#there’s PLENTY more i only pulled a few choice items from the first half or so

[hopetorun]

some real gems in this text from the athletic

[chang-bunnie-bini-bop]

hiraeth • seo changbin [part three]

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✰ pairing - roommate!changbin x fem!reader

✰ warnings - some swearing, reader is harassed non-consensually but it's all okay in the end :c

✰ word count - 2.9k

✰ notes - lol i don't know how to feel about this one it's literally crap. also the picture yes they are fucking hot

✰ tags - @hyunjinslittlestar @dunno-wut-to-do @caticorn61

✰ sypnosis: after setting some boundaries with changbin, somehow you coincidentally find out his secret.

hiraeth - the longing for a home that you cannot return to, or never was.

masterlist | requests open!

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You knew it was probably wrong to follow your roommate through college, but when you find out he’s been hiding things from you, what choice did you have?

Changbin turned the corner, talking to Jisung and completely unaware of your current situation. 

He was stopped by Chan, and the three headed off somewhere. 

You decided that it was enough, and you wandered off towards your classroom. 

The confusions only increased as Changbin disappeared off for random parts of the day, whether it was early morning, during the day, or late at night. 

Worried would be an understatement. You didn’t know whether he was okay or not, and the apartment felt emptier than ever. 

Does he not want to be around me? 

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

“Go outside. Don’t just sit around in here.” The mom barged into the room, scaring the living hell out of the poor girl, who was clearly deathly scared of loud noises. 

“What? What are you hiding to make such a big reaction to me coming in? Keep the door open. And you better study something. Or else.” The older woman threatened, walking out the door and leaving the girl to bask in her thoughts. 

“I SAID, GET OUT!” The mother screeched at the girl, who got up from the desk and ran to the front door. 

She wandered the streets for a little while, not wanting to talk to people, much less make friends. 

Going home for another half an hour wasn’t an option. 

The girl knew that someday she would regret not making friends.

People always told her that it was difficult at first. 

To her, it seemed impossible. She would end up alone. All alone. 

She bit back tears as she remembered her old friends, and how they had ditched her once she had finally opened up to them. 

They had blocked her, and she felt more alone than ever. 

No one. No one to open up to, to explain the bitter truth of her problems. Nobody to trust, to believe in. 

Maybe, she was destined to be this way. 

Alone. 

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

You stopped by the grocery store on the way back to the dorms from the library. 

Wandering around through the isles, you selected many necessities, including food and medicine. 

You stopped in front of a specific item; Changbin’s favorite cookie snack. 

You immediately grabbed multiple packets, witt how much he was working, he clearly needed his energy, which was also sugar.  

You almost giggled at the thought of him having a sugar rush last time, running around the apartment with you chasing him down. 

It was almost…fun. 

You knew that Seo Changbin was a major health freak, and that he would never have too much sugar, but there were sometimes where he really needed it. 

Grabbing a few more of Changbin’s favorite snacks and making your way to the checkout counter, pulling out your wallet to pay for the items. 

“Need me to pay for them, pretty?”

Your heart nearly stopped. You froze in your position, turning slightly in fear. 

A group of three men, all smoking and clearly drunk, laughed at your state of fright. 

“U-Um…sir…i’m a minor.” You informed him, glancing at the cashier for help. 

However, he just smirked at you instead. 

“How old ‘re you?” The drunk guy slurred, stumbling towards you, prompting you to take a couple steps back. 

“I’m 17.” You whimpered. “That’s plenty.” The guy grunted, limping towards you. 

You immediately turned and ran without a second thought, hiding behind a column of wall that was inaccessible to the public. 

You didn’t care about how much trouble you would get into later. 

Terrified, you pull your phone out of your hoodie pocket. 

Immediately calling Changbin, you gasp as you hear a container getting knocked over in the next isle. 

Praying that he would pick up, you sank to the floor to hide more effectively. 

Your call was immediately sent to voice mail. 

You called Jisung and Chan; neither of them responded either. 

Finally, you called Mina, who picked up immediately. 

Frantically, you explained the situation to her, and she told you to hang on; she was one her way. 

Five minutes passed, and a hand grabbed your shoulder. Alarmed, you almost scream before breaking into sobs as your friend cradled you. 

Safe. You were safe. 

You both walked out of the grocery store after paying for your things. 

The creepy guys didn’t even dare to come near you now that you weren’t alone. 

“Thank you. Oh my goodness, you saved me.” You gasped, gripping your friend’s shoulders. 

“Oh come on. It’s what friends do. Also those guys were super creepy. What happened to your super buff roommate? Changbin? Why didn’t he come?” Mina asked, continuing to hold you closer to give you a sense of security. 

“H-He didn’t pick up. Even when he knows I never call except when it’s an emergency.” You grunt. You were gonna give him a piece of your mind once you reach the dorm. 

If he even was there.  

“Ooof. Girl, get your man in order.” Mina giggled at the wild blush coating your face. 

“He is not my man!” You scoff, slapping her shoulder while continuing to walk towards the familiar college building. 

“I mean, he’a pretty cute. And he’s your type.” Mina teased, wiggling her eyebrows at you and cackling as you shriek in disbelief. 

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

You entered your dorm after punching in the key code, walking straight to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water. 

What you didn’t expect, however, was for a certain black-haired man to be sitting on the couch. 

You immediately walk in front of him, ready to go off on him for not answering your calls. 

Normally, this would be a pretty crappy thing to get upset over, considering it was just one phone call. 

But Changbin knew that you never called unless it was an emergency, and you had established that pretty early on in your friendship. 

“What excuse do you have for yourself?! I even called you during free period! Why didn’t you pick up?” You shouted. 

“Y-Y/N i’m seriously sorry, I had something going on at the time, so I switched off my phone. What happened?” Changbin replied, looking up at you with the saddest expression you had ever seen on him. 

Clearly he was feeling remorse for his actions. You decided to go easy on him. 

“This guy at the grocery store tried to harass me, I called Mina though, so i’m okay.” 

Changbin gasped quietly, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes in guilt. 

“Y/N…i’m so sorry. Please forgive me…” He quietly asked, grabbing your hands and placing them on his head in an attempt to ask for forgiveness. 

“It’s okay, Binnie. Just…don’t ignore them again, kay?” You tried to calm him down, and he yanked you down onto the couch next to him and snuggled up to you. 

Your chest warmed up at the affectionate act, and you played with his bangs while he slept. Wow, clearly he was exhausted. 

You realize that he was wearing pretty heavy makeup, something he didn’t do normally. 

He looked very pretty, though. You dragged him to your room, removing all of his makeup and fixing his hair. 

You change into your pajamas in your closet, doing your skincare before you both went to bed, in his room, or course. 

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

“Girl! I got tickets for us both to go to the 3RACHA concert!” Mina squealed, jumping up and down in utter excitement. 

“What’s 3RACHA?” You ask, not really insterested. 

“They’re this new band! They’re anonymous, though. You only know them by their stage names. CB97, J.one, and SPEARB.” Mina rambled to you, handing you a ticket. 

“I guess I’ll have to research them.” You reply, staring at the silhouettes in the picture and getting the fleeting impression of familiarity. Like you’ve seen them before. 

Later that night, you researched the group and listened to some of their music. 

They only had one album, so you made sure to listen to all the songs. 

The concert was tomorrow, and you could see why Mina was so excited. 

They were seriously talented, but you couldn’t shake the feeling as if you had heard their voices somewhere. 

You decided to ask Changbin about it, he was majoring in music, so maybe he would know about them. 

“CHANGBIN-AH!” You called, pulling up the album image and staring at the black silhouettes again. 

True to your word, your roommate walked into the room, staring at his phone. 

“Do you know these guys?” You ask, gesturing to the image on your computer screen. 

For some reason, Changbin visibly panicked, stuttering and stumbling over his sentences and fiddling with his hands. 

“N-No. I don’t think I’ve seen t-them before…” He trailed off. 

“Oh, okay! I’ll ask Hannie. Maybe he’d know.”

“NO! I mean n-no. He’s probably super busy. he has an exam, you know?” Binnie giggled nervously at the end. 

“Oh…well i’ll ask him later, then.” You shut your laptop. 

“Their music actually sounds super good! I like all the songs produced by SPEARB, though. They’re exactly my style. You should listen!” You ramble. 

“Really?!” He started, immediately changing the topic when you gave him a confused expression. “Um, so what’s for dinner?”

Needless to say, you knew Changbin was hiding something. Maybe he knew who they were and promised not to tell or something. 

That would make sense. Maybe. 

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

You stared at yourself in the mirror. The dress suited you, but you still felt awkward in it. 

It had been years since you had worn a dress, and you regretted it. 

“Y/N! I’m heading out, oka-woah…” Binnie stood at the doorway of your bedroom, staring at you in awe. 

He set his phone down and walked closer to you. 

“This is the first time you’ve worn a dress?” He smoothed out a crease near your waist.

“Mhm…I was just about to change, though. I feel awkward.” You blurt, turning towards the closet. 

A single hand on your waist stopped you. 

Slowly, you turned around and looked Binnie in his eyes. 

“It suits you. Please wear it.” He whispered softly, turning you around and fastening the zipper on the back. 

He grabbed a hairbrush from you drawer. turned so that both of you were facing the mirror. 

“You look so pretty, yeah? How come you don’t wear dresses more often?” He breathed out, brushing your hair neatly and tying it into a cute updo. 

“My mom…how do you know how to tie hair?” You grinned as he flushed pink. 

“Y/N…don’t tease me. You know I have a sister!” He whined, albeit still giggling. 

“Well, I guess we both have somewhere to go, huh?” You smile, genuinely, for the first time in a long time.  

“Mhm…stay safe, okay? No touching, not when you look this pretty.” Binnie winked, and you could feel blood rushing up to your cheeks. 

Then you understood what he was implying. “AGH! I’m not going to the bar, idiot! I’m a minor, remember?!” You slap him playfully, squeezing his bicep once and poking his side aggressively. 

He squawked loudly at the ticklish sensation, batting your hand away. Both of you ended up laughing your hearts out. 

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

Needless to say, somehow both of you were heading in the same direction, and Changbin offered to drop you off. 

You gave him the directions, and you noticed how he started to get more panicky the closer you got to the the concert. 

His face paled drastically when you both arrived at the stadium, and his eyes widened. 

“You don’t…by chance have a concert here, do you?” He whispered, sinking in his seat when you nodded your head. 

“Binnie? Are you okay?” You ask. 

“Yup. Completely fine. You know what? I gotta go. See ya!” He dropped you off and drove away, leaving you majorly confused. 

You entered the stadium and found Mina in no time. 

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

Changbin drove around a few times before parking at the same spot again, entering through the back door and meeting up with Chan and Jisung. 

Heading backstage, he explained the situation to the other two, panicking and gasping out. 

“Hey, hey. Changbin. It’s okay. I know she’ll know by today, but what is she gonna do? Either way she’ll figure out because of the internet, at least she’ll know in person , yeah?” Chan tried to calm the younger man down. 

“Hey, we’re in this together, okay? I didn’t tell her either, and i’m her bestie. I’m probably more screwed than you are! Now, let’s not let these nerves affect our performance, okay?” Jisung rubbed a hand along Binnie’s back, soothing the boy as he drank a glass of water. 

“Aaaagh. Of course she shows up at the one concert we reveal our faces.” Changbin groaned, turning in his chair to let the makeup artist continue his work. 

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

”Oh my god. I bet they’re really fucking hot.” Mina rambled, clearly ecstatic at the aspect of finally getting to see the artists’ faces. 

“Eh, it wouldn’t matter. They’re talented, and that’s all that matters.” You shrugged, turning towards the stage when the lights dimmed. 

You heard CB97’s voice echo throughout the huge stadium. 

“Lovely evening we have here today, yeah?” He walked out, removing his face mask. 

You audibly gasp. Chan. What the hell? 

“Woah. He’s smoking hot.” Mina giggled. 

“He’s my roommate’s best friend, what the fuck?” You breathe out, shock overtaking your entire body. 

Suddenly, all the pieces started fitting together. Wait. That means…

Jisung ran onto stage, the entire corwd erupting into excited cheer and chaos, and your jaw dropped. 

Finally, the two coaxed a very giggly Changbin from the stage lift, and you and Mina both froze. 

They started talking, but everything sounded like a blur. This is what he’d been hiding. 

“Girlie, isn’t that your…roommate?” Mina gasped, and you nodded your head frantically. 

Changbin’s eyes landed on you, directly in the middle of the crowd. 

He flushed pink and waved at you, grinning cutely and winking softly.  

‘What the fuck?’ You mouthed at him, bursting into disbelief filled laughter. 

He giggled and pursing his lips. 

They started performing, and though all three of them shined on stage, your eyes stayed on one person. 

He looked so…happy. He was so different from your shy roommate. 

He was so confident, flexing his muscles and biceps and causing your mind to turn to mush. 

Mina was right. They were really fucking hot. 

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

After the concert, you walked backstage, accompanied by Chan, who had secretly come to pick you up while Changbin and Jisung tapped freestyle on stage for the crowd’s entertainment. 

The stage curtain closed, and Changbin and Jisung ran into the backstage room, both running and squealing in adrenaline rush, before engulfing you in a huge hug. 

“Sooo?” Jisung started. “How was it? Youre the roommate of the super hot and famous Seo Changbin.” Changbin giggled at the end, slapping Hanji playfully. 

“Oh, stop it.” He turned to you, pursing his lips again and grinning softly. 

“How was it? Did I do okay?” He asked, clasping your hands in his, excitement flashing through his eyes. 

You were lost for words. “Wow-Changbin! This is absolutely insane! You did so well.” You ended off with squishing his cheek. 

“So pretty, so amazing. Your rapping is actually next-level.” You blurted, grabbing his face with both hands as he blushed a deep red. 

“Really?” He whispered, and you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before you could stop yourself. 

His eyes sparkled in happiness. You made sure to memorize every detail, to keep in your mind. 

You both stayed in each other’s arms for a while, Chan and Jisung’s knowing smirks passing over both of your heads. 

Once the other two had left to attend to Mina, Changbin immediately picked you up by the waist and spun you around, eliciting happy giggles from both of you. 

