe. She pounded her fists against Kylo’s arms and his chest. She clawed at his face, but he turned away from the path of her nails. Soon, tears started streaming down her face. She stared him dead in the eyes and his own widened. He shook his head and let her go, her body sank to the floor. She gasped and coughed, and began to cry.

“Tiffany…” he said, kneeling beside her. Tiffany’s eyes widened. She jumped away and slid on her backside toward the kitchen.

“Get away from me,” she strained.

“Baby, I didn’t mean it!” Kylo said maneuvering toward her and grabbing at her shoulders. Tiffany backed into the kitchen, scrambled to her feet, and yanked the chef’s knife out of the wooden block on her counter. Kylo stood up and stepped backward with his hands up.

“Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!” she screamed, tears gushing down her face.

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU!” he shouted, stepping toward her again.

Tiffany grabbed something within her reach--the can of ginger ale--and threw it at him. But he dodged it. 

“Get out!”

Kylo bit down on his quivering bottom lip. “You know I didn’t mean that shit, Tiffany! You know Iove you...you just make me fucking crazy!”

“No, I don’t! Don’t fucking blame me! Leave your key and get the fuck out!” Tiffany cried, pushing against the counter--her body searching for another layer of security.

He shook his head, pulled the key from his pocket, and put it on top of the half-wall. Then, he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He lifted his head and took a deep breath.

“I’m gonna let you cool down and we’re going to work this out,” he said, pointing a firm finger at her.

Tiffany shook her head in shock. “We’re not going to work anything out. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

____________________

“I...I had no idea,” Chelsea said, her jaw still hanging low. “I’m...I’m sorry…”

Tiffany buried her face in her hands, then wiped the tears just as quickly as they fell. “I suppose that’s what I fucking get, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Chelsea said, rushing around and into the kitchen. “Abso-fucking-lutely not!” She held Tiffany’s shoulders, but Tiffany pulled away.

“I’m sorry, but please just leave me alone,” she said.

Chelsea swallowed and nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

She walked out of the kitchen and toward the door, then stopped and turned on her heels. “Let me help you, please.”

Tiffany shook her head and laughed. “I don’t even trust you.” She grabbed her water bottle again, but rubbed it against her forehead.

“That’s understandable,” Chelsea said, eyes filled with empathy. She looked down at the half-wall and let her eyes linger on the key sitting atop it. “He has another key.”

Tiffany looked up at Chelsea.

“I think…” she added. “I remember a receipt a few years ago. I don’t know exactly what it was for, but...”

Tiffany nodded, acknowledging what she was saying.

“If you need any help, you have my number,” Chelsea said. She turned around and walked to the door. Tiffany rushed to the door, locked it, and rested her forehead against it. Then, she sank to the floor and sobbed. ___________________ The New Ren House

“Yeah, do what the fuck you have to do,” Kylo said, rushing off the phone. “Alright.”

Chelsea strolled around the corner, just in time to see Kylo hang up his flip phone and quickly look down at his smartphone. He rolled his eyes at the sight of Chelsea and her smirk, then took a swig of his drink.

“What?” he asked.

Chelsea walked behind him and ran her fingers down his chest. She planted kisses on his cheek.

“Your boyfriend out of town?”

“No, I’m actually going to see him tomorrow,” she said. Kylo grunted and took a sip of his drink. Chelsea kissed him on the neck, then nibbled on his ear. 

“I know that you’ll probably be able to find her…” she mumbled into his canal. “But if you ever put your hands on her, or any other woman again…”

Kylo slowly put his drink down, as Chelsea sucked at his neck again. 

“I will beat the shit out of myself…” Kiss. “Tell my father you did it…” Kiss. “...and let him chop you into tiny pieces and fry you up for breakfast.”

Chelsea licked a stripe up his neck and to his cheek. Then, planted another kiss. She walked out of the study and froze in the hallway. She put her hands on her hips and smiled. 

“Come say goodnight to your father, my loves!” she said.

Little feet ascended onto the study, and Harlan and Harper--a twin boy and girl with thick heads of brown hair--cautiously walked into the study.

“He’s in a good mood tonight. Go in and say goodnight. Tell him you love him infinity times two,” Chelsea said. She glared at Kylo, and he stared at her through hazy, watery eyes. Then, he rotated his chair and let his children run into his arms.

___________________ ...the end?

[mcsstydia]

I wouldn’t tell them- Peter Parker

Request:

prompt: paparazzi see you and Spider-Man together, now they stalk you and constantly interrogate you about his identity.  

pairing: peter parker x reader

WARNINGS: a tiny bit of fighting and angst, but fluff mostly 

words: 2.1k

A/N: peter parker makes my heart go !!!!!!!  also not yet proof read so prepare for some typos

Masterlist in bio and all imagine can be found under #Masterlist

Every time Peter picked you up at home wearing his suit, you were concerned someone could see the two of you together. 

But Peter would reassure you, telling you that “up here no one sees us babe.”, and of course, so far nobody did. 

But you knew the day would come, sooner or later. And you already worried what you would do once it did.

Right now, Peter was about to bring you home, swinging from building to building. Once you arrived at your building complex, he landed right in front of the door. The street lamps had already been turned on; it was late. He still had an arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him. 

  “Now don’t worry about Flash anymore, okay, babe?”, he asked lowly, his hand caressing your back. You sighed, looking up at him. “You know I’m only worried because he keeps being mean to you.”, you replied, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He leaned his forehead against yours. “I know but-”, he started, but stopped because his spider sense alarmed him. 

He whipped around, right in time for a flashlight blinding the both of you. “What the hell?”, he almost yelled. Once the both of you regained sight, you saw a journalist standing in front of you, having just snapped a picture of the sight before him.

  “Spidey, is this your girlfriend?”, he asked frantically. “How did you guys meet? Do you plan on going public? Do you-”, he continued asking, but Peter cut him off. “That’s the point where I leave.”, he stated simply, looking at you shortly before shooting a web and disappearing into the night. 

Now the journalists gaze met yours. Your eyes widened and you spun around quickly, already searching your keys. “Are you two a thing? Do you know his identity?”, he kept asking when you finally found your key and disappeared into your apartment complex.

You received a text message as you went into your apartment. 

‘Everything alright?’ It was from Peter, of course.

‘Yeah. Guy was creepy, tho.’, you replied.

‘What’d he ask you?’, he asked

‘Whether we dated and if I knew your identity.’

‘You didn’t say anything, right?’, he questioned further.

‘Of course not, baby. Don’t worry, okay?’, you tried calming him down.

‘I’ll try. Love you, see you tomorrow.’

‘Love you too.’

  On the next day, when you were about to leave your home and go to school, you almost screamed out of shock when you saw the same journalist from last night standing in front of your apartment complex. Only now, two of his colleagues were standing next to him, directing a camera and a microphone into your direction. 

You turned on your heel and tried to get away from them, but they kept following you. “We’re here with the girl Spider-Man himself brought home last night. How does it feel to be Spider-Man’s girlfriend?”, the journalist asked. You thought about ignoring him, but he could see that as prove. 

  “I’m not his girlfriend. He simply brought me home as a nice gesture.”, you stated, not looking at either of them. Your back was turned towards them as they kept interrogating you. But they kept following you, even into the train you took to school.

“Can you tell us anything about him? Do you know his name? Or where he lives?”, you tried ignoring them as best as you could, but you felt insanely uncomfortable and prayed Peter would find you once he was on the train himself.

  “Ehm, excuse me?”, you heard a familiar voice. The three journalists turned around, and so did you. “Can you leave her alone? Don’t you see how anxious you make her?”, Peter asked, clearly annoyed at how these three grown men were behaving. 

“And you are?”, the journalist asked. “Her boyfriend.”, he stated, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. The journalists face lit up. “Oh, so you must be happy to hear that your girlfriend kissed Spider-Man last night.”, he grinned.

  “I didn’t !”, you stepped into the conversation. “You know you just made that up right now, so leave us alone!”, you stated, grabbed Peter’s hand and turned away from them, searching for another spot in the train.

Once Peter thought you were far enough away from the reporters, he pulled you into him. “He couldn’t have seen us kissing yesterday, could he?”, he whispered into your ear, worry evident in his voice. 

  “No. We sure were about to kiss last night, but we didn’t because you sensed him before, remember?”, you whispered back. He nodded in response, but he didn’t really seem convinced. 

“Hey,”, you said lowly, making him look up from the ground and look at you. You raised your hand and placed it on his neck, playing with his small brown curls. “Everything’s alright, okay? They know nothing,”, you said in a calm voice. He nodded again, leaning into your hand for comfort. 

“I love you so much,”, he whispered, making you grin in contentment. “I love you too,”, you replied, before pulling his face down to press your lips against is soft ones.

  Even as the both of you reached Midtown High, the reporters were still following you, asking you questions. But Peter simply squeezted your hand, and the two of you kept walking and ignoring them.

Only once you were inside of school, did you really feel comfortable again. They hadn’t followed you into the building, yet. 

The day went on without any other disturbances. That was, until lunch time.

  You sat together with Ned and MJ, waiting for Peter, when suddenly it seemed as though the whole cafeteria started talking at once. The three of you looked around, everyone as confused as the other. 

“What the hell is going on?”, Ned asked, as you shrugged your shoulders. “Guys!”, MJ exclaimed, looking at her phone with wide eyes. “I might know what they’re talking about,”, she continued as she showed the two of you her phone. 

  It was an article of The Daily Bugle, headlined ‘Spider-Man allegedly going to Midtown Highschool of Science’. Your mouth fell open in shock. How could they know? You looked around in panic, searching for Peter’s face in the cafeteria. 

You spotted him at the entrance and your gazes locked. He looked at you with shock, hurt, disappointed and anger all mixed on his face. Wait. He couldn’t. Or did he really think you were the one telling the reporters Spider-Man was a student? 

  For what seemed like an eternity, you just stared into each others eyes from across the room. But when he finally shook his head and turned on his heel, you jumped up from your seat and ran after him. 

You caught him right outside of the cafeteria, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket to make him stop. “Pete!”, you exclaimed. He suddenly whipped around, looking at you with the same emotions as just a few seconds ago. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. Shock.

  “What do you want, Y/N?”, he almost yelled. You were taken aback by the anger lacing his voice. You couldn’t talk. But you didn’t have to, since Peter wasn’t done letting out his frustration.

“What were you thinking? Were you so intimidated by those reporters that you just told them? Or did you think they would leave you alone if you told them just a little bit of my private life? Or even better, do you just enjoy being in the spotlight for once?”, he asked angrily, letting his anger out on you. 

  Tears had been welling up in your eyes ever since he began talking, but now they were freely streaming down your face. You looked at him, speechless. You could visibly see him calm down now, his face softened more by the second. 

“Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn’t have yelled it’s just-”, he started talking, taking a step towards you. You took a step back, making him go silent.

  “And did you, for one second, just think about the possibility that I didn’t tell them? That I simply love you too much to ever do something to hurt you? That I would rather let them follow me for weeks than tell them even the tiniest bit about you?”, you asked quietly, looking at the ground. 

“But if you really thought I could do all that, then you don’t know me at all,”, you said, looking at your boyfriend. There were tears glistening in Peter’s eyes now as well and his lip was quivering when you turned around and returned to the cafeteria.

  For the rest of the day, you neither talked to nor saw Peter. You didn’t want to, either. You were still mad at him. Well, more hurt than mad. In fact, you just wanted this fight to be over. You missed him. But you were also just so fukcing hurt by the things he said that you wouldn’t be the one to apologize.

But when you were lying in bed that night, crying your eyes out, you really thought you lost him. Maybe he thought about what you said and now thought he didn’t really know you. Maybe he finally realised that you weren’t good enough for him or that-

  Your thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on your window. You were sitting upright within a second and standing on your feet within the next. You knew it could only be your boyfriend. No one else could be outside of a window in the 18th floor. 