“You need to wear dresses more, seriously so pretty…” He murmured, resting his head against your collarbone. 

“I’ll get more, I don’t know which ones look good on me, though…” You sounded uncertain, sentence trailing off before Binnie interrupted. 

“I’ll come with you. Seriously need to spoil you every once in a while.” 

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masterlist | requests open!

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[megan-is-mia]

It’s been so long since we had some Idia. Can I get Mature Content Warning Yandere Starter Prompts #4 from your Yandere prompts 2 ? Nsfw pretty please?

(Hopefully i did idia justice) 4. “You’re mine. All mine.” (Yandere! Idia Shroud x Fem! S/o) (WARNING NON-CON AND NSFW AHEAD)

Idia must have kept the room cold on purpose to try and break her will. There was no other possible explanation as to why (Y/n) was kept in what felt like a meat locker day in and day out and denied access to clothing. She was forced to sit in the corner closest to the outside world, curled in a ball trying to not let her naked flesh be exposed any more than necessary. (Y/n)’s lips would be blue, her fingers and toes numb long before Idia would come to check on her and see if her mind had changed. See against all odds, the tech-inclined hermit had developed a bit of a thing for the girl. It was a one-sided romance that blossomed within Idia’s heart and drove him to do less than morally sound things like installing cameras into her room and stealing her clothes while she was away at class. For (Y/n)’s sake, she began to grow more and more paranoid as the weeks went by. Though she had no solid proof of it, she was sure that she was being stalked by something, someone. Her sleep was fitful, and she was slowly going mad with exhaustion when Idia finally made his move. One moment (Y/n) was walking down a hallway, the next she was being dragged off by robots to Ignihyde. She was deposited in the dormhead’s room and left to wait there until the prefect had returned. In that time she had plenty to think and try to figure out why she was there at all. Finally Idia made his appearance, and yet (Y/n) couldn’t think of a single thing to ask as he smiled wickedly.

Idia told (Y/n) of his feelings for her and that he wanted her to be his player two as it were. He must have been expecting a different answer to his proposition as he flinched away when the young woman began to yell furiously at him and shake him violently until his robots swarmed the room to restrain his darling. Idia was shaken by her objection but quickly regained his cool before ordering (Y/n) to be stripped down and put in the time-out room until she was ready to be agreeable. That had been a couple of days ago and (Y/n) was losing the will to resist. So when Idia opened the door to check on her, she threw herself at him and clung tightly. “Please… please dont leave me again…” she mumbles burying her face in the young man’s chest as his blue hair began to burn red with alarm at her sudden affection. “I won’t… but you gotta promise to be my player two… just say those magic words and I’m yours baby” he crooned running his fingers through her hair. “Please Idia...I wanna be your player two… i wanna play with you” (Y/n) said desperately and received a grin from Idia who scooped her up, carried her back to his bedroom, and dropped her on his bed. The young woman was so overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and the softness of the bed she didnt even notice that the young man taking his clothes off until his pants flew over her head as it was discarded. Once he was totally nude, the boy climbed onto the bed and began kissing his partner. “I-I-Idia? What are you doing?” (Y/n) stuttered out as she pulled away from the kiss and tried to push the young man away from her as he leaned in to kiss her again. “Kissing you, and maybe doing something more” Idia replied breathlessly before making out with (Y/n) some more as he began groping her body eagerly. The young woman wanted to fight him off but the fear of being thrown back into the cold kept her laying where she was all obediently for the young man.

Eventually Idia’s hands ventured down between (Y/n)’s thighs and his fingers probed her cunt curiously. The girl’s body jerked in response to having her inners invaded by the boy’s fingers. The young man grinned and drove his fingers deeper into her pussy stretching it out for what would come next. After a few moments he pulled his fingers out with a soft slurping noise and wrapped them around his cock before jerking himself off a few times to ready himself for the young woman.

Idia slowly inserted himself, sinking into (Y/n) with a low moan as their bodies met. “You feel really good around my cock” he crooned moving in and out of the young woman, breathing heavily through his teeth. The girl beneath him bit her lip trying to keep silent as her was forced to move with the boy’s thrusts and seeing stars through her half-closed lids. “Hey… do you feel good? Tell me please” Idia said squeezing one of (Y/n) breasts to get her attention back into the moment.

Of course she didnt want him to know how she was feeling but it wasnt like she had a choice, if she tried to play coy he would probably just fuck her harder to get a reaction. So with great relucance she nodded and received a kiss on the lips as Idia’s hips moved faster and faster. “You’re mine. All mine” he muttered softly reaching down to toy with (Y/n)’s clit. The young woman bit down even harder on her lip making it bleed as she was pushed towards orgasm. Eventually she was overwhelmed and cried out as she came. It only took a few more thrusts before Idia came as well, spilling into her with a groan. He pulled out after a few deep breaths and laid beside her. “That was even better than any of my hentai games made it look” he said happily snuggling up to (Y/n). “I can’t wait to tell my gaming friends about us becoming an item and Othro will be so excited about having a big sister figure” he went on blathering on about all the stuff he was looking forward to do with her while she began to drift off to the first semi-peacful sleep she’d had in months…

THE END

[amerrierworld]

The World is Changing

for the request: more nsfw galadriel/reader content? 👀

Summary: Galadriel travels to your world with you. And you introduce her to sex toys.

Characters: Galadriel x you

Word Count: 1,586

Warnings: SMUT. vibrators :) modern AU I guess? welcome to the sin bin

“That’s a microwave.”

“Fascinating.”

You snorted. Galadriel roamed about your home, touching and prodding unusual gadgets and unfamiliar items. 

She had jumped at the chance to come to Earth with you. Being one of the oldest beings in Middle Earth, there were few things that surprised her there, but here, amidst technology and modern culture, there were plenty of new experiences waiting.

She was wearing loose-fitted jeans that hung a little low on her hips. And when she reached up to one of your higher shelves, the knit sweater she had on rode up, revealing more gorgeous pale skin.

You salivated a little at the sight, but forced yourself back to the task at hand; making a decent meal for the both of you.

Her hair shimmered in the light of the setting sun. You offered her something to drink; she wanted to try one of those fizzy cans she’d seen you drink before.

Despite the childlike curiosity in her eyes, her body and demeanour still commanded nobility and respect like the Queen that she was. That quickly disappeared when she belched louder than you ever had, because of her idea to chug the sugary soda.

Dinner was grilled cheese, because you didn't feel like being original today, and you sat on the couch, eating, drinking, chatting. 

“Don’t you wish you’d gone to Valinor instead?” you asked her. “I mean, the Undying Lands, any place with a name like that sounds better than a world named after dirt.”

She chuckled, “one day I will. All Elves are destined to travel there. Our time in the mortal world always comes to an eventual close.”

Shuffling closer, she pulled your plate away and brushed her nose against your jaw, 

“But I wanted to experience something different before the end of all things. And you, meleth-nin, proved to be the most breath-taking change I could have hoped for.”

You squeaked as her lips sucked on a spot beneath your ear. She had a thing for ears.. maybe all Elves did. You couldn’t really think about it much as her malicious tongue swiped over your damp skin, making you shiver.

She pushed some pillows off the couch to make more room for her long legs  as she swung one over yours to straddle your lap. Your hands immediately roved over her ass, tight under the denim of her jeans. She squirmed a little in your hard grip, and kissed you on the mouth.

Your hips were starting to buck up, frustrated by the limitation of the clothes you were wearing. She gasped as you pushed up under her sweater, cupping her breasts- you had not yet introduced her to bras, mostly for the convenience of easy access when needed. Like right now.

You pulled your mouth away and trailed your lips down her neck, worrying your teeth along the column. Her body started rocking familiarly and your fingers tugged at her nipples.

“Fuck!”

Your body burst into flames. Galadriel barely ever swore, usually it was just you, but when she did, it was like an instant aphrodisiac.

Pulling away and tugging her sweater down, you held her ass firmly, making your eyes lock and you breathed,

“Bed.”

She was off your lap in a flash, her body thrumming with lust. You were nearly pulled off of your feet when she grabbed your hands and led you to the bedroom. Despite her slender figure, you were reminded of how strong she was, of the battles she had fought, and how somehow in some strange stroke of luck, this immortal Queen now desired you.

You successfully made it to the bedroom. She immediately wanted you naked, wanted to devour you, but you stopped her. 

“Take off your pants, and lay on the bed.”

She seemed startled by your command, but did as you asked. She pulled her hair out from the high pony tail she had been wearing, letting the long locks tumble down her shoulders, on the pillows. 

You returned with one of your favourite things to use in bed; a small, but extremely powerful vibrator. Her eyebrows furrowed at the strange shape and smooth texture as you showed her.

“This is a vibrator,” you showed her. “Do you wanna try it out?”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, but it may be a little intense the first time. I can show you, if you’d like. I’ll be gentle.”

Her breath hitched as you turned on the toy, the room filling with the low hum of the vibration. 

“And- where do you...”

“Wherever you want,” you replied sweetly. You pressed it to the side of her knee, and her jaw dropped a bit. Her legs fell open, giving you a clear view of the white panties you’d gotten her to wear. 

“If you wanna wear the jeans, please for the love of God wear underwear,” you had begged her, “that material is far too rough. You don’t want to chafe, I swear.”

Now you were exceptionally glad with your persuasion for her choice of wardrobe today, because her pale legs, her underwear barely showing, and the lovely soft sweater over her torso made her too beautiful for words.

“There’s plenty of other toys we can try, later,” you kept talking, pushing the vibe higher, pressing against the sensitive inside of her thighs. Her muscles tensed and her breathing sped up. 

“Y-yes,” she agreed, trying to maintain some sense of dignity as her resolve crumbled, “I-I think this will be sufficient for now.”

You grinned, flashing a smile at her which she weakly returned, and you took the opportunity to run it along the edge of her underwear, close to her clit, but not close enough.

The whine you received was like music.

“Th-thousands of years I’ve lived- a-and I’ve never-,” she choked out, hands scrabbling for purchase at the sheets underneath her heaving body. You avoided direct contact with her skin or her clit, wondering if you’d make her black out with how sensitively she was reacting to the toy. 

“This isn’t even the highest setting, baby,” you grinned, running it in slow circles over the hood of her clit. The panties she was wearing were soaked.

“T-turn it up higher,” she demanded. 

You paused. The only sounds were Galadriel’s gasps and the sound of the toy. 

“Are you sure?”

She pulled you closer by the back of your neck, mouth wide as she kissed you and devoured you, tongue licking into you. 

“Yes.”

You did as she asked, your own mind swimming with arousal, and her body began to tense, her gasps and groans going higher and higher in pitch as she neared orgasm.

Knowing she was close, you reached down with your other hand, pushed aside the panties enough for your fingers to slip through. You pressed inside, curled up and rubbed in that rough, delicious spot inside of her that made her scream, which she did.

Her body convulsed under your touch, thighs shaking as you held her down. One arm thrown over her face, gasping into the crook of her elbow. 

The Lady was sweating, her figure glimmering with a delicious sheen. You smiled wickedly as you tugged her arm away, revealing flushed cheeks and blown eyes. 

She pulled at your grip, wanting to hide her disheveled state, but you didn’t let her go, instead leaning forward and kissing her over and over. 

“Don’t pass out, please?” you begged her, watching her hooded eyes, “there's loads of other things we could try.”

“I don’t think I can handle any more of your world’s advancements,” she groaned, making you smile. 

“Then let me treat you with something a little more.. old-fashioned.”

You tugged her underwear off before she could protest, and nestled your face into her dripping cunt, licking up all of her juices and revelling in how sweet she smelled.

“O-oh, oh my,” she cried out, hands grabbing your hair as you feasted. 

You knew her libido was relentless; she’d pounced on you one or two times in  a way that made it clear she could be very sex-driven. So you pushed her to a second and third orgasm with ease, feeling her go limp and boneless by the time you finally finished licking her clean.

She was still wearing that adorable sweater, her long hair fanned out over your pillows, one leg pushed out far enough to dangle off of the edge of the bed.

She said something Elvish under her breath, body arching and trembling in the aftershocks. You urged her to sit up, tugged off the sweater, and she attacked your face with kisses, muttering sweet nothings, half of which you couldn’t understand.

Your body melted at her words nonetheless, filled with love and desire, and she never seemed to stop kissing you, 

“I may be the luckiest Elf alive,” she sighed, “who else has ever experienced such pleasure?”

Her words made you grin, because to you it was a simple, effective toy, but to her it was another world, another life entirely, something new and exciting. And you got to be the one to give it to her. The thought made your head spin.

You were sitting on the bed and she had crawled into your lap again, dipping her head low to kiss you, and her body began rocking against your thigh, signalling her need for more.

“Again?” you asked, turning up the vibe once more, and her eyes shone with mischief. She nodded, and you knew sleep was still a long way off for you.

A/N: this is basically like, polar opposite of my Hela/reader style of writing, and I don’t mind one bit :D hope u liked it my loves! wasn’t there something where CB had said Elves don’t wear underwear? Yeah I agree taglist: @the-obscurity​

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Raven Haired Rebel

Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which Loki and you make a breakthrough. Chapter Warnings: none I believe A/N: Happy reading folks :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedficrecs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​ @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely​ @laurenandloki​ @fallinallinmendes​ @sophlubbwriting​ @mooncat163​ @lokislittlesigyn​

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Masterlist 

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki had insisted on moving again before your team got to work. The team, of course, was really just you and him, but he liked the sound of it. Of having a whole little group to belong to. But, in reality, he didn’t. He had you, at least, and that was enough for now. Quite possibly for forever, if he were to be honest. After all, everyone always says it's better to have one true friend than a million who don’t care for you at all. Growing up, he’d had plenty of sycophants attach themselves to his hip, only to ignore him once they got close with Thor. That was before everyone decided Loki wasn’t even worth their time. The lonely, brooding sorcerer prince of Asgard deemed too unimportant to even use as a gateway to greater things.

You, however, were different; Loki could tell. Truly, you had nothing to gain and everything to lose by aligning yourself with him. Yet there you were, listening with rapt attention and big eyes, clinging to his every word. That was why his latest choice of motel was nicer than the previous one. He felt like you deserved it. The fact that there was only one bed was not his doing, he swore on his life. Alas, that was all that was available. He’d offered to take the floor so you could have it to yourself, but you insisted on sharing. And with all your stubbornness, who was he to resist?