You opened your window to a depressed looking Spider-Man, holding flowers and chocolate in his hands. No one said anything for a second. “Can I- Uhm you know can I come in?”, he asked lowly. You stepped aside, muttering a quiet ‘sure’.

  He climbed in and then he was standing in front of you, towering over you, still wearing his Spider-Man mask. “I-I bought your favourite flowers,”, he said, handing them to you. “and uh..your favourite chocolate as well,”, he added, giving it to you.

He still had his mask on, and you knew exactly why. So you put his gifts away and cupped his face gently. You gripped the hem of his mask gently. “You don’t have to hide from me,”, you gently whispered. He gave a short nod in response and you slowly rolled his mask up until you could see the last bit of his messy curls.

  His face was tear-stained and his eyes all red and swollen, matching yours. You got on your tip toes, gripping his neck in the process. You pressed your lips against his in a desperate, long over-due kiss. Both of you sighed into the kiss contently.

You pulled away again and flopped down onto your feet. “Now continue.”, you demanded, grinning at him. He huffed out a laugh before gently gripping your hands into his.

  “I was so fucking wrong,”, he began, making you giggle. “Truth is I do know you. And I know you wouldn’t do any of the stuff I said you did. And I was wrong for saying all this and for making you cry. I wish I could take it all back but I can’t. So I’m here to ask you if you can forgive me for being so fucking irrational and dumb.”, he spoke quietly, but you heard every single word and you knew he meant it. 

“Of course I forgive you,”, you said. “But I was wrong too. I shouldn’t have said you don’t kniw me because you’re the only person on this world who really does,”, you continued as you caressed his cheek gently. 

  Peter cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you in for a gentle kiss. It was full of apologies and tears, but the way your lips moved together didn’t feel any different. 

“Don’t ever apologise for something that is my fault ever again, you hear me?”, he said, staring into your eyes once he pulled away. “Sure,”, you smiled, kissing him again.

  “Do you know who told them in the end?”, Peter asked as you lay next to him, plaing with his fingers as he gazed at you lovingly. You shook your head, looking at him curiously.

“Flash,”, he grinned. “No way!”, you called out, sitting up. He mirrored your actions and smirked. “Yeah. He said Spider-Man was his best friend and that he goes to our school.”, he told you. “Oh no he didn’t,”, you laughed. “Sadly, he did.”, Peter said as he joined you in laughing.

[greatshell-rider]

SKELETAL ESCAPADES: CHAPTER EIGHT

[Chapter Index] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

“Are you done yet?” BS1 (Banescale One) said, not for the first time.

“No,” BS3 (Banescale Three), the mage, answered shortly. “I could swear it’s around here somewhere. I sensed something.”

CS2 had its necro-animation puppet—the gecko—crouch lower behind the snow drift it had ordered it to go to. The skeleton’s pale bones were nearly imperceivable against the snow, but its purple aura of magic could still give it away. Especially with the banescale mage sniffing around for it.

“Still seems deserted to me,” BS1 said doubtfully, looking around him at the barren white field. “You’re sure the scout said their den is here.”

“Yes, and the magic I detected confirms it. If you would just give me the space to think—”

“Enough of this,” BS2 (Banescale Two) snapped, with a lash of her tail. “Snow must be confusing your senses, mage. And it’s freezing my scales. Deserted or not, we’re going in.”

“I’m not ready—” BS3 began to say.

“Then stay out here,” BS2 said harshly. “Do your silly little tests that please you so much. Danyr and I will take care of this.” The mage opened their mouth again, and BS2 sneered, “We’ll call you if we need back-up, alright?”

BS1 laughed, and BS3 snapped their jaws shut. They looked nervous and upset, but didn’t object as their clanmates turned towards the hill. Realizing their next move was imminent, CS2 called its sentinel back, the gecko scuttling lightly atop the snow the two banescale warriors had to slog through towards the lair. Once reunited with its fellow, CS2 had both necro-animations burrow back into the snow to avoid being seen, and pulled its awareness back to its own bones, to think.

But it didn’t have much time to do so. Before long, its outside sentinels sent another mental signal, and CS2 itself heard the sound of the two warriors blasting fire and using claws and wings to excavate the snow from the lair entrance.

It had hoped the dragons would keep flying past.

It had hoped they would fall to arguing and fail to finish their task.

It had hoped, even, that the conversation it had overheard would tell it that they were friendly dragons, that somehow news of Atomic confronting the clan chieftain-heir had reached the banescales already and they no longer had reason to attack. Though maybe such news had come, along with an order: make sure Atomic and Tibia had no home to return to.

But its hope had failed. Desperate wishes of the what-ifs and the could’ve-beens—CS2 was done with those. No more. No more of sitting around in its broken bones waiting for others, for dragons, to tell it what to do, how to react, when to hide under the shadows. The commands Tibia had left CS2 with screamed at its bones, a constant pressure on its mind that only grew to the point of pain. Obey, now.

Oh, CS2 would obey.

First situational command: Upon a creature of ill intent crossing the proximity ward and finding the lair, signal your master.

CS2 obeyed, shooting the message down its link to Tibia with all the force and urgency it could muster. The fae was almost a halfmoon away, still in the Ashfall Wastes, but by stretching its awareness far, far, it felt the alert arrive, felt Tibia’s shock and alarm at the signal.

It heard its creator say, “CS2? Tell me what’s—” But before she could finish the order, CS2, using the same stretchy nature of its tattered, magic-saturated, almost-independent soul, did something it had never been able to do before.

It closed off their mental communication, and for the first time in many days, its awareness was centered solely in its own mind and bones. The link to Tibia was still there, the magic that kept CS2 animated still leaking quietly to it, but for all intents and purposes, it was alone now. Just it, its servants, and the invaders.

CS2 received a signal from its lair sentinels the same moment it heard the exclaims of success as the banescales broke through the last of the hard-packed snow covering the lair entrance, and stepped into the tunnel.

“Hello?” BS2 called, a growl edging the greeting. “Anyone home?”

BS1 laughed. “I don’t care what Biaw sensed, let’s find it!”