Now, that’s not to say there weren’t problems with the set-up because there most certainly were. Like the fact that on the first night, despite falling asleep with his back toward you, he woke up facing you, an arm lazily wrapped around your waist. He could tell your sleep was feigned, an act he assumed was out of consideration for him so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. He’d whipped his arm away as quick as he could, rolling onto his back, the act making you open your eyes and blink innocently at him.

“You know,” you’d said, sleep still in the edges of your voice. “I really didn’t mind.”

“Thank you,” he’d cleared his throat. “But you do not have to say that just for my sake.”

You’d splayed a hand on his chest and leaned your body over his, making his heart stutter in his chest. “I’m not. I mean it.”

Before he could think of some reply- which with the way things were going, honestly could have been kissing you—you moved away from him. He laid there for a bit longer as you fixed yourself a breakfast of cereal. You put together a bowl for him, too, leaving it on his nightstand. Even that he did not touch for a bit, too lost in thought. He hadn’t been in touch with his emotions for quite some time. Now when he needed to most, he hoped he could be again.

Whether he understood his feelings or not, he stopped pulling away in the mornings. Because, yes, without fail, every time he woke up his arm was around you. You kept snuggling closer every night too; just that day he’d woken up to your head resting on his shoulder. He’d adjusted his haphazard grip on your body to hold you closer, tighter. It was a secure little bubble for the two of you to relish in, away from all the troubles of the world. How Loki wished he never had to leave it. Sadly, there was work to be done.

Currently, you were trying to find AIM’s secret headquarters. Loki was flipping through the files of intel he’d compiled, and you were tapping away on that computer device you had. You’d tried to explain how to use it, but it was lost on Loki. He promised to try again once you had more time. Which was odd, he thought, that you’d want to stick around him even after all this was over.

He wasn’t even exactly sure what he was going to do once his name was cleared. He didn’t particularly want to join SHIELD, though he felt that’s what you had in mind. So even if he didn’t agree to becoming the other half to a top secret crime fighting duo with you, would you still want to stay with him? What if he wanted to keep up this rebel, vigilante lifestyle? Would you keep traveling with him? He was pretty sure he’d miss you if you didn’t.

One thing he wouldn’t miss, however, was the fact you decided to put the TV on. The incessant blathering coming from the screen was beginning to annoy him. He’d tolerated it the whole week you’d spent together, but it was really getting on his last nerve now.

“Darling? Would you mind turning that off?” he asked.

“Do I have to?” you pouted. “I think better with the background noise.”

He walked over to the counter you were sitting on, going to grab the remote. You picked it up before he could and held it above your head so he couldn’t reach it. Unfortunately, even with the boost your perch on the countertop provided, he was devastatingly tall. You tried moving it back behind you a bit, too, but after a quick struggle, he seized it from your grasp with a smirk, hitting the power button.

“So some music then?” you asked with a grin.

“How about some peace and quiet?” he chuckled.

You playfully sighed. “Only for you.”

He hadn’t realized it during your little game, but he was standing between your legs so that they were wrapped around him a little. He knew it should have been oh so easy just to move away, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Your fingers began to run through his hair as he stood there, the tenderness startling him.

“What are you doing?” he puzzled when you stopped for a minute, only to start massaging his scalp.

“You seem stressed,” you shrugged, hesitating for a moment but ultimately deciding to continue. “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” he sighed in relief as he allowed tension to leave his body. “It is perfect.”

When you finished, ending by smoothing his mussed hair back down, he rested his head on your shoulder, eyes hidden in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist and you held him back, contentedly humming your approval. It was dangerous that he felt so attached to you, he thought. He was also surprisingly worried for you, but he could write that off in his mind as he felt like he was in your debt, something he didn’t like being in to anyone. The only way he felt certain he could repay it was by keeping you safe.

“Are you certain they will not find us, darling?” he checked. “That we should not move again?”

“We’re practically hiding in plain sight, and we haven’t really been out of this room in a week. We’ll be alright,” you assured him.

“Ok,” he acquiesced, though he was ready to protect you at any cost. His clever little darling mortal. But before he could analyze what all that really meant, something else occurred to him. “Wait a minute, that is it! Hiding in plain sight.”

You cocked your head at him as he pulled away a bit so he could look at you. “You mean... AIM is hiding in plain sight. Of course! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

“Well, it is just an idea. After all, we have checked their active facilities and found no suspicious activity there.”

“Good point,” you mused, going back to your computer. “But what about a site that’s not up and running yet?”

Loki looked on at the screen as you ran a few algorithms. He must admit, he was rather impressed as you quickly narrowed the options down location by location until only one was left.

“Here,” you said, turning the device so he could see it easier. “A new facility they’ve been ‘remodeling’ to make it the latest branch. But look when they bought it and started renovations; just a little over three months ago.”

“Which corresponds with the spike in their activity,” Loki caught on to your point. He took your hand and led you over to the bed where his files were laid out. “Hold on, I know I have a history of their transactions somewhere... Aha! Here, look; they have not bought very many items with which to refurbish a new building. Plus, those are not any of their usual contractors.”

“So that’s it then. That’s their base,” you said with a bubbling excitement. “So now we just have to get in.”

“No offense, darling, but are you sure you are up for it?”

“Yes,” you glared. “Besides, look at this. They’re ‘hiring.’”

Well, you were determined and clever, Loki had to give you that. The only problem being AIM was too. They were pretty good at keeping up a front, and he somehow had a feeling something would go terribly wrong. Still, some kind of backup would be nice. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings either. Norns, he really was going soft for you.

“Alright. So we go in for an interview and then sneak off to where they conduct their more unsavory business. But if we are going to clear my name, we have to let SHIELD know too,” he thought out loud.

“Easy,” you replied. “I’ll ping them our location once we get there. They’ll ship out immediately.”

“True,” he said, though he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of letting them know where he was, let alone where you were. However, he didn’t really see many other viable options. “Then I suppose we should set to work, darling.”

You were able to get interviews for that Wednesday, just a mere three days away. Loki had noticed a disclaimer at the bottom of the form that said you may be offered a job at a different location. How very clever of them, he thought, to multitask like that, keeping up a front and expanding their company at the same time. Then again, he felt like it wasn’t the smartest idea to let anyone into a place where you were cooking a nefarious plot. That’s what happened when people got secure in what they did, though. They got lazy.

Regardless, about twelve hours later, you were off to California for your appointments, hoping the cover of night would make it harder to track you. As the sun rose on your car driving along the interstate, Loki broke the comfortable silence that had settled between you, ready to say what had been on his mind for the past several miles.

“You know that if something goes awry, we will not be able to save the other, right?” he began. “It will jeopardize the mission.”

“I know,” you replied. “We have to focus on taking them down. It’s not like SHIELD will be particularly happy with me either if we fail.”

“Yes, well, I thought it was worth mentioning. I am glad we are in agreement.”

After a few more minutes of silence, you spoke again. “Hey, Loki?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I think I’m falling for you.”

“Then,” he answered, turning his head to look out the window in order to hide his blush. He wished he could say it as bluntly as you had, but his nerves made him settle for a slightly veiled confession. “I am glad we are in agreement about that too.”

[sungodlywriting]

snow sight

1.5k words

SFW, minors can interact

philza fluff

self hate, reader feeling like/describing themselves as a burden, description of eye pain (in the form of snow blindness)

A voice called your name. You barely heard, continuing to build the wall along your automatic farm project. You’d been out in the tundra all day, waking up extra early with the new build lighting up your mind from the moment you opened your eyes.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your muscles, the cold from the snow and the heat from your heavy winter clothes mixing in a horrific clash of senses. You’d had a headache for Gods knew how long, your vision had begun to blur as the sun’s glare off the snow reflected into your eyes.

A voice called your name, accompanied this time by a hand on your shoulder. You startled from the sudden contact, looking up into the eyes of your boyfriend. He was blurry at first, the stinging pain in your eyes coming into your consciousness full force as Phil pulled you from your hyperfixation.

“Hey babe..” You smiled, putting the spruce planks you’d been using back into your inventory. Your grip shook as you tried to unblur your sight, finally sliding the stack of planks into an empty spot. You saw Phil frown, knowing he was taking in your lack of goggles or your regular winter gloves.

“You didn’t come in for lunch, it’s almost sunset.” Phil gently fit your goggles over your head, placing the item over your eyes. Almost immediately, the stinging sensation from the snow’s reflection died down, becoming an annoying memory as Phil pulled you to stand.

Almost sunset? You had no idea you’d been out so long, your farm project stealing your sense of time right out from under your feet. You gave him a shrug and a lopsided smile.

“I didn’t have breakfast either, so..” Your joking tone died at the sight of his disapproving frown only getting worse, his gloved hand finding your freezing fingers and locking them with his own, turning back towards his cabin.

“Alright, that’s it, inside time,” You whined and made no move to pull your hand away from his, kicking through the snow like it had personally wronged you. 

“Phiiiilll…. I was almost done!”

“Nope, inside time.” You knew he would probably just carry you if you resisted, and a bit of rest for your eyes did actually sound great.

Once inside the cabin he sat you down on his crafting table, rolling his eyes at the playful grin you gave him at his choice of resting spot.

You didn’t remove your goggles, enjoying the shaded view they cast over your vision. Phil returned a few moments later with a water flask, a swirling pink potion, and a plate of still warm food. Your stomach let out a fierce grumble, heat rising to your cheeks as Phil gave you another of his disapproving frowns. He was good at that, speaking entire conversations with a single expression.

He set the food and water aside, fitting himself between your legs and reaching to remove your goggles. 

As he pulled the item off your face, you noted that your vision had cleared up a little already, and that most of the cabin’s windows had been shut, leaving the slivers of dying sun that slipped through the gaps in the shades and the warm glowing light of nearby lanterns.

Phil gently cupped your cheek, tilting your head side to side as he inspected your face.

“Snow blindness.” His tone dripped with worry and the ever present tinge of dismay he held when you weren’t taking care of yourself. You gave him a soft shrug, unable to tear your eyes away from the glittering lapis blue your boyfriend held in his gaze.

“I didn’t even think about bringing these..” You gently flicked your goggles from where they sat. “I was too excited.”

“I know.” His tone shifted into something softer, gentle and loving as he offered you the regen pot. You took it, shaking it gently in your hand and watching the contents swirl faster as you avoided the bitter taste you knew filled the bottle.

Phil watched with a playful smile, thumb rubbing over your cheek. “It’s not going to fix you up if all you do is stare at it.” You pouted at him, leaning into his gentle hold on your face.

“It tastes so bad, babe. Don’t make me..” You gave him your best puppy eyes, stopping after only a few moments at the still persistent sting. Annoyed at the pain, you took a deep breath and took a swig out of the bottle, your face twisting as the bitter liquid slid down your throat.

You made a noise of distaste, handing the bottle back to Phil with another pout. “There, tyrant, are you happy?”

Phil shook his head and set the bottle aside, chuckling softly at your antics as he offered you the water flask.

“I’m going to put the rest of this away,” He picked up the half empty potion bottle. “And that is half full. I want it empty by the time I get back.” He stepped away, walking through the door onto the shared bridge of you and Techno’s homes.

You stared balefully at the water flask, feeling your mood sink. You weren’t upset with Phil, not by any stretch of the imagination, more so that you’d gotten to the point where you were making him care for you, burdening him with your lack of self care.

You unscrewed the lid of Phil’s flask, taking a drink of water tainted bittersweet by your emotions.

By the time Phil returned you’d drained the water, flask set to the side while you pitifully picked at the plate of food he had given you several minutes ago. Your emotions had only continued to spiral in his absence, a dark pit filling up your stomach

“What’s wrong?” He was always so attuned to how you felt.

“Nothing..” You stuffed your mouth with a large bite, head drooped as if you could avoid the way Phil turned to face you. He spoke your name quietly, resting his hands on your thighs when he was close enough to touch you.

“I’m sorry.. I feel like such a burden on you.” You spoke truthfully, feeling a tingling in your eyes that had nothing to do with the regen potion’s effects. “You’re here, taking care of me because I was too useless to do it myself, and I pushed away my health and got too excited about my project and I-” You felt guilt and self hate overwhelm you, tears starting to drip from your eyes as you dropped your chin against your chest, not wanting Phil to see you cry.

“I don’t even know why I feel like this all of a sudden. It’s so stupid.” You felt ridiculous, whimpering like a little kid over your ridiculous emotions.

“Oh, songbird..” Phil cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. With gentle thumbs he wiped your tears away, unbothered by the fresh flood that came dripping onto his hands. “You’re not a burden, sweet thing. I’m taking care of you because I want to. I like looking after you, it makes me feel good to know I can help you. Knowing you trust me enough to let your guard down and let me take care of you is one of the best feelings in the world, love.” You sniffled and closed your eyes, your head leaning into one of his palms. “And you might feel like this because you’ve been pushing yourself to the bone all day, with no food or water, and probably not a lot of sleep last night.” He was right, as always. You’d spent most of the night thinking about fun ways to upgrade the efficiency of your farm, and once you’d finally gone to sleep you’d woken up early anyway to get to work. You nodded against his touch, pressing a teary kiss against his wrist and muttering a quiet apology. You felt silly now, having let your emotions get the better of you and make you make a fool of yourself in front of your boyfriend.

Phil gently shushed your apology and put your picked-at plate aside, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms. You tucked yourself closer against his chest and felt plenty of the stress you were weighing on yourself disappear as Phil walked the two of you towards the bedroom. He set you on the bed, disappearing for only a few seconds to grab your plate and set it on the nightstand. You kicked off your shoes as Phil stoked the fire in your bedroom, tossing your pajamas on the bed next to you. 

Less than five minutes later you were both tucked into bed, Phil’s arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders as you finished up the food he’d made for you.

When your plate was clean Phil kissed your forehead, keeping you close as you both laid down and extinguished the lanterns. The crackling fire across the room was still giving some light, the heat it was providing kept the two of you comfortable as you dozed off in each other’s embrace. After the day you had, you could really use some rest.