“Let’s find you,” BS2 snarled, and by the weak moonlight streaming in through the open entrance, CS2 caught its first sight of her with its own skull as the banescale entered the den, wings raised, fangs bared, talons flexed. BS1 kept his back to hers, facing into the cave that now served as the hoard.

Second situational command: Should the creatures breach the lair, do all in your power to defend.

From the shadowy corners of the two dens, CS2 called its sentinels. The squirrel skeleton in the hoard darted down the tunnel into the nesting den, causing BS1 to startle and jump back, almost falling on BS2. The latter snarled and shoved BS1 off, yelling, “Watch it!”

As her shove sent BS1 stumbling, CS2 detached the bird skeleton from the tunnel ceiling and sent it in a dive at BS2’s head. The banescale’s figure blurred, then CS2 heard and felt a sickening SNAP and realized the warrior had smashed her tail into the necro-animation, grinding it into dust against the floor. Shock jolted through CS2—one sentinel down already?

But at the same time, BS1 staggered into the tunnel wall—activating the first of Tibia’s traps.

The dragon cried out as long ribs of elk and moose sprang out of the wall, lengthening and curling inward as more bone buried in wells into the dirt walls funneled into the ribs until they grew into a cage around the warrior, pinning him to the wall. BS1 gasped and yelled, beating his wings and tail in a panic, his legs kicking futilely as the bone cage had lifted him off of the ground. “Keud!” he called. “Help!”

“Shades,” BS2 swore, backing away from the trap and into the den, then jumped around, hissing, eyes sweeping the dark cave. “Someone is in here,” she growled, whether to her clanmate or to herself CS2 didn’t know. “Come out, trickster, if you want to play so badly.” She moved in deeper, but stayed away from the walls. “Show yourself!” She stepped into the center of the den.

Another bone trap activated, snapping upward from the floor like jaws, but again BS2 moved faster almost than CS2 could see, jumping up in a spin and lashing out with her tail, slamming through each protruding rib and snapping them like pine needles.

“Too slow,” BS2 sneered, turning another wary circle. “You’re going to have to try—”

Calling the two from outside, CS2 sent its three available sentinels—the last two still trapped inside the hibernal den, out of reach—darting at the banescale from different directions. One scampering around her feet, to distract her. One falling onto her face and scratching at her eyes, to confuse her. And the third leaping onto her sweeping tail to climb up and look for a loose scale, a patch of bare skin, any flaw in the armor CS2 could dig claws into and at least try to make the dragon bleed a little before she killed it.

The banescale flinched and roared at the skeletons’ attack, but recovered quicker, and CS2 felt the pain of yet more bones breaking and crunching into splinters as she stomped her clawed foot at the bird skeleton, bit down and flung away the gecko skeleton with her jaws, and slapped a wing at the squirrel skeleton on her shoulder, stepping back to let it fall to the ground.

No, CS2 thought, reaching out more of its magic to the skeletons. The bones quivered, but the pain it felt through them was starting to fade as the connections began to die.

“You done yet?” BS2 roared, jerking her head at BS1 still caged to the wall. “We’re dealing with a necromancer here!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he said around a mouthful of rib. “Their Highness didn’t say anything about one of those!”

With no further attacks coming, BS2 stomped over to help break her clanmate free.

NO, CS2 thought, and strained to reach its fellows. It couldn’t do anything without them, its bones too broken to move itself, couldn’t trick the dragons into traps, couldn’t lure them away, couldn’t distract them long enough to keep Lamp and the eggs safe, it just wasn’t enough.

“There’s nothing alive here, like Biaw said,” she growled, digging at the base of a rib anchored into the wall. “It’s all pre-set traps, puppets. Nothing can actually hurt us if you weren’t such an idiot—”

CS2 poured magic into the shattered necro-animations, down the thinning links, begging them to keep going for just a little longer. It wasn’t enough. Little bones, tiny skeletons of prey creatures, stripped of flesh and hide, were nothing but flies to dragons, to be swatted away and ignored. Even as CS2 used every last drop of Tibia’s magic she had put into its bones to try and maintain the connections, it wasn’t enough. The grayness of exhaustion, of its mind losing consciousness, pulled at CS2, warning it it was using up too much of the magic needed to keep itself reanimated. The Dark loomed over it, poised to sink its claws into it and drag it away.

NO. NOT. YET.

The second situational command blazed in CS2’s mind. Defend the den from attacks, to the end. With all its power.

CS2 did something else it had never done before. One link remained, not between it and the other necro-animations, but between it and its master. Its creator. The dragon who continually fueled its ability to think and exist.

CS2 seized that link, and rather than send its awareness down to watch through Tibia’s eyes, or to send a signal, or to push more magic into broken puppets, it pulled.

At first the well of magic, the bright burning spot in the corner of CS2’s mind that tied it to Tibia, resisted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. This wasn’t the rules of the game. It was master and servant, creator and creation. One held the power, and the other was given it. A hunter and its prey, the command and the obedience.

But CS2’s soul stretched. It no longer fit within its own bones, and it forced it to no longer accept those rules. CS2 sent claws into the bright spot of magic, digging into it, tearing and gnawing, until it felt that resistance bend, then break.

Magic flooded into CS2’s bones, at the same time pain ripped through its soul. It screamed, and then it stood up.

At the center of its blackening vision, where it could only just barely focus past the pain, it saw both banescales look up. BS2 warily stepped forward. Behind her, BS1 had one wing and part of his neck free of the cage.

You’re too late, CS2 thought, as the magic filled it up then spilled over, streaming out of its bones, flying across the den to all other sources of bone it could sense, which glowed in its vision a stark, vivid yellow. It grabbed the skeletons, its puppets. It ripped the failed cage out of the floor, then the third trap in the hoard wall. CS2 screamed again and stepped forward, off its ledge. Bones flew to it, shattered or whole, and kept it from falling. Bones stacked atop and wove around another, building a body up from underneath CS2’s skeleton so it could walk, stiff-legged and staggering, toward its targets.

BS2 didn’t hesitate but leapt back into the den, wings flaring, mouth opening to bare fangs as she hissed a challenge.