[shatouto]

eyes in liminality

(also on ao3)

The galaxy sees Obi-Wan Kenobi as the exemplary Jedi of the Order: calm, collected, and carefully detached. The galaxy sees Obi-Wan Kenobi as the aloof, accomplished being that he is reported to be: defeated a Sith when he was but an apprentice; training the Force’s son right after his knighting.

But if the galaxy truly has eyes, it would see that the child Kenobi is in his heart is not quite that much older than the child he carries under his wing. If the galaxy has eyes at all, they would see that deep inside Kenobi’s closet, hidden behind boxes and neatly folded clothing, there lies a redwood box that has not been opened in years. They would see inside the redwood box, where a coppery-auburn braid coils around a late Master’s lightsaber, silently reaching for its green Kyber core.

The galaxy does not have eyes.

——

The Council exits the Chamber of Ceremony in murmured chatter, leaving only the pair of former Master and newly-graduated Knight. Obi-Wan looks to his student, now a grown Jedi, with such pride in his chest that he cannot help but smile. Anakin is flushed and grinning ear-to-ear at him, bathed in the streams of early afternoon light that flow freely through tall windows. For a fraction of a second Obi-Wan wonders what it feels like to be Anakin right now. What it feels like to be knighted by your Master’s own warm hands and have them squeeze your shoulders as you think of a good gift-wrapping sentence to give them the severed braid in your hand.

Anakin fiddles with the golden cord of hair, twists it between his fingers. He has never been able to hide his fidgeting, and it isn’t as though Obi-Wan minds. It’s not quite proper, yes, but it is harmless. And quite endearing, although Obi-Wan would keep this remark to himself.

“Shall we walk back?”

Anakin nods, and shuffles closer to him as they traverse the hallways. Silence is barely noticeable between them, silken as a spring breeze and warm as a morning kiss. Anakin’s hands are firmly tucked into his sleeves, where Obi-Wan imagines he’s still wrapping and unwrapping the Padawan braid around his fingers. Obi-Wan stops himself before he could start wondering to whom Anakin is going to gift it. A Padawan’s severed braid is the most cherished, tangible remnant of their apprenticeship; the physical embodiment of their will and wits; the culmination of years of blood, sweat and tears. It is no small matter to decide who to entrust it, and it is often the case that a newly-knighted Jedi would place it in the hands of their former mentor as a token of gratitude and a treasured memento.

It is a privilege to be able to do so.

But, evidently, it is by no mean a mandatory practice. Some former Padawans do give their braids to their closest friends. Legends even have it that one old Master was known for having encased her braid in amber, like a pendant, and put it around the neck of her beloved varactyl. While uncommon, it isn’t unheard of that a former apprentice gave their Padawan braid to someone other than their Master. It is ultimately the decision of the individual fresh Knight, and they have no obligations to disclose the destinator of their braid nor the reason therefore. It should be keenly noted that not receiving their former apprentice’s Padawan braid does not reflect a failing on the part of the Master.

So Obi-Wan tells himself, when Anakin never comes to him with the golden braid.

It has been months after the ceremony, and he still wakes up some mornings wondering why.

He shouldn’t. It is utterly unbecoming of a Jedi to be so mired in such small matters. He knows better than anyone else that Anakin, his apprentice, his student, his friend, and often his mission partner, does not owe it to him. The fact that he is not Anakin’s first choice only means that somebody else has been cherishing Anakin better than he did. That is not, strictly, a Master’s failure. A personal failure, perhaps, but such a line of thoughts is unbearable and so opposed to the Code that Obi-Wan has little choice but to forfeit it. Moving on and living in the present is the only way, especially for a Jedi Master of his station.

And if he cannot, if the buried wounds fester and ache on lonesome starless night, then he has only himself to blame.

——

“Knight Skywalker… Skywalker!”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin dodges a hapless stranger who’s caught in the chase. He hops towards the stairs. “I need to go. I swear I’ll be back by this evening!”

“You have never kept that kind of promise in your life!” The healer who’s chasing after him is breathless and exasperated and, well, angry, although anger is unbefitting of a Jedi. “Knight Skywalker, come back here!”

“Sorry!” Anakin yells, without much thought, climbing over the spiral stairway’s railings. He drops himself down. Air reels through his hair as he free-falls, and he lands on his feet, only mildly aching where his shoulder has just been bandaged.

The ground is a little dented, but that’s not his problem.

He dashes across the corridor and catches a lift tube before the healer can send someone after him. Usually, this is where they give up - no use wasting so much time and effort on a runaway patient when there are plenty others in need - and Anakin is fairly sure this time it is the case too. He just has to be safe. He needs proper time, this time.

Because Obi-Wan has just gotten back to the Temple, and Anakin is finally ready.

He can just follow his Master’s light - he can do that even when they’re separated on an unknown mountainous planet covered in perennial fog, much less here in the Temple where the Force sings in their veins. He runs so fast he’s nearly gliding through the air, feet barely touching the ground. Obi-Wan’s signature beckons him in the most innocuous way, their bond glowing despite the conclusion of his apprenticeship about half a year ago. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t done what all former Padawans are meant to do; although Anakin doubts the dissolution of a decade-long mental link is as simple as giving away one piece of yourself. He’s going to do that now, in any case.

(He hopes that doesn’t do anything to their bond, really.)

The door to their quarters slide open and Anakin hurries in, already smiling to feel Obi-Wan so near. Obi-Wan’s pack is still on the couch, and his shuffling in the kitchenette can be heard all the way from the main door. Anakin makes a beeline for it.

“Master,” he greets, so sure that Obi-Wan has also picked up on his presence that it surprises him a little to see Obi-Wan turn around slightly wide-eyed as if unaware. Still, his Master nods with the subtlest smile under his whisker and a tilt of the head. And then immediately he furrows his brows.

“Anakin, those are infirmary robes. Did you just—”

Anakin cuts in; there’s no time. “I have something I need to give to you.”

Obi-Wan stares at him for a blank moment. “Is it something so important that you felt the need to cut your own treatment short for?” He gestures, eyes already intent on the bandages peeking out from under the too-loose vee of Anakin’s tunic.

“It is.” Anakin nods firmly.

He bids Obi-Wan to stay and wait and disappears into his bedroom. He’s kept it in a little leather pouch with suede drawstrings; dark and nothing elaborate, but sturdy and waterproof. He would have embroidered it if he had the time; although, if he thinks about it, it might be better this way, purely practical in a way that Obi-Wan would have appreciated more. Anakin’s not sure, really. He is working himself into nervousness and he needs to get out of this room before his courage fails him in the most crucial moment.

His Master is still standing in wait in the middle of the living room by the time he returns. Briefly Anakin wonders why Obi-Wan doesn’t take a seat; but there isn’t any time to question that now.

(Maybe if Anakin is any less distracted by the fluttering in his stomach, he would have noticed Obi-Wan’s hands bunched beneath his great sleeves, the way he always does to hide his own anxiety.)

He positions himself before Obi-Wan, almost stilted with his sudden compulsion for solemnity. He blinks, and smiles, and he thinks he has whispered Here it is, or he might’ve only thought the words and hoped Obi-Wan heard them too. Either way, he opens the pouch, gingerly pulls out the item. He takes Obi-Wan’s hand, and presses into it a bracelet.

A bracelet made of Anakin’s braid.

Gentle light sheens on the golden cord. Strung onto it are a few Japor beads that has taken Anakin quite some time to find. They rest snugly against the old bands - red, for piloting, and blue, for mechanics - that Obi-Wan has tied on with his own hands years ago. The ends of the braid are secured with lightsaber-steel caps and connected to a clasp. It lies serenely against the valley of Obi-Wan’s palm, almost glowing in the early afternoon sun.

Silence. Anakin peeks at his former Master’s face from under his lashes, chewing the inside of his mouth. He’ll be the first to admit that he has gone the unusual route. He can already imagine some other Master calling it frivolous, even. Not that he cares. He doesn’t care about anybody’s possible comment or side-eye at this moment, or ever. Just Obi-Wan’s.

And Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted, but that is about it. Although surprise has never shown itself so blatantly on Obi-Wan’s face, it’s still such an understated display. Anakin’s bravery is slowly seeping down the drain, his heart thumping madly all the way to his trembling fingertips.

“I, uh, I made it,” he says, just to say something. Obi-Wan’s lashes flutter as if he is only blinking himself awake then. Anakin swallows thickly, and continues, “I figured that, um, this way, you could wear it if you wanted to. You don’t have to wear it, of course! You can keep the pouch. I mean you can keep it with the pouch. Keep it in the pouch.” Anakin winces, tripping over his words. “I’m not going to take it back, it’s still my Padawan braid which you—”

“Thank you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan smiles, and Anakin freezes. His Master’s warm hand with all of its familiar calluses closes around his own, squeezing around his knuckles in a clear display of affectedness. There’s that flush across Obi-Wan’s face too, tinting his ears pink.

“You’re welcome. Sorry it took so long.” Anakin grins, even as the corners of his lips wobble and his eyes sting because Obi-Wan is unclasping the bracelet right then and there. He intercepts. “Here, Master, let me put it on for you.”

So he takes Obi-Wan’s hand and he rolls down the undertunic sleeve a little bit; he secures the braid around his Master’s wrist and he pulls the sleeve above it, safely concealing that part of himself on Obi-Wan’s person. He pats the spot and can’t bring himself to pull away.

Obi-Wan doesn’t, either. He leaves out a moment before speaking up so tenderly: “Anakin?”

“I just…” Anakin struggles. He lingers in the liminality between apprenticeship and knighthood even as they stand as equals, tethering himself onto the former Master with whom his bond still shines. “I need a moment.”

Obi-Wan holds his, and now both of their hands are linked together, fingers upon fingers, closing around each other like layers of mutual protection. Their hands are about the same size now, aren’t they? There was a time when his whole spread hand would fit into Obi-Wan’s palm like a tiny starfish, no more. Anakin brushes a thumb over this one scar on the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. He can’t remember who saved whose life that time. It’s not like there is a difference, anyway.

“...So do I,” says Obi-Wan, so quietly. Something wavers in his voice and glistens in his eyes and Anakin can see it. Anakin sees it all.

——

Perhaps, the galaxy does have eyes.

[silverpaintedstars]

Well, here’s a first chapter for y’all! Disclaimer it’s a little long, so be prepared for scrolling. I had a lot of fun writing this one

(if you havent read the prologue might wanna do that)

Chapter One: A Meal, An Encounter, and A Walk

He should be dead.

Somehow, though, he was alive.

But it felt like the opposite.

There was the left-over pain from the shadows, and on top of that, his face stung terribly. But he was alive, and he’d take that. Elliot didn’t open his eyes yet, still getting used to the fact that there was more life to live, and how he was going to use it.

It felt like he was laying on grass, or something of the likes. At any rate it was quiet, and he needed this moment of peace. He was lucky to snag them whenever he could, few and far between.

Finally he groaned and wrenched his eyes open. Grey sky greeted him overhead. He was laying on damp brush, rough and overgrown. Not too far from his original guess. A few trees dotted the land around, but he saw no other living form on this desolate wasteland.

Mustering all his energy, he slowly sat up, his head throbbing from the effort. He still had his traveling cloak over his shoulders, but whoever had put him here didn’t think to give him a bag or something?

Whoever had put him here…

Elliot looked around, then yelped.

On a rather large rock to his left, a black-clad figure sat, watching him. He wore a rather curious black mask around his eyes. A few strands of white hair peeked out from under his black hood. A scarf waved in the breeze, and a sword was buckled at his side.

All in all, he looked quite impressive, and like he could kill Elliot any second.

The black-cloaked young man quirked a small smile, his eyes completely concealed so Elliot couldn’t see any emotion from there. Clearly he knew Elliot had seen him but made no move towards his sword.

Elliot remained perfectly still, eyes wide and heart thumping. Did this person bring him here? Or simply stumble upon him? Not knowing made him feel even more helpless.

After a moment of the two staring at each other, the young man deftly hopped off his rock and strode towards Elliot, quickly closing the few yards between them. His boots flattened the tall grass, forming a temporary path.

Elliot swallowed, knowing he should run, but he was half curious what this stranger wanted, plus he doubted he could run faster.

The stranger stopped right in front of Elliot, who was still on the ground, staring up at him.

What he could see of his face betrayed no emotion as he reached a hand down, in the direction of his sheathed sword.

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, frantically trying to shuffle back in the process. But when he heard no telltale shhhk of the weapon being drawn, he cautiously opened his eyes again.

A grey-gloved hand was outstretched in front of him.

Confused, ELliot looked back up at the stranger, who nodded his head towards his hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Ellliot limply grabbed it, his joints popping as the stranger pulled him to standing. Elliot dusted himself off, wobbling a bit. His face still hurt and he was terribly sore, but it was something he could bear to live with.

“Careful, traveler. Might get stepped on down there,” the stranger said. His voice didn’t quite match the rest of his outward appearance. Lower, a little hesitant but still confident. Elliot didn’t yet know if he could trust this stranger, but a part of him very much wanted to.

“Uh--em--tha-thank you,” Elliot warbled out, rubbing at his hands.

The stranger tipped his head slightly to the left. “And you are welcome.”

“Wh-who are you?” Elliot asked, knowing that stereotypical question had to be asked at some point.

“Around here you can call me Reaper.”

Elliot blinked. “Around here?”

“Yes.” He offered no further explanation. “I trust you are in need of food?”

Elliot hadn’t gotten there in his train of thought yet, but when it came around he found he was quite ready to board the car of food. His stomach grumbled hard when he found that inside this car were piles of food-breads, fruits, soups, and sweets. “Yes,” he said aloud, adding a hasty, ‘sir,” because it sounded safer.

Reaper smiled, pulling a wrapped parcel out of a bag hidden under his cloak. Inside were contents that added more memories to his car of food. A loaf of bread with a bit already broken off, a chunk of cheese, and an apple. He sat on the hard ground in one swift motion, crossing his legs underneath him and spreading the food on the paper, placing it on the ground.

Elliot clumsily sat across from Reaper, hungrily eying the food as more items filled his car as he looked at them.

Reaper tilted his head, as if studying him. “Go on.”

Elliot grabbed at the bread, tearing a hunk off and stuffing it in his mouth. He tried to go slow, act like he had some idea of manners, but the food tasted so good in comparison to what he was used to. Fresh bread--a rare thing for him. He was more used to barren soups, thin, watery things. This tasted a thousand times better, and Elliot felt himself feeling a sense of peace--despite dining with a stranger.

“So tell me,” Reaper said, watching Elliot eat, “how a High Elf like you wound up sixty miles from Orlem.”

He was that far away?

Elliot glanced down at his left hand, which bore the mark of a High Elf--black swirls along the side. He rubbed it. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. So then, Reaper hadn’t brought him here? Just...found him? He reached for the apple and took a meek bite, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“Quite a scar,” Reaper said after a few more minutes of almost quiet, save Elliot’s chewing.

Elliot trailed a finger along the ridge, not trusting himself to be able to say anything. He ducked his head, letting his long hair hang over his face. He had finished eating and stared down at the ground, his head aching not just from physical wounds, but from memories triggered by it. Terrible memories. He willed them away, but it didn’t really go away. Just retreated until another vulnerable moment.

Why was he here? He was certain his father--no, the king--had killed him. He didn’t deserve the title father anymore. Elliot could bear king but not father.

And who was Reaper? Why was a random stranger being so kind to this small Elf boy? Elliot didn’t deserve this. He’d never even had someone really be nice to him before. Except Moss. But she was gone.

“Wh-where are we?” he asked Reaper, dragging himself out from his maze of thoughts.

“About a mile from Holden,” Reaper answered.

Holden. A town. Elliot had never been there, his few leavings of Orlem, the capital of Lucero, north rather than east, where Holden lay. He’d studied the geography of Lucero and the neighboring kingdoms, Chexon and Andromarche, before, so he vaguely knew the rough area.

What was so important about Holden? Was there a reason he had woken up here? Or was it simply...more convenient? He could think of plenty of wasteland around Orlem that would’ve suited the same need, but was closer.

“So…” Elliot started, trying to order his thoughts. “You--found me?”

Reaper nodded. “I was headed to Holden and came upon you. I couldn’t exactly leave someone in your, ah, condition.” For some reason Elliot got the feeling he didn’t mean his wounds.

Reaper rubbed his neck in an almost grabbing way. “To put it this way--most you meet will not sympathize with you. Since Loot has the throne, life has been difficult for most people, from cause of Elves.”

Oh. Elliot let that sink in. Because...of his father, people just associated elves with bad? And Reaper didn’t even know his father was the king.

“You’re lucky I found you,” Reaper added, snapping a twig in his gloved hands and making Elliot jump.

The world suddenly seemed a very messy place, and he’d been thrust in headfirst with no warning. He wasn’t quite sure what to do or say, so he just took another bite of bread.

“Now I know you probably don’t completely trust me,” Reaper continued, “and you just met me twenty or so minutes ago, but we can’t stay here very long. Benedons roam these parts, but the closer we move to Holden, the safer we are.”

Elliot definitely didn’t want to have to encounter a Benedon, a fanged, sharp-clawed creature. And there was a part that desperately wanted to trust Reaper. If he’d wanted to kill him, he could’ve. Elliot didn’t doubt that. But he hadn’t--and he’d given him food. So he had at least one good reason to trust him. But was it enough? He didn’t know who lay behind the mask. For all he knew, they were nowhere near Holden and Reaper was really leading him to his death.

He could never know.

But there was only one way to truly be sure.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Reaper said, looking around. “Because I doubt you have a choice.” He looked back at Elliot. “Rest a while longer--you don’t yet look strong. Then we will leave.”

Elliot nodded, wondering how he was supposed to rest.

Turns out he didn’t have to think about it, for he lay back in the grass and promptly fell asleep.

He woke up some time later to see Reaper anxiously studying the sky, where the grey had grown darker. He hadn’t noticed Elliot was awake.

Slowly he sat up, rubbing the cloud from his eyes and head. Reaper looked over and saw him. “Good, you’re awake,” he said. “We should be off. If it stays clear we should make it before nightfall, but it looks like storms. Though I know a shelter if we need it.”

Elliot listened to his words in silence. When Reaper had finished he made his way to standing with an amount of effort. His legs were sore and his head began to hurt again, but he made it. Reaper nodded.

“You seem well enough to walk. You feel so?” he asked, shifting the sword scabbard around his waist.

“I-I think so,” Elliot repeated, trying to convince himself that the words were true.

“Then off we will be,” Reaper replied with a readiness to his voice that Elliot couldn’t quite match.

They began to walk east, though it was hard to tell with the clouded sky, but Reaper seemed to know the direction, which didn’t really surprise Elliot. His strength still was weak, but he managed to get in a groove to walk, heaving breaths but refusing to ask for a rest, wanting to prove he could do this.

Yeah, well, he wasn't convincing himself.

At all.

They walked in silence, Reaper still kept looking at the sky, making Elliot start to worry himself if they would get caught in the rain. They had been walking for about forty-five minutes when Elliot felt it.

A drop of wet.

At first he thought it was a bead of sweat from how hard he was pushing himself, but when he felt another, he looked up, confused. Another drop hit him right between the eyes. “Um-eh-Reaper?” he said in a quiet tone. Reaper didn’t hear him. “R-reaper?”

Reaper looked at him. “Yes?” He wouldn’t feel the rain with his hood and cloak, Elliot figured.

Elliot opened his mouth to speak, when the whole sky opened up. He was drenched in approximately twenty one seconds.

Reaper let out a frustrated huff of air, the first time Elliot saw him drop the calm facade. “Come on--there’s a place just over this next way.”

“How far?” Elliot asked, but was lost in the torrent. He followed Reaper, almost running in the rain. His cloak was soaked through, his hair dripping rain in his eyes. He could barely see ten feet ahead of him, but he could see Reaper’s scarf, and followed that blindly like a lighthouse on a ravaging sea.

He squinted, rainwater running into his eyes and his strength almost completely gone, but if Reaper promised shelter--he would push himself as much as he could to get to it and out of this rain.

Finally he saw a blur of yellow. He wiped his eyes and it focused into a small building that was just coming into view from behind a small hill. “I-is that it?” he had to pretty much shout to Reaper over the wet.

“Yes,” Reaper called back. “We will stop there.”

Elliot let out a breath of relief. Finally, he could rest. He could stop and maybe, just maybe, feel safe. Of course, that was making a rather large assumption, but one could dream, couldn’t they? If you weren’t even safe enough to dream, then you were truly cut off from your largest freedom.

Then a crack of lightning struck somewhere close and he jumped, knocked from his thoughts yet again, remembering that he was still in the middle of a storm.

The building--or whatever--was closer now, and thanks to the light from within, he could make out Reaper, the clouds completely snuffing out the natural light. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but it was darkening towards it.

Elliot wrapped his dripping cloak around himself, utterly miserable in the wet, feeling like a cat out here. Finally, finally, he and Reaper stepped onto the small porch of the shack, sheltered after what felt like an eternity.

Reaper threw his soaked hood back, his white-grey hair also dripping into his black mask, but he kept that on. “We may have to stay here through the night,” he told Elliot, looking out at the desolate, wet land around. “Walking around in this isn’t quite my fancy, though we are not far from Holden.”

Elliot only nodded, trying to peer through one of the windows that opened onto the porch, but there was a cloth thrown across it on the inside, blocking his view. “What is this place?” he asked Reaper.

“Think of it like an inn for us...vagabonds,” Reaper said. “But less ravish.”

“Oh.” Vagabonds? Was he considered that now? Reaper definitely fit that category, at least from the time he’d known him. But he wouldn’t have labeled himself one before, but maybe now.

“Well then,” Reaper said, wringing the end of his cloak off and dripping into small puddles on the ground, “shall we go inside?”

Elliot definitely had no idea what to expect in this ‘inn for vagabonds’, in Reaper’s terms. But he supposed he would have no idea what to expect of anything he encountered from here on out.

“I-I guess we will,” he said, swallowing and moistening his throat, ironically enough the only part that seemed dry.

Reaper opened the wooden door, and it whined on the hinges. Then he and Elliot stepped inside, out of the external terrors, and into the internal mysteries.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Mominette AU: The Superhero Ban

TRIGGER WARNING!

TRIGGER WARNING!

TRIGGER WARNING!

___________________________________________

It was an indisputable fact that Paris had been the first city to institute the infamous “Supers Ban”. The Justice League knew it. Heroes knew it. Villains knew it. The whole world knew it.

What nobody knew was “why”.

Sure, there had been comments in political circles. Some minor news outlets had mentioned Paris as the latest place where the idea was being considered. But nobody had thought they were serious.

Not until it had been made into law and the Mayor of Paris held a press conference to announce it.

Those who didn’t take it seriously certainly did when Superman himself attempted to go to the Mayor to discuss the matter. And was promptly arrested the instant he set foot in the city.

Outrage was immediate. Cries of discrimination rang out across the world and even at the UN. Various politicians decried the act. Many celebrities admonished it. A good number of people threatened to boycott Paris (which turned out to be for the best as far as Andre and most of Paris was concerned, given that a decrease in tourism meant less people for Hawk Moth to target or the heroes to have to pull out of the fray due to gawking).

Yet a year passed and the ban remained. Even the League would not cross it. Eventually, it just became an accepted fact of the world. Everyone knew to stay out of Paris.

And yet it was still unknown as to why.

Well, people suspected, of course. There were other things happening around the time that seemed to be involved.

It possibly started with the 12 hour timeframe where all of Paris had been closed off. Its citizens had been forced to evacuate. All communication lines were down, and no one from outside of the city had been able to contact anyone from within it. It was news stations in nearby cities that picked up on the fighting and tried to report it, but only several hours after it had started and they seemed to play it off as some sort of freak lighting storm.

Afterwards, things had been strange, but also easily overlooked. The Ladyblogger had gone dark for a several day period. Similarly, the regular correspondent for Paris News, Nadja Chamack had taken a leave of absence. Resident hero Chat Noir had suddenly gotten involved in matters with City Hall, resulting in talk of the hero going into a career in politics. “Chat Noir for President” became a short-lived meme.

It all appeared to come down to a specific “incident”. An akuma fight worse than any other before it. But no one would speak of it. And no information about it was available.

Except for one thing.

There were reports of the existence of video footage of the fight. The Ladyblog had supposedly crashed during a livestream of the mess due to the number of people watching it. Plenty of news reports during that time referenced it. It was rumored to have been played before the city council, resulting in unanimous support of the ban. But what was on the video remained a mystery and any remnant of the video itself couldn’t be found.

Which shouldn’t be possible with the internet. Conspiracy theories abound on the matter—some saying there was no footage in the first place and others saying it was so horrible as to have been erased by time traveling aliens.

In truth, it was the work of a hacker. One of considerable skill to wipe out any trace of this video and not be discovered. There were people willing to pay millions just for a segment of the footage. Plenty of hackers across the world had tested their skills to find even a trace of the original video to no avail.

These other hackers were not Robin.

“I got the footage.” He announced as he held up the USB drive.

Superbly started in surprise, staring at the item in the Boy Wonder’s hand. “This is it?”

“Supposedly.” Robin replied with a shrug.

The Holy Grail of hidden data. A hacker’s ultimate prize. Every journalist and tabloid reporter’s wet dream.

“I haven’t watched it myself,” as he felt it wasn’t his right to intrude on this when it was an issue of his friend’s family, “so I don’t know what’s on there. But whatever’s in this, it’s safe to say it isn’t going to be pretty.”

That was putting it lightly. The video had been so deeply hidden that it was its own urban legend at this point. The incident it showed was bad enough to not only warrant it being hidden from the world, but to set off the “Paris Supers Ban” and arrest of Superman.

The death of a hero was always big news. Even if it’s only barely avoided.

The fact that anyone could HIDE it spoke volumes. Both in regards to the original censor’s ability as well as the importance of the data itself.

Conner nodded, resolute.

“I need to know.”

Robin handed over the device. He probably should have taken it to Batman…probably. But this was Conner’s case. His family. It was his right to decide what to do with the information.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were…accepting of Conner to say the least. They allowed him to enter Paris despite the ban. They let him help. They were kind and accommodating and quite frankly everything that Conner needed.

But…they weren’t exactly open. Not about certain things.

This was one of those things, and Conner had been wanting answers about the “Incident” that cut Paris off from the Superhero world. What made them finally say “enough”? He would ask, but nobody knew. The few who did know refused to speak of it.

Conner wanted to know why. What had they experienced that was so horrible?

Maybe it was a way of feeling closer to them?

Maybe it was a way to understand them better?

Maybe it was just wanting to see the harder things they had faced?

“We’ll be right here with you, Conner.” Wally reassured him when his hands started to shake.

“Remember, you’ll have full access of the gym and training grounds, but you won’t be allowed to leave the Mountain for 24 hours after this.” Kaldur gently stated. Partly to remind Conner of the agreement, lest he attempt to run off to Paris in anger or fear and risk an akuma. Partly to subtly prompt everyone else to ensure that Conner does not accomplish the former.

Still…the choice was already clear.

Conner put the drive into the computer and pressed play.

The video only lasted a few minutes.

A few minutes was more than enough.

_______________________

“Oh…oh my god.” Came the words of the person recording, her voice as shaky as her hands that held the camera.

The damage was…extensive. Rubble, broken glass, and downed buildings littered the background. There was a sad mix of gray and brown as far as the eye could see. Of the destroyed roads and pavement. Of steel beams littering the ground. Of rock and dirt and what may very well have been ash.

Amidst the ruined landscape, there was one spot of color. A bright red standing out amidst the muted neutral around her. Normally a source of bravery and inspiration, it took a few seconds for the camera to get her properly in focus, and a few more for it to register that there was significantly more red in the scene than there should have been.

Ladybug wasn’t standing so much as she was leaning backwards in a half-upright position. Forced to stay on her legs despite her clear lack of strength. The only thing holding her up were the very things responsible for her current state…three steel spikes that extended from the ground beneath her.

They were exiting her torso. One piercing the upper left part of her body, right close to her shoulder. One through her naval. And the third on the right side, for all purposes appearing to have hit a lung.

She was breathing, though it was clearly labored. She was constantly torn between some variation of taking a gasping breath in and crying it out. Her suit could protect her—it was supposed to protect her from anything, but even this was too much.