CS2 gathered all the bones, breaking them down and reforming them as it wished, and as the dragon lunged forward, it dove down her throat.

Back in the dark, but this time it was warm, and moved. Wet, sticky, CS2 forced its way down, digging in a hundred claws into the fleshy walls when the tube constricted and rushing air tried to force it back out, the banescale doubling over and hacking, but failing to eject it. It climbed down, down, down, breaking itself down into smaller, denser pieces as the tunnel shrunk more and more, shredding a thousand tiny shards into the meaty throat until CS2 had no choice but to rip through the barrier into a space slightly more open, and found what it was looking for.

It clamped its jaws around the center of the dragon’s violently beating life, and dragged itself back up the throat and out of BS2’s jaws, ripping the heart out after it. Hot dark liquid sprayed out after it, coating CS2 in stickiness as it backed away to watch the banescale take a shuddering step, jaw opening and closing in a mimicry of breath. Wide orange eyes stared up at CS2 in terror, before the legs folded and the body collapsed to the ground in a broken heap. Blood pooled around its head.

CS2 wobbled slightly, disorientated in the sudden coldness of the den, then became aware of its second target. The banescale had half of himself loose, and as CS2 turned toward him, he wiggled free from the rest of the cage, falling to the floor in a graceless pile of flailing limbs. CS2 lunged for him, but he dove for the tunnel and it fell into the hoard, smashing its bones against the far wall from the force of its leap. That rattled its mind, sent dizzying waves of pain washing through it, but erupting from that pain, came anger. Even with all its power now, it still hurt. With all of this magic blazing out of it, still those dragons thought to beat it.

“Help,” it heard the banescale gasp as he staggered down the tunnel towards the entrance. “Help! Giaw, help! Help, it’s coming!”

And it was. Oh, it was.

First, the corpse. CS2 called it, and the skeleton inside the stinking pile of meat shuddered, then ripped free, gore-slick bones rushing to slap into place within CS2’s distorted skeleton. With them came something else, a glowing mist of orange that melted into the purple.

MORE, CS2 commanded, reaching out past the lair with its mind and touching each source of glowing yellow it found scattered across the snow-drenched grassland. MORE, it snarled, calling those bones to it as it pulled itself back upright, then shambled down the entrance tunnel after its fleeing target. The bones came, dredged up from the earth, ripping themselves free of dirt and snow old and fresh, flying to and adding themselves to CS2’s mass as it clawed its way down the tunnel, squeezing its bulk through the entrance to expand and cascade out onto the hill. More and more, CS2 sucked magic now tinged with red from its creator and used it to direct bones that were gray, bones that were white, bones that were little more than dust, bones that no longer sat together in complete sets, bones that had once belonged to souls of beasts both hunted and killer but now were only its own. CS2 built up its skeleton, bigger, taller, stretching it up towards the moons, toward those fake disks of light, until the land below stretched out wide before its senses, until the two tiny black dots it saw far, far below were only barely distinguishable from all the snow, and CS2 identified them: its targets.

Throwing open wings that curtained out the moonlight, CS2 slammed down two great taloned feet of bone on either side of the two banescales and roared.

No sound emerged.

Beneath it, the dragons cowered, having thrown their wings over themselves in a last desperate attempt at protection, huddling together in the snow. But they didn’t flinch at the sound. Because there hadn’t been one. CS2 tried again, putting all its pain and anger into the roar, but nothing, not even the faintest wind, came out. As if CS2 wasn’t even really there.

It raged, smashing wing and talon against the earth, beating at the snow. Bones shattered at impact and others flew to replace them. CS2 could strike the same fist into the hill a hundred times, and a hundred times whatever bones broke, CS2 could remake a hundred times over and replace again and again. But no matter how much magic it used, no matter the force of its frantic despair, its blows didn’t leave a mark. The bones broke too quickly. Other than the misshapen trails left behind by the dragons, the snow was untouched by its presence. Perfect, pristine whiteness shining under the moons.

CS2 sank back onto its haunches and lifted its forefeet, staring at them. Its wings, wings, sank to the ground, but only rested lightly atop the snow despite their bulk. As the anger slunk away—it realized, dimly, that the banescales were running away, but no longer cared—a new awareness crept over it. It, it had built its huge skeleton into that of a dragon. These were talons, not the short digging claws for a chipmunk’s paws. It had wings, grotesque and fragile without the folds of skin that lent the ability to fly. And a great horned skull to crown the mess, its jaws bristling with teeth molded from the skeletons of creatures CS2 couldn’t name any longer, so many times had it broken those bones down and forged them anew with others.

This is what it was, now. It stood atop a hill sheltering sleeping predators underneath a sky of glittering stars it, it had never seen, it had never known the winter constellations because it had died, it had been hunted and killed, its body, its body of flesh and fur and blood that once been its own shape and sensation, pierced and cut into by the clever talons of beings so much bigger, so much smarter than itself—CS2 was dead, and now it took its murderer’s form with all its magic, power stolen rather than innate or built, and this still wasn’t life.

The snowy ground might as well be as distant as those cold, staring stars and moons, because CS2 was not of this world. And this world was no longer of it.

Undead.

The pain was back, CS2 realized. It had forgotten it while still caught up in its fury, in the thrill of pursuit, of hunting those dragons, but it was never gone. And it was. So. Much.

Agony ate at the hollowness of it as CS2 sank back down into the lair entrance, magic seeping out of the bones shattered and reshattered along the same lines until there were no further cracks to break. The Dark was back, swooping across its vision in dizzying waves as it stumbled down the tunnel toward the hidden entrance of the hibernal den, suddenly desperate to reach it before the last of the magic evaporated.

I need, it tried to gasp, though it had no lungs with which to breathe and that hurt to know, I need to get there. I need to make sure.

That last burning command, the final situational, the ever-permanent. To the end, keep Lamp and my eggs safe.