It was clear she couldn’t move. She had to remain there, impaled on steel. Both to limit her injuries as much as possible and just due to inability from the sheer pain she was in.

The camera was focused on her, though it was shaky at best. The person recording it could be heard muttering unintelligibly with some mention of a hospital and frequent repetition of “oh god” thrown in. Some noise could be heard in the background of someone sounding quite ill, which was understandable given the sight of their hero impaled and choking on her own blood.

Within a minute of the video starting, the crunching sound of boots running on glass and stones could be heard coming closer. The sound of panting grew louder as Chat Noir cleared a hill and entered into view, rushing and stumbling towards Ladybug while holding something in front of him.

The camera zoomed on him, bringing him into focus as he cleared the last hurdle.

“I’ve got it!” Chat exclaimed, racing back to her side with her yoyo in hand. “I’ve got it! It’s okay. It’s over. It’s over now. It’s finished. He’s done.”

“Sh…Ch…” Her head hung limply and her eyes were barely able to focus on him as he tried to get her to look at him without moving her too much.

“It—It’s okay! It’s going to be okay!” He whispered to her, so softly that the camera barely caught it. He was clearly panicked and trying desperately not to let it show. “We just need the Cure. If you cast the Cure, everything will be better, okay?”

She didn’t appear to be listening, though. And barely seemed aware of anything. “Ch-ck…Chaaa…”

The video zoomed in on them both. Ladybug dazed and bleeding out. Chat crying and trying not to break down completely.

“Please! I just need you to say the words! Say the words and you’ll be okay! Can you do that?”

“Huurrr…s…” She slurred, begging him without words for help.

“I know! I know! But you can fix it. C’mon, M’lady, please!”

“I…I cn…”

“Say the words. Just two words, okay?” He begged desperately, patting her cheek in an attempt to both soothe her and keep her attention on him. “Two words and then you can go to sleep, I promise.”

“Ch…a…”

“Just…just two words, that’s it! I’ll…I’ll even say them with you, okay?”

She winced. “Nn…”

She clearly wasn’t listening, but he was desperate and so started to try. “Miraculous—”

She sobbed.

“No, no. Listen to me, okay? Say it with me!” He ordered, forcing her to look at him. “Mi. Say it with me! Mi!”

“M…mi…”

“Racu!”

“ra…” Her gaze started to waver.

He shook her. “Cu!”

“…cu…lous…”

He gave a weak laugh. Even now she was ahead of him. “Ladybug.”

“La…laa-deee…”

He shook her again. “LADYBUG!”

“……b…u—gahck-ugh—" She was cut off by harsh coughing.

But it was enough.

Thank every god out there it was enough.

The Cure spilled out from the object she was holding, transforming into magical ladybugs that covered everything in their wake. Unfortunately, the casting of the Cure and incoming loveliness caused the person holding the camera to drop it, losing sight of the video and cutting the feed.

_______________________

The ringing of her phone got Marinette’s attention, drawing her away from the movie she was watching with Adrien and the Dolls.

“Hello?”

“Miss Ladybug.” Came the voice on the end. “This is Aqualad.”

She blinked in surprise. “Aqualad? Is everything okay?”

“Yes…just…” The sound of angry whispers could be heard on the other end. “Would you be able to come speak with Conner today?”

Marinette frowned at that. While she certainly enjoyed seeing Conner, that…didn’t sound like a good thing. If anything, it sounded like a plea. And the voices that sounded like an argument in the background only made it sound worse.

“Is everything okay?”

Adrien seemed to notice the concern in her voice as he had stopped paying attention to the movie to focus on her. In turn, Chaton was peeking over the couch at her, curious as to what was going on.

“No. We found a recording of something…personal to you. Conner saw it and now he’s rather upset. We think it might help if you were here.”

“WHAT?!” She exclaimed. This definitely got the attention of the other dolls, all of whom had abandoned the movie in favor of checking on their Mama.

Her eyes narrowed. Suddenly full Mom mode was on.

“Aqualad. Tell me right now what happened.”

And Kaldur caved immediately with only a small sigh.

“Robin found the video of the akumatized hero who attacked you and instigated the events leading to the Paris Ban.” He explained. “I apologize. We should have checked with you first, but at Conner’s request, we all watched it.”

Marinette sighed. “I thought that was buried.”

“We’re rather good at digging.” Robin’s voice could be heard on the other side of the line.

“Hang on. I’ll be right over.” She told them before hanging up.

“Marinette? What happened?” She turned to see Adrien standing before her, looking rather concerned. Picking up on her tension, he had stopped the movie. And sure enough, four little dolls stared up at her in worry.

She sighed. There was nothing else for it.

“Who wants to go on a trip?”

The Dolls perked up at that.

Adrien, however, noticed how tense she was.

“Mari?”

“They saw the tape.”

His eyes widened. “Oh.” He reached out to her, and without even thinking, she moved into his arms. He clutched her tightly, soothing her and himself. It was…not a pleasant thing to have to relive. That so-called “hero” had caused more damage than just that one day. And more than any of them had truly recovered from.

The dolls seemed to catch on to the atmosphere, because their excitement died down.

“It’ll be okay, Mari. Let’s just be there for him. And I’ll be here for you.”

She held him back just as tight.

“Together then?”

“Always.”

[ironmariposa]

(The things I did) Just so I could call you mine

Chapter 4/4

Also found on Ao3

Authors notes: So here it is!!! I’m so excited to have it out there and finished. I’ve had so much fun writing this and have appreciated every single comment along the way. Thank you all so very much for reading!!

The baseball scene was greatly inspired by Hate to Want You by Alisha Ray. In fact it was when I read that scene that I came up with this fic idea. Yay for plot bunnies!!!

She’s standing on the dock, her arms crossed over her chest when the boat appears in the distance. She waits impatiently until he cuts the engine and idles closer.

“Hey Ray, I think your girl’s pissed. Or she’s on her period.” Tyler jokes.

“Shut up, Tyler.” Both her and Ray say at the same time.

“What the fuck?!” She shouts at him as soon as Tyler and Adam jump out of the boat and scurry away. “What the actual fuck, Ray?! You crapped out on me to get high on your boat!”

He hops out and grabs the rope, his arm muscles on full display as he ties it off. He jumps back in the boat to grab his ice chest and a few other items, ignoring her question. Ignoring her. He steps back on the dock and makes his way toward the house. Throwing up her hands in frustration she follows.

“You have nothing to say for yourself? Just going to ignore me. That’s fine. I have plenty to say.” She pauses a moment to see if he’ll respond but he just keeps on walking. “You know what, Ray? I’m not mad you bailed on me. Not even that surprised. What pisses me off most was this was an easy A for you. And instead of taking it you flake off like you always do. You think everyone is so against you but the only one truly against you is yourself.”

Finally he stops and turns to her. His sunglasses are down, hiding the truth in his eyes but his jaw is clenched, his nostrils flaring, “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Yeah?” She throws up her hands, “Then why don’t you fill me in?”

“Why?” He questions with so much vinum, “Why do you care? I’m just a Meth Row idiot heading down the same path as my father.”

She gasps because he couldn’t have heard them.

“Isn’t that what your boyfriend, Bishop, said?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She says, but she’s lost all her fire and it sounds pathetic to both their ears.

“Doesn’t matter, Heather.” He leans closer, “You agreed with him. Called me an idiot.”

Heather shakes her head, “No. I did not agree with him. I don’t, Ray.” She reaches for him but he jerks away and she drops her hand.

“Look. The project is done. Thank the fuck. Now I can be rid of you.”

“Ray.” She whispers but he cuts her off.

“All you were to me was a fucking nuisance Plaza left me with but now we’re finished. We don’t need to talk ever again. And I’m fucking relieved.”

She watches him walk away until he disappears into his house with the slam of the screen door. It takes her a few tries but she finally manages to walk back the way she came. Instead of heading straight home she detours to the snack mart. Gets herself a strawberry lemonade and her sister some gummy bears. Summer is working and Heather stands there numb as the girl rambles on about the upcoming baseball tournament.

“Only two more months left till we’re free. Got any big plans?” Summer asks casually after giving Heather her purchases.

Heather shrugs as she takes a sip of her drink. It’s just as satisfying as always and she feels her frustration melt away. “Not really.”

Summer leans forward through the window and whispers, “I’ve been asked to help emcee the games.”

Heather's eyes widen, “Who’s the other?”

“Diggins.” Not that surprising of a choice. Daniel Diggins is one of the more outgoing people in their grade and he seems to get along with everyone. “Are you going to play?” Summer asks.

Heather shakes her head, “No.”

Summer smiles at her, “Don’t blame ya. But just FYI I hear the pot is insane this year.” Another customer steps up and Heather waves to Summer with her purchases and starts her walk home.

She spends the rest of her Spring Break working or with Nat. Bishop is on vacation with his family. Some beach. But he’s still not talking to her so it doesn’t matter. She tries to do some fun stuff with Lily. Takes her to putt-putt at Andy’s and spends a good five minutes watching a kid in the batting cages. She wonders one too many times what Ray is doing. She knows he’s probably working too. Or out on his boat.

She wonders more than once if he’s taking another girl out with him.

All in all it’s a completely uneventful Spring Break and it’s a bit depressing considering it’s her Senior year. But completely typical considering who she is and where she comes from. Carp doesn’t let people like her escape.

Bishop returns from his trip with a bag of seashells and an apology. She easily forgives him, she’s never been able to resist when he tilts his head and gives her that sweet smile of his.

“Look. I’m not gonna pretend to understand.” He says.

“There’s nothing to understand, Bishop.”

And that’s that. Natalie dances around them and they make plans to go to a party that night.

The Senior baseball tournament starts with a school wide pep rally. As usual it’s loud and uncomfortable as they all crowd into the hot gym. The cheerleaders jump around and shake their Pom poms while the Principal tries to get everyone excited. Typically, the Freshmen and Seniors are the only ones that show any enthusiasm. The middle grades could care less. Finally they’re released and everyone makes their way to the baseball fields behind the middle school.

Natalie and Bishop are on the same team and their game is early in the day. Heather watches from the bleachers as Bishop strikes out every time he’s up to bat and Natalie manages to hit a couple of balls. They still lose the game, neither of her friends are really heartbroken over it. They wander around with time to spare, Heathers game isn’t until later in the evening. That’s even if she’s still on the team. She assumes she is since she received a group text.

Heather approaches the bench and gives a half smile as Ray looks over his shoulder at her. His blue eyes are expressionless as they meet hers and it hurts far more than she thought it would. He’s completely avoided her at school and she can’t say she’s been very aggressive with trying to get his attention. It’s back to like it was before they were paired for their project. The two of them acting as if they barely know one another.

She’s handed a jersey and smiles at Summer as she buttons it over her tank.

“Hope you Fuckers are ready to play, because I don’t lose.” Ray says as a pep speech before the game starts.

She only nods at the harsh tone of his voice and sits between Drew Santiago and Summer. Both looking far more excited than she feels about playing. The game starts and she waves shyly at Natalie and Bishop in the stands as they cheer loudly for her.

She is horrible. Absolutely horrible. The other team figures out quickly she’s completely hopeless out in the field and starts trying to hit every ball towards her. And she’s unable to hit a single ball when up at bat. Close to the end of the game, Adam pulls her aside and tries to teach her how to bunt a ball. Ray catches them and shakes his head as if to say she’s hopeless.

That there pisses her off enough to actually do it and she makes it onto first base with loud cheering from her friends in the bleachers and the team in the dugout. Well, most of the team. Ray just stands in the dugout entry, leaning against it with his arms crossed, a hard look on his face. Then she actually gets on second when Summer hits the ball to the outfield.

Heather’s idling at second base when Ray steps up to bat. She has a perfect view of him and she wishes she had spent her time in high school at his baseball games instead of whatever else she had been doing with her friends. He looks really good in the baseball uniform. The pants doing amazing things for his ass.

She hears the crack of the ball and a loud collective gasp before an intense pain in her shoulder. She realizes she’s been hit and takes only a moment to decide what to do. Running to third base she notices someone running towards her. Not someone, Ray.

“What are you doing?” She shouts, “Go to first!” She points back. His eyes are so wide, filled with fear and concern and everything else she missed the past few weeks.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine!” Her eyebrows lower, “But you’re out now.”

He glances back to first base and hesitates before he’s forced back to their dugout.

“I thought you were obsessed with winning!” She shouts at his back when she makes it back in the dugout. Everyone goes silent around them.

He turns to her and pushes himself in her space, “I am,” he shouts back at her, “But I’m more obsessed with you.”

Heather's face is guarded. Drew shuffles over with an ice pack. A welcome distraction as she thanks him and takes it, pressing it against her shoulder with a flinch. Her eyes flash to the bleachers and Ray follows her gaze to her friends. To Bishop.

Heather sits out the rest of the game and it passes in a blur. Ray stays at the other end of the dugout. The game ends with them losing by one. She silently makes her way to her friends who fret over her injury. They make her show them and both suck in a gasp at the bruise. It does look horrible, feels horrible too. What the hell had she been thinking, playing baseball when she had no clue about the game.

The ballpark empties out and Bishop offers to drive her home. She makes up an excuse and her friends leave her with lingering looks but neither say a word.

She finds Ray by his truck with Sarah and Tyler. She doesn’t hesitate as she approaches him, “Did you mean what you said out there?”

All eyes turn to her and Sarah and Tyler quickly give out reasons they need to go. Scurrying off with a cringe towards Ray. Sarah though shoots Heather a smile.

“Heather, look.” He sounds defeated.

She shakes her head, “Did you mean it?”

He clenches his jaw and lightly punches the side of his truck.

“Because I seem to recall you telling me you didn’t think about me like that. That I was just a nuisance that Mrs. Plaza had left you with.” She jabs a finger in his already bare chest, “That you couldn’t wait to be done with our project so you could, and I quote, be rid of me for good.”

She’s so mad. So incredibly mad and so very confused. It’s been weeks of confusion and she’s tired of feeling that way. Tired of fighting whatever this is between them. Tired of her friends making her feel bad for spending time with him. Tired of him making her feel bad for wanting to spend time with him.

Just. Tired.