It fell through the hole into the cold cellar of a den. How long had CS2 dug? There was no sensation in its bones. But no, no, the holes had been from when it had summoned all the bones in the vicinity, and that had included its two remaining sentinels. Their skeletons had broken through the wall of earth to answer its call, and now their remains were scattered somewhere outside in the snow or down in the lair, following CS2’s staggering path. Collapsed there on the floor of the hibernal den, that was almost the end, the Dark almost claiming it. But the master’s command drove it to be sure, and it dragged its skeleton forward, to lift its skull and see with the last of its clouding vision.

A guardian dragon, statuesque in the gloom, lay encircling his nest of sleeping eggs. Peaceful as snow.

Would the banescales have even found them? Would they have thought to dig deeper, upon finding an empty lair and hoard? Had the commands Tibia had given it been too hasty, too simple? What would CS2 have done, if it could have chosen?

CS2 was not alive, it could not even move, and it still had these thoughts, this awareness, these questions. And it made no difference, whether it had them or not. It didn’t matter, not to the world, not to its master, so the weight of them fell solely upon itself.

It was too much. Too much.

I did it, it sent to Tibia, without remembering it had closed the mental communication. I fulfilled your last request. I can rest now. I get to do that, at last.

And it was dark.

[redrobinhoood]

no choir | chapter 7, if tomorrow it’s all over

A/N: Get a neck brace for the emotional whiplash, we’re going on a roller coaster of sadness.

AO3 Link | 3600 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 6, Chapter 8

Chapter Summary: Fox and Thire tell the Emperor of their suspicions and find themselves facing the consequences.

CW: Psychological trauma, discussions surrounding death, and graphic imagery.

“Your Majesty.” Thire greeted as the two men stopped and snapped to a salute.

“Commander Thire, Commander Fox.” The Emperor responded, turning from where he stood at the window with Darth Vader to face them. Thire could’ve sworn Vader had tilted his helmet ever so slightly in recognition. Thire hadn’t seen the man in some time, not since the walk back from Senator Chuchi’s office nearly eleven months ago. “I am told that you had some information for me.”

The brothers lowered their hands. Fox was the first to step forward. “Sir, Thire and I believe that there is an infiltration into our government. We have compiled a list of possible threats within your inner circle.”

“How long has this investigation been going, Commander?”

“Just under a year.” Thire spoke up, hoping to draw Vader’s gaze away from Fox. He wanted to keep the two as far away from one another as he could, but he couldn’t remember why.

“We didn’t want to overwhelm you at the time, sir.” Fox continued. “But now, we’re certain that one of these beings is acting against the interests of our government and has perhaps done so since the time of the Republic.”

There was silence as the Emperor looked from his men to Darth Vader. Thire’s neck twitched as he felt something reach out into his mind. Not Vader. He had become acquainted with the feeling of Vader’s connection to the Force when he had been slammed into the wall and questioned on the relationship of Fox and Riyo’s relationship. Just another fragment. After that, Vader has disappeared and to the best of Thire’s knowledge had never spoken of the matter again. Not that Thire’s forced cooperation had mattered, Vader had had a hologram of Thire’s two idiots kissing on Senator Chuchi’s couch. Thire blinked. He hadn’t remembered that detail before.

“Commander Fox, you have never let me down. But it is late. Shall we discuss this matter in the morning when the sun rises on our year-old Empire?”

“Yes, sir.” Fox nodded, taking note of the polite dismissal, and turned to leave. Thire began to follow after him.

“Commander Thire.” The voice of the Emperor stopped him. “Would you stay a moment more?” The Emperor gestured to couches before his desk.

Thire and Fox exchanged a quick glance. It wasn’t like Thire could say no. “Yes, sir.” Thire walked over to the two men. By the time he arrived, he had heard the door shut behind Fox.

“Sit, Commander. I must make a call.”

Thire did as he was told, slinking down to sit on the plush material of the red couches that gathered around the Emperor’s desk. He spared another glance to Darth Vader, who had yet to speak. When he did, he felt Vader’s familiar pry in his mind, confirming that it was not him who he had felt earlier. He jolted back to reality when he heard the next words out of the Emperor’s mouth.

“… kill Commander Fox.” Thire couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. “He will be the stormtrooper escorting the Pantoran senator tomorrow morning. If you like, you may track him from her residence but kill him on the steps of the Senate. I want to make a point.”

“Your Majesty.” His shock gone, Thire was on his feet before the comm had ended. “Why?”

“I’m afraid that Commander Fox is meddling in affairs that he should not be.” The Emperor said calmly, as if they were discussing anything but homicide.

“Sir, if this is about the mole then we can end this investigation at once.” Thire moved around the desk to stand before the Emperor as he spoke. “We still have a list of names; we can frame somebody, then the entire affair will be forgotten. Please, don’t kill him, I beg you.”

The Emperor turned to fully face Thire. “Then beg, Commander.”

Thire fell to his knees, looking up to the Emperor. “Don’t kill my brother.”

The Emperor reached down and removed Thire’s helmet, letting it fall to the ground beside him. He stroked a hand down Thire’s cheek, stopping to cup the bottom of his jaw. With his head tilted up at such an extreme angle, his neck fully exposed, Thire felt afraid. A tear slid down his cheek as he finally recognized the presence in his mind.

“It’s you.”

The Emperor tenderly wiped the tear from Thire’s cheek with his other hand. “And so it is.” His grip tightened on Thire’s jaw as he pressed his other hand against Thire’s forehead.

Thire looked to Vader, still standing behind the Emperor. “Help me, don’t let him do this!” But Vader didn’t move, and Thire found the Emperor’s touch to be growing warmer. “Please, he’s my brother! Please…”

Thire jolted awake. He stood up and immediately stumbled to the floor. The Emperor was beside him in a heartbeat. “What happened?” Thire managed to say.

“You collapsed.” The Emperor said, helping Thire back onto the couch. “Commander Fox was just telling me how you have discovered a traitor among us. After he left, you just dropped.”

“I don’t remember.” Thire looked around the room. It was empty, save for the Royal Guard. Something wasn’t right, there had been someone else here before.

“Yes, he said that’s been happening. Not to worry, the commander is on his way to arrest the traitor as we speak. Everything will be better soon.”

Thire felt a warm calm come over him. “Everything will be better soon. Of course, thank you, Your Majesty.”

“No, thank you, Commander.” The Emperor straightened up and moved to sit at his desk opposite Thire. “Your efforts today have been most admirable. It’s a pity that you won’t be there to see their result, but such is life.”

---

Fox was greeted by a rush of blue and purple when he opened the apartment door. He dropped his helmet unceremoniously on the ground and picked Riyo up into his arms when she reached him.

“I thought you’d be coming home right after the parade. I was so worried.” Her arms around him were beginning to put pressure on his neck, but he ignored the discomfort and pulled her closer to him.

“I told you I’d come back. Thire and I had a meeting with the Emperor.”

“You told him about the mole?”

“Yes.”

Her grip around him relaxed and he set her down on the ground before him.

“How did he take it?”

“He wanted to discuss it in the morning. I think I was right.”

Riyo’s expression morphed back into one of concern. “Right about what, Fox?”

He reached over and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m a coward. Can I tell you in bed?”

Her brow sunk further into worry and she gave him a sad nod. The sight broke Fox’s heart, he’d have a hard time doing this.

By the time he’d pulled off his armor and blacks, setting out a fresh pair of blacks for the next day and arranging his armor for a quick assembly, Riyo was already in bed, watching him cautiously. When he returned to her side, she reached up to him and pulled him down beside her.

“Please hold me.” He begged.

"Okay.” She whispered as she turned onto her side, allowing him to curl up beside her, press his forehead against her chest, and wrap his arms around her waist. She lay her arms around his shoulders and began to run the fingers of one hand slowly through his hair. “What’s going on, love?”

Fox sighed. “I think that the Emperor knows who the mole is. I think he’s the one that put it there as part of a larger conspiracy. What I can’t figure out is why.”

“Political power? Most of us aren’t assigned our rank at birth, Fox.”

“I think it goes deeper than that. There’s something I’m missing, but I don’t think that matters in the end.”

“Why not?”

Fox tried to focus on the sensation of Riyo’s heartbeat against his skin. “He’ll be dead. I’m going to use him to find the mole, bring them together into the same room, and kill them.” He could feel her heartbeat begin to speed up under his touch. “After that, the Royal Guard will either shoot me dead or arrest me and formally execute me for treason. Though I’d much rather Thire shoot me first. He’s a good shot, it would be quick.” It would be fitting for him to die in the same way that Fives had, at the hands of his brother.

He felt Riyo’s hand still in his hair as her grip on him tightened. “You don’t have to die, Fox.”

“I don’t know how to make a sacrifice without laying down my life, Riyo.” He laughed dryly. “Besides, it’s what I was born to do. My life is all I have in this galaxy, and I don’t even own it. But I’d tell you the night before I do it. I have had so many brothers leave my life without any warning; I couldn’t willingly do that to you. And I’m still a coward. I would give you the opportunity to talk me out of it, and if you couldn’t then I would try to spend one last night in your arms.”

“Is that what this is?” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

“No. I still need to find the mole first. Besides, I think I’d paint my armor beforehand to look more like myself. I could wear my phase two armor, make a statement, but it would be much easier to die in stormtrooper armor, the new plastoid weave offers no protection.” He had seen firsthand how easily any blast cut through the ‘armor.’

Riyo gently loosened his hold around her waist and slid down so that she was face-to-face with him. “You really think that your options are either to die or to abandon the Empire to corruption? There’s got to be a third option, Fox.”

“I’ve made my peace with it.” He reached a hand up and brushed away a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “I was afraid this morning, but I’ve made my peace with it. Dying is easy. My only regret would be leaving you behind. But maybe that’s what’s best for you.”

Anger flashed over her features. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”

“No, I don’t. But is loving a man who will die long before you really what you want? My love for you is selfish, Ri, I have nothing that I can give you. I own nothing, not even my own body. The Empire wants to sterilize all of us clones in a few months. I can literally give you nothing.”

“Give me your life, Fox. Your life and your love, that’s all I want.” She sat up and pulled him up after her, taking his hands in her lap. “Run away with me. You promised me that we would find some fresh air, a forest, let it just be us and the trees. I’ll retire as a senator. We’ll run away and go live in a cabin in the woods on some backwater Outer Rim planet. Let me save you for once.”

For a moment, Fox considered trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes from Riyo, then he found that he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and let them begin to fall. She pulled him forward, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and wrapping her arms around him. He’d sworn to her that he would break his oath to the Republic if she asked, and she had asked. In a way, he wished she hadn’t. It would’ve been far, far easier to die. “Okay.”

Then she was pulling him down once more to lay across her, still holding his head in the crook of her neck. He slipped an arm around her as he tried to bury a soft sob in his throat. Once, his oath to the Republic and his love for Riyo had been the same. Everything had been easy when his love and his loyalty intertwined. Now the Republic was gone, living on in the fragments of his once-numerous brothers and in the far-away senators who roamed the buildings of Coruscant, and Riyo was no longer a part of that system. Or maybe, she was still the Republic. While her optimism had been dimmed under the Empire, it hadn’t fully extinguished. She was still the voice of reason that he had watched, guarded, and finally, loved, over the Clone Wars. Maybe he wouldn’t be breaking his oath after all.

He turned his focus on her breathing, the beat of her heart against him, until he fell asleep.

---

Fox smiled fondly as he watched Riyo arranging her hair from the doorway to the bathroom. He couldn’t begin to understand how the strands were supported, but they were. When she had finished pinning down a few flyaway hairs he stepped forward and leaned back against the counter in front of her.

“What are you thinking?” She beamed at him. Only he got to see her like this, and he never wanted anyone else to know how beautiful his goddess was when she was still blinking sleep from her eyes.

“A lot of things.” He admitted. “But there’s one in particular that’s bothering me.”

“What’s that?”

Her look of polite curiosity turned into another beaming smile as he leaned over to kiss her. She cupped his face in her hands as their lips worked slowly against each other and she ran her thumbs over his cheekbones when they had pulled apart.