He closes his eyes and shuts her out and she can't take it anymore. She shuts down all the reasons why this is wrong and she does what feels right. Grabbing his uniform, she yanks him closer. His blue eyes blink open in surprise.

“Kiss me.” Her voice is both soft and demanding.

He blinks again then brings his hands up slowly. Like he is giving her time to change her mind. But she doesn’t want to change her mind. She lets him cradle her jaw as he leans closer. Lets him brush his lips against hers. So gentle. Just a feather light touch and she needs more. Wants more. She lets him slide his thumb down the smooth column of her throat, tracing her pulse, until she tips her head back and parts her lips in a gasp. His mouth nips at her jaw, her pulse on her neck, up to her ear before returning to her mouth, finding it already open, waiting on a catch in her breath.

This time he kisses her harder, lips moving with the force of weeks worth of wanting. The hand she had fisted in his shirt uncurls and moves to the back of his neck, threading through the hair at the base of his scalp. She tugs at it until he moans her name.

She finds she likes that. She likes making him moan her name in such a pleasurable way. She likes seeing Ray Hall, who’s kissed a hundred girls, who’s fucked just as many, come undone under her touch. She takes great pleasure in it so she does it again as she pushes her body against his.

Gripping her hips he turns them and backs her into his truck, then with a slide of his hands over her butt, he grips her thighs and lifts her. Heather wraps her legs around his waist as he pushes her into the truck and the feel of his cock pressed against her center is the most mind blowing sensation. Heather drops her head back with a loud gasp and Ray makes his way down her throat. In one swift move he’s pulled her jersey open and his mouth continues over her collarbone and down her chest. He growls briefly at her tank top but it’s easily pushed aside as his hands smooth across her sports bra. Her nipples are already hard and she cries out when he slides a rough hand over them.

“Ray. We can’t. Not here.” She manages to get out in staggered breaths.

He stops, pulling back just an inch, she tightens her legs around his waist in fear he’s going to pull away completely.

“Parking lots empty, love.” He says turning back to her. His eyes cut down to her almost exposed breasts and then lower. She bites her lip when he thrusts against her, “But you’re right.”

She gasps as he moves them to the side and then opens the passenger door to his truck. After a brief kiss to her lips he sits her on the edge of the seat and smiles brilliantly up at her.

“What are you doing?” She asks and he raises an eyebrow as he takes her leggings and slides them over her hips and down her legs.

“Gonna taste you. Finally.” He growls and pushes her back, her arms catching herself on his seat. She watches with hooded eyes, her breaths short with anticipation, as he starts his descent down to her center. Just as his eyes are level with her clit, he looks up at her with concern, “This okay?” He asks. And her heart melts that much more.

“God, yes.” She whispers and grabs a handful of his hair as his tongue does one quick slide up her slit.

Ray gives head like he does most things. With lots of enthusiasm and excitement. And Heather appreciates every moment of it. It doesn’t take long for her to come with his name on her lips once he has two thick fingers in her and he’s sucking on her clit. He comes up grinning after and she laughs.

“So, that just happened.”

She sits up and grabs his jersey, pulling him to her, sliding her hands over his bare skin, “I want more.” She whispers against his lips and he chuckles. But then, as her hand slides over his stomach and inside the waistband of his pants, he pulls away.

“What?” She asks.

“Not here. Not like this.”

Heathers confused for a moment. And she feels very exposed as he steps back.

“Hey.” He whispers after seeing the look on her face. He runs a hand over her hair, “I want to. Fuck, do I want to.”

“Then why not?” She asks as she attempts to pull her pants back up. She’s starting to feel embarrassed and she doesn’t like it one bit. She had thought …. Well it didn’t matter what she thought.

“Any other girl I would have already fucked and been on my way. But you. Heather, you’re not any other girl.”

“Oh.”

He leans close, his lips just millimeters from hers, “Yeah, oh.” And he kisses her.

The next day, Heather unfortunately has to work. She is absolutely useless as she spends the entire time thinking about Ray and his tongue. She’s sure she has a blush on her face through most of the day and it’s embarrassing. She meets with Natalie during her break and she confesses that things got a little heated with Ray after the game.

Natalie just raises an eyebrow as she leans back on her hands, “I don’t get it. At all. But,” she shakes her head, “Everyone heard his confession.” She stands up, dusting off her hands before helping Heather up, “Can’t say I blame ya after that.”

Heather smiles. She knows she’ll never truly get her friend's approval but it’s enough.

She finds Rayout on the dock. Shirtless as he leans against a post, a beer in his hand, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. He’s exactly as she always pictured him. Nothing has really changed since they kissed the night before, but it feels like her world has tilted.

She approaches and he turns when he hears her footsteps on the dock. She waves shyly and he gives her his mega watt smile.

“Hey Nill.”

She sits beside him, closer than she would have the day before. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead he nods to the ice chest, “Want a beer?”

“I’m okay.”

He drains the rest of his can and tosses it aside. They sit there for a while, watching the sun set silently together. Neither feel the need to fill the silence and Heather is thankful for that.

“So we kissed.” He says breaking the silence.

She knocks her shoulder against his, “I mean you’ve technically kissed most of the girls in our class.”

“True.” He winks at her and she laughs. He quickly turns serious though, “Just so you know it meant something to me.”

She studies him for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers, “Me too.” She finally admits.

“So. What does that mean for us?”

She shrugs, “I mean technically you don’t date, right?”

He looks back out to the water and she doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until he says the next words, “Well. For you, I might be willing to make an exception.”

“Might?” She teases.

He laughs as he takes her hand and brushes his lips across the inside of her wrist. Her breath hitches and he smiles wickedly as he grabs her waist and pulls her into his lap.

“If you drop me in the water, Ray, I swear to God,”

“I’m not going to drop you, woman. Stop squirming.” His arms wrap around her back and she feels secure against him as his mouth meets hers. She opens to him willingly and the next time she squirms it’s for pleasure instead of fear.

He pulls his mouth from hers and starts a descent down her neck.

“I feel like I’m falling.” She tells him. He pulls his mouth from her and looks at her with wide eyes, “Not like that.” She says with a laugh, “I mean falling like … like when you jump from Pilots Point.” She traces a finger over his jaw, her eyes following, making his jaw jump with a tick, “You know that feeling between the jump and the landing in the water?” He gives a silent nod, “That’s what this feels like.”

His voice is rough when he responds with a “Yeah.”

She smiles at him, “I love that feeling.”

He brings his mouth closer to hers and just before kissing her again says, “Me too.”

Fin.

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 78

Home a day early Norma exploded with anxious energy to be near her daughter who was confused to the meaning of the day, her first birthday. A cake was able to distract her mother and herself from that awkward energy for the beginning of their three day weekend together so Victor could take you to a stop at the studio to help with a possible new bout of ideas to refurbish the Cap comics. Still no one seemed to be able to come up with anything substantial except for a cross of the Howling Commandoes who would run into your animated family alongside Peggy’s alter ego. Which you all took off with that idea had came up with at least five different issues worth of them to mingle in the planned plot lines already animated and ready to be sent out when it was due to be printed. Quite gladly the guys had loved your pregnancy as now with these new ideas you had editions well through this year and into the next if anything should distract from the creative process.

.

Just past the hall with your last projects on display atop podiums you entered the workshop as people still milled around each choice inspecting each. Including yours which was a miniature town. Half a mine complete with a track for little carts and the other half a town encircled by a river. All of it powered by the waterwheel that moved the mechanics in the layer beneath the surface of the entire town. Streets between homes had lights on each corner with antique style lamp posts with two bulbs in them that switched colors at the filling and emptying of water tubes fed by that same wheel. Cars on tracks drove between the wooden homes to finish off the scene and impressed your Professor for how complex the mechanics were to the simplistic upper display.

Your place in the class came with questions but with ease at home in the shop the men around you relaxed at fears of tears or pestering questions to distract them. Now the main distraction came for the awe striking ways you got around the difficulties your size a half to a whole foot shorter than all of them to get things done and how naturally you knew various advanced tools and had no fear in using them. Today however you came with a spare bag of clothes that to the amusement of your classmates out of your heels you stepped and flicked unfolded at your side the trousers you brought. Pulling them on over the skirt of your dress you tucked that and the flannel you added into the top and secured the cloth belt you added next. Thick socks and your work boots came next showing much use to each press of your feet into the opposite knee to tie them and lower to repeat the step.

Unable to help it as you tucked your heels into your bag the Professor gave you a once over after having seen the others had swapped their dress shirts for thicker work shirts and as you wound your ponytail and bangs back into a bun underneath a bandana he greeted you all. “Good to see you’ve all come ready to get some grease on those elbows. We have a new project for you to finish off the summer semester. Out of solid steel each of you will be creating something that has a function. It must be a minimum of six feet tall and two feet wide, please no windmills, there will be a supply near each of your stations and in the supply room. I want you all to think long and hard about what you want to make and how you would create that function in hopefully an ingeniously new way. You will only have the time in class when we meet so no spare after class time or weekends. So manage your tasks properly and keep to a schedule as best as you can.”

His eye shifted to you as you raised your hand and he nodded your way in his usual signal to speak, “Does it have to do a job or just do something?”

Across his lips a smirk tugged and he answered, “It just has to do something, make it light up, make it move, be unique. I repeat no windmills.” He said and motioned his hand to the side for you all to head to your stations. Right away he and his aid chuckled at your usual pop up onto the counter that reached your ribs to reach the gloves and apron in your cubby assigned with your name on tape laid across the edge of it.

Sons of mechanics, car enthusiasts, electricians and builders filled the class on their way to get their Engineering degrees to join the family profession and to their amusement with your own ideas you seemed to be fairly at the same level of skill as the group who was used to building models and things since they were little. Once the spare layers were added and you had taken a few minutes to simply stare at the sheet of steel resting on the mount there to hold it upright to think of what to make. The smirk that tugged across your lips intrigued the Professor and his aid that something interesting was coming as your mind had come up with something. In the same stunning fashion your tiny self eased the sheet of metal a foot taller and two feet longer than your body off the mount and onto the cutting stand you had made the first week in for your shorter self. You knelt on top of that to use just a couple feet off the ground compared to the waist high ones the guys used with ease at possession of longer arms and legs.

With cutting torch in hand over the numerous chalk outlines the sound of metal falling echoed in your ears between sounds of the others at their own stations working with hammers or torches of their own who weren’t still on the design on notepads. Around each station the Professor moved with his aid in opposing paths to get a sense of what you all were doing, notepads in hand to make notes while students as usual stood outside the windowed wall to peer in at what you all were doing. That angle especially helped to add images of yourself and the guys for the yearbook the school had for even the summer semester as well. When the metal was spent and left to just outlines into sections you cut what remained with a smirk hidden by your face shield at the perfect alignment of metal shapes to be part of the body you required. Just one layer but as usual you strove to not waste an inch of the metal or supplies given and set those aside to begin on the mechanics.

Gears, rods, all fashioned down with sanders and buffers for a smooth finish and even on a few securing grooves to be used later to lock things into place all were wound together with or near to wires and conduits for pathways of motion. All the Professor could see but the end of the day was the sheets of metal in the cutout mount along the wall. Noted with tape to not be used for scrap by others and a clump of a motor nearly the size of your body with octopus like mess of limbs that he saw you link small switches and levers to the whirring core that after the charge from the center mechanics you had wound like a clock began to slow left no hint at all what any of it could be meant for. But that was it and for the next day he would have to simply steal glances at the chunks of your projects to try and figure out what they were meant to do until the next class when he could see some more progress on the lifeless piles of metal.

.

“You look excited,” Victor hummed as James took hold of your bags with a kiss on your temple.

James smirked saying to the scent of metal shards on your hair and skin, “You’ve been welding again.”

“I’m building a moose.” You said making them chuckle as you delved into the new project you had been given.

James said, “Well a moose will certainly be large enough for the size requirements. What are you going to make it do?”

“Walk and move around,” you said widening their grins. “It’ll be risky but I think I can pull it off even if I have to sneak in some magic to do it.”

“I’m certain you can, Pipsqueak.”

Ten days had gone and flew by as again before the crack of dawn tears came and the now the three spotted children showed the final steps of the chicken pox that had upheaved the household. And after a trio of oatmeal baths for 20 minutes the babies now with socks tied into their hands were put back to bed until they woke for the next round of baths and calamine lotion to soothe the itchy patches away until they were gone.

.

Mr Fenske again had your morning. And through the afternoon while you couldn’t work on your project you brainstormed and practically filled a notebook with diagrams and plans for what exactly to do when you got back to the shop the following day to hopefully get done with plenty of time to spare and polish the giant moose up for its big debut. Sleep wasn’t hard to gain with the rain. Though by morning said rain made it a bit difficult to want to leave your still groggy girls who barely made it through breakfast but you still did simply to get the next attendance points closer to credits to get you your Bachelor’s degrees by next summer and onto the way to your Masters then Doctorates. You made plans and in sticking to them you could only make a great example for your girls to be what they wanted to, even if it didn’t involve as much schooling as you were pushing yourself through.

.

Back inside the second Art History class notice of a change was evident on everyone’s faces to the lack of a model or item to focus on and the Professor’s place in the front of the floor to say when you had all arrived. “For your final projects there will be no model given to you. You will supply your own muse and in the style of a painting Master you will complete two paintings of at least 12x16 each that will center around a single memory. Something that is not well known about your life, a moment of unadulterated trust. They must be a pair and be supported by a description of the memory that you all will present at the gallery at the end of this semester where each of the pieces you have completed in every class will be displayed for others to view and comment. This is your final exam, take it seriously and do not disappoint me.”

Monet’s style seemed to be something you could adapt into whatever you decided to paint. Back to Monet’s paintings your mind wandered and in the various chosen models for each of those with people in them his main focus on landscapes had you think of something that would not be another copy of one of his works. Your brain however looped back to that brothel and onto the first sheet of your sketch pad to mock up what you would paint James with his coat over his head and cigar in hand made an amusing image with details of a plume of smoke along with the beams of light from the milky curtain coated window could make for something unique. And with it would be James in that bathtub with his boots and uniform on the floor still with hold of that cigar.