“One more month,” she mused, “then you’re really mine.”

"I suppose that I will have to arrange my own death after all.”

“Morbid.” She pulled away from him and he followed her from the bathroom to the living room to watch her slip on her shoes.

“I’m sure Jek will have some ideas. He’ll want to poison me or something to that effect.”

“You’ll regret all the times you’ve been a horrible boss.”

When Riyo rose from the couch, Fox met her and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her towards the door. “I’m an amazing boss.”

“I’ve watched you throw Rys into a garbage can, Fox.”

Fox shrugged, picking up his helmet from the floor and putting it on. “That has nothing to do with my leadership skills.”

Riyo practically pushed him out of the door, following right on his heels. “And the new helmets don’t affect your aim.”

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

They fell silent as they made their way to the speeder park. While Riyo’s neighbors had never minded her red-armored clone escort, Fox couldn’t help but notice how they already avoided him so soon after the switch to white. They didn’t speak again until they were in the air.

“Where do you want to live?” Riyo asked him. “We can’t stay on Pantora, I would bring too much attention upon us.”

“I don’t know.” Fox would be the first to admit that he knew nearly nothing of the galaxy. “Somewhere far away from where the war was. Perhaps somewhere they won’t recognize me as I am.”

“We’ll have to start looking into that, you know.”

“I know.” Fox glanced over to see that Riyo had her datapad out.

“No war, won’t recognize a clone, beautiful forests, probably not Hutt-controlled space either, preferably a native language that our vocal chords can produce. Anything I’m missing, Fox?”

"No, I believe that covers it.” Fox felt something rising in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time, hope. But there was also the all too familiar pang of sadness that sat upon him. He would be leaving behind his brothers. He knew that they would forgive him, would gladly send him on his way with Riyo, but he could never forgive himself for leaving them to die under the Empire.

They fell into a more comfortable silence as Riyo began to make a list of planets for consideration. It felt surreal. That feeling stuck with Fox through the landing and as they began to make their way up towards the Senate. Fox had argued against the new parking system, it left the senators too exposed as they made their way from their speeders to the building, but he had ultimately been disregarded in favor of reallocating what had been the parking garages.

Riyo stopped suddenly and he mirrored her.

“Riyo, what it is?”

At the source of the reflection on the Senate building, a scope was narrowing in on the back of Fox’s head.

“I thought I saw something.”

Above them, a finger depressed the trigger.

Fox took a step forward. “I don’t see a-.” His sentence ended in a gasp as a hot line of pain traced from the left of his spine through the center his torso. “Riyo.” He stumbled forward, hands moving to cover the wound.

But Riyo was already there, wrapping her arms around his chest and lowering him gently until he was kneeling before her. The scent of melted plastoid was beginning to reach him, and he spared a look down to the exit wound beneath his hands. Blood was beginning to seep from the burning hole. There shouldn’t have been blood. Something important had been hit. He pressed his hands back against it, gritting his teeth. For something so small, just a little larger in size than the muzzle of his blaster, it was causing a large amount of pain. This amount of energy would have never penetrated the old armor of the guard in full, the most it would’ve done would’ve been to leave a small burn on his back, the rest of its energy dissipated. It had taken five shots like it to fell Thorn. Thorn. Fox wondered if this was how Thorn had felt before the last shot hit his chest. But Thorn had died alone. Fox would die in the arms of his love.

There was the sensation of air on his face and he looked up to meet Riyo’s eyes as she set his helmet aside. If she said anything, it was lost to him. Fox took her in for the last time. He wanted those golden eyes to be his last sight. Now that he had stopped moving, the second shot would shoot hit him and finish the job. But in the seconds that stretched into years, he could gaze upon Riyo. Fox knew that the Pantorans worshipped a moon goddess. Surely, that goddess was her. He wanted to raise his hand to her face, run his fingers through her celestial purple hair one last time, but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his arm.

The second shot never came.

As the strength continued to drain from his body, his knees began to slide out from under him and he fell to the duracrete beside Riyo. He caught himself with his right arm, the left one still gripped over the wound. He clutched it tighter to himself as nausea rose in his throat. His stomach heaved. He hadn’t eaten anything today, there was no food to throw up. But there was blood. Something important had definitely been hit.

Fox felt arms wrap around his upper torso and pull him away. He found himself falling backwards into a familiar embrace and let his head fall to the side to rest against Riyo’s cheek. He brought his right hand back to the wound and found it resting on top of one of Riyo’s hands.

“Ri, I- I- I-.” He couldn’t raise his voice to begin the word love. “Ner cya-.” He couldn’t finish that either. His vision was beginning to tunnel as the pain in his chest rose.

“Fox.” She sobbed.

He slipped his fingers around her hand the best he could considering the torrent of blood that now spilled from the wound and squeezed it three times.

“I love you too.” She sniffed and pulled him tighter to her chest.

The pain was beginning to fade now. Some part of him was aware that his breathing had slowed down, but another part didn’t care. The pain was leaving. If he could have stopped time and made a list of every serious injury he had incurred in his life this would have to be the second most painful. The first being when he was nearly eviscerated by bounty hunters. He had been surrounded by his brothers then. Stone, Bravo, whoever it had been who had kept Fox’s hands pressed to his stomach before the medics arrived. Now, it was just him and Riyo. His vision was beginning to fade, and he closed his eyes.

“Fox, stay with me, Fox! I love you. I love you, don’t leave me, Fox.” He could still hear Riyo’s voice, but there was another voice now, a voice that sounded like his brothers, that told him to stop fighting. “Stay with me, Fox.”

With every sound of his name he fought to reach her, but there was something warm rising in his throat that held him back. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. He tried to reach out to her, to take her hand one last time, but his grip on his body was fading and he was unable to move his hands. He was vaguely aware of a new voice joining Riyo’s, but couldn’t tell whose voice it was. He focused on Riyo’s voice until that too began to fade away.

Fox’s last conscious thought was of the night before, when he fell asleep in Riyo’s arms with the hope of a new life.