There wasn’t much of your private life you wanted to share, namely your courtship with James, but you hoped he wouldn’t mind having the back of his arms, head and shoulder blades in display for however many people would be attending this gallery showing. On major project turned to two and you just wanted to get this over with. Normally you liked your Professors but this class couldn’t come to an end soon enough even if you did get along well with those from your other courses. Basic details on the first scene with him against the door was begun on a fairly decent sized easel above the required size in a means to get what details you wanted included without compromise. Anatomy and Physiology was a welcome distraction and after Communication you were free to get back to your moose.

Once in your work layers to the side of your list of necessary parts you crouched with cutter in hand to add more body pieces to the pile to assemble later. Some you left flat while others made use of the rolling press the Professor and his aid enjoyed the glimpses of hidden strength you displayed in warping the metal to your needs, each rotation of that crank took a certain amount of strength to get the bend required. While others were slid into the other metal press that with a lever bent the sections at whatever straight angle possible with enough force. Every piece only added more mystery for how they blended together until from the mess after a bit of welding around the internal support rods and gears to work the joints properly and still be able to withstand the weight of all needed to in every movement.

With the internal mechanism and the cutting mainly done now it was easier, simply overlaying the outer shell. Carefully each leg was fashioned together and down every joint tested for smooth motion you required from the different swaying sections that while still seemed a whole piece until the motion began and every joint showed its purpose to shift and then come back to its place in smooth circular motion similar to how actual moose move in real life. Rope in hand once the supporting frame you’d worked out that looked more like axels on a car of simple rods fashioned together you stood tying a wrench to one end then looking up at the only higher form of support you had, the metal beams in the rafters. There was a pulley but the chain had snapped and it was too far up and too little used to warrant replacing it yet somehow a decade later. So this was what you were left to. One end of the rope was tied to one of the legs and with a good toss the wrench flew up and over the beam above your station to fall straightening the rope with it.

The motion and fall of the wrench helped to lift the leg a couple inches off the ground at one end and with a hold of the wrench with an easy pull the leg came upright off the ground and lured the gaze of the amused Professor at your self made pulley. Securely on the ground around the support rods, that balanced on top of a stool, the hoof was settled and with an easy loop of some twine from one of the cutouts through the holes drilled into the end of the support rod the hopeful anchor was tied with an easy to remove bow. Grip of the second front leg proved you were making a hooved creation and off your shoulder you moved the leg into perfect alignment and tied it off after a few confirming checks that it was straight.

Three legs soon grew to four and from the ground and from the leg the rope was removed to fashion like a noose around a series of hooked straps linked to the belly plate now welded to the inner mechanism that with a good firm grip what a woman your size shouldn’t be able to lift the three hundred pound motor and plate with ease was gradually lifted from the ground where you had left it to be. Once the rope was tied at the right height to the leg of your workstation it was wiggled into the right alignment to lessen the strain of the rope as each edge came to rest perfectly in the connecting mounts.

Both bolted and welded down into place the security was tested amusingly for those who looked over at your grips on each leg and end of the lower half of the body to give it several firm shakes to test the stability of everything with mental checks of how it felt to ensure it wouldn’t collapse or move in a way that anything would get locked up. Down the legs the mechanics were lowered and using long necked allen wrenches you secured the screws into place before you began to work the body frame up for the sides and back with a start on the neck mount to go around the support rod from the belly mount that the mechanics there were anchored to.

The basic shape of the head came to life and atop that came antlers that rather uniquely was where the controls there was mounted underneath to be closer to the ears that it would control. Kneeling atop the workstation that you merely used to house the next part up or the tools needed the head came to life widening the grins on the faces of the Professor and his aid. Both who were beyond amused at the creature you had chosen. Amongst the other students who chose things from a giant nutcracker to a mechanical hammer wielding figure that did little else than lift and lower said hammer opposite the rotating carousels and even a tree with branches that wiggled and could be used to hold items on the trays welded atop them you had chosen the boldest design. And the most curious. Surely you had to have something up your sleeve, there had to be more to the moose than what they were able to see.

“Well, well, well, it would appear you all are getting along swimmingly in just two days.” The Professor stated as you all began to clean up for the day, including yourself who accepted help from another taller student to cover your moose with a sheet as others had done for their own projects. Turned around when you released the end of the sheet in your hands you looked the Professor over seeing that he was clearly up to something with that spreading smirk of his. “And when we meet again you will find a fresh supply of sheet metal at each of your work stations. Those supplies will be pertinent in creating a second miniature partner of what you have already produced. Four feet tall and one foot wide minimum. It does not have to be an exact copy but it does have to be related to the initial creation.”

Groans from the guys however were muddled by giggles from yourself in a momentary rest of your head against the side of your moose out of the sheer amount of work that would have to go into making a second moose from scratch the next day you would be in this class. The day was over for you at least and when you got home you could focus on your girls again and simply leave the planning to the weekend while they napped for a game plan to get the ball rolling on a baby moose. Need for a good meal and a nap read across your face and had James ask, “Who am I punching?”

In a giggle you shook your head and melted into his offered hug. “I have to make a second moose.”

The pair chuckled and when James took hold of your things Victor gave you his own hug and he hummed, “We stole a glimpse at your moose. Well done. Have to be the same size?”

“Half the size of it. It doesn’t have to be a moose, just has to be related but the only thing my brain can think of moose related is moose.” The pair smirked and you said, “We’ve just got two more classes until semester is over and we have to present things.” You glanced up at James, “I can paint you in the tub, right?” That had an awkward grin split across his face and you said, “We have to paint a memory, I picked at the brothel that one time. But you won’t mind?”

“You can paint me however you like, Darling,” he said leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “I look forward to seeing it.”

“Two its, so I have to paint two paintings and build two moose. Then show them in presentations.”

Victor smiled asking, “Do we get to keep the moose?”

“I don’t know,” you answered in a giggle. “I don’t know what they expect them to be used for or if they will want us to destroy them.”

“We are not destroying your moose,” they both said.

Victor, “We’re gonna find the perfect spot for them in our home. Do we get your art too after the gallery or do they expect people to buy them?”

“I think so. We have to share a story for the paintings but I’m not sure if they sell them off, there hasn’t been any talk of that so far.”

Victor, “Hopefully we get to keep those too. And we have cake at home.” He said making you grin up at him, “Petal’s spots are gone. Herc’s giving her a full workup along with the triplets.”

You glanced at James who said, “Belly time tests, they’re doing well, necks are nice and strong, arms show signs that they are almost ready to roll over.”

“At least I haven’t missed that yet.”

James chuckled letting you into the car to sit between them saying, “Well you missed a hell of a tantrum from Teddy.”

“Aww,” you said and they both chuckled.

“He needed a nap. Just got too overwhelmed after his last bath and took a good seven minutes to climb down from that mountain. He has a set of lungs on him that boy. Dawn held firm but Eddie had to take a walk.”

“He always hated it when kids cry. Mama Brock used to joke he’d hate the terrible two’s, but so far he has been a little angel.”

“He has,” Victor hummed. “He calmed down and apologized for throwing his toy. Then said he just wanted to go to sleep and didn’t want to have his check up until after.”

“Well I’ve been on the edge of tears from a check up myself.”

James chuckled, “We all empathize, he spent most of last night up with those baths and calamine lotion applications. Even Eddie needed a nap. Dawn’s mom came over to watch him and Marigold for a bit so they could breathe. It does seem they are all in the clear.”

.

Tummy time was the beginning of your days off and as the trio of girls exercised their heads, necks and arms smiles spread at your nodding off on top of the quilt for a nap that afterwards gave you enough energy to delve into those plans of yours. Alone once the triplets had been put to bed a stolen grip of James’ hands had his smile spread then melt away in the ease of his hands behind your back to lean in and accept the kiss you rose up on your toes to claim. Up from his jaws into his hair your fingers worked in a blind tug to bed as you mentally closed the doors to the room his body followed you to the bed.

Three months had blew by and nearing the end of the summer for the first time since before your belly had begun to grow lost to muffled giggles and broken smile laced utterances of adoration fixed firm in your arms he remained. All night he refused to pull back and break the hold you had on him to savor the romantic return to amorous evenings that were mutually focused. Months you had focused on him as he held himself back to keep you safe and when he had ensured he had pulled on his pants and eased his shirt over you into his arms your body nestled to drop off to sleep. Safe in his arms to whirling dreams as he savored the mixture of his scent and that of his wife’s to the burrow of his forehead into the top of your head. That mixture that while you were in school he could catch hints of on those three girls that by the day improved leaps and bounds to one day be independent little people who would shake up his days to keep them all safe and content.

Herc already had shared that Beserkers never had babies back to back and genetically there would be little chance to conceive before the girls were two years old. Yet that doubt still lingered and pretending as if the same methods of the pill and sleeves that had failed to keep you from conceiving the triplets those methods were picked up again as a sort of call for hope that they might be able to find that goal of two years true before another baby or babies could be arriving. It was just one more year and you would be on the way to graduate studies to do with as you pleased. Seven years wouldn’t be that long for an entire estimate of time to earn them, and there were so many years after that could be quite indescribable for how many possibilities there were with freedom of no school to shuffle between. Even traveling the world could be possible any time you wished if that was what you wanted. He didn’t care as long as you were together and could end each day in one another’s arms.

.

Following final exams with Mr Yarbrough for your History, Geography and Religion courses at home Tuesday again brought on the next to last time you would be on campus. Both your paintings had greater detail and fed into a successful task of carrying out the beginnings of your smaller moose. Thanks to the ample planning the internal mechanism and basic body shape was fashioned on a smaller pallet beside its larger parent. Mother and child as you had intended now was swapped for father and child due to the antlers that were needed to help counter balance the body’s movements.

Followed by a long session with Mr Fenske to take the final exams for your Economics, Government, Political Science and Anthropology on Wednesday the rest of the summer here in Canada would be far simpler as the courses here were in their final week.  

On Thursday more exams however would be waiting for you. Art History came first and was a lengthy exam that let you out a bit early to head for your next Art class and mentally prep the plan for the finishing touches on the paintings. Anatomy and Physiology came next for another complex exam you felt a bit anxious for how you might fare on the few essay questions at the end. Communication came last before your final class that held you from freedom with a hefty exam of its own. And when that let out past freed students rushing to savor the end of their own summers with your classmates you walked to head for your Engineering course.

Once there the same Professor who seemed excited to watch the second sculptures come to life began this final class by his posture alone had the guys around you mutter, “No.”

The word making him chuckle and smooth his palms together. “I have one final requirement one final sculpture that is a foot tall or less to go with the previous two.”

Unable to help it you let out an exasperated giggle and hung your head to smooth a hand over the back of your neck for a pose that had one of the guys tease, “Come on Bunny, you can break out another moose.”

Which had his friend say, “Just a tiny one.”

After another giggle you answered, “I am not making another moose.”

Your eyes shifted to the Professor who said, “All your supplies are at your station and in the store room. Good luck.”

At the tall station you stood tapping your pencil to the notepad you had doodled up a few choices and decided on something a bit wild. Gears were the first to be cut again and the inner mechanics were worked out with the bodies to follow. An absurdly large duck was crafted and behind it on wheels that tiny feet were faked to rotate around each rotation and a mechanical chain three ducklings would follow after their mother that would waddle around to the command of the controller you had fashioned at the end of a long string of wires to connect to the inner mechanism.

You weren’t the only one adding smaller details in hopes to not be asked for more to add for the final grading. Each project that spread his proud grin for this latest batch of students who showed promise if they continued this field. All together when the final touches were completed every student cleaned up the stations and made certain all the projects on their pallets were coated with sheets to keep them protected for the following day when they would all be shown for all who chose to come.

.

Early home amongst the rest of your siblings and Erik Norma smiled widely in a stroll through the projects that lined a vast courtyard and surrounding halls the Professors took a stroll through to inspect each piece and took note son how they all worked. Out of sight the empty slot with a metal stand bearing a card with your name on it amongst your classmates’ steadily filling slots there was no trace of you, however Stark and Mr Jarvis both stood waiting for one. Both who smiled and greeted your family promising to be at the painting gallery show as well the following day.

“Ooh, there’s Pipsqueak,” Victor said in a turn after catching sight of you in your mint sleeveless sundress down an empty hall with a pair of men behind you who were pulling two pallets on raised jacks. Smiles spread in curiosity at notice of the familiar silhouette of moose antlers under the larger sheet. Right up next to one another the pallets were lowered and with a bit of help the sheets were removed enabling Stark to move closer and inspect the internal parts as best he could to guess what they could do. The task that had him locate the switches on the side he only got a smirk from you in response of his gesture their way while you listened to James and Erik in proud boasting of what you had built.

When the group of judges did arrive they each looked the trio of creations over and your Professor said, “Now, Mrs Howlett, if you wouldn’t mind.” Eyes watched as you moved a sheet of metal that was forged into a long ramp that had gone unnoticed and was hiding a trio of crank keys shaped like drills for ice fishing that had an outer handle to keep it steady and an internal one to rotate the tip, the largest of which you lifted. Over to the shoulder of the largest moose you inserted the tip into the key hole there and like a clock wound the mechanism until it wouldn’t wind anymore then removed the crank to stun those looking on at the sound of clanks and a growing hum as it powered up readying for movement. The smaller four foot baby moose was cranked next followed by the duck that with a simple flick of the switch started the chuckle luring first step on the pallet.

Back around the baby moose you moved having flicked the switch on its side as you did that on the larger one that turned heads when the front and back left legs lifted to start walking. Open mouthed the crowd looked on as you guided the larger two statues off the pallets to enter the cleared path on the courtyard. Simple toggles of switches had the heads move to turn the pair and another to wiggle the ears.

“Oh my,” one of the judges stated looking in awe over the functioning moose duo that around you as the duck led its ducklings around the path you followed to circle the nearby fountain.

“She made functioning robots…” Howard muttered to himself and glanced at Jarvis only to look back at the sound of the gears slowing down causing the outer plates shifting around the moving joints, back and limb until the pair began to come to a stop as the duck continued to wander around a few moments more.

“How…?” another Professor spoke and you answered, “Well there’s no battery, just crank powered. Since it’s made of hundreds of pounds of solid steel it doesn’t run very long, but I was inspired by Grandfather Clocks.” Another crank of the animals was called for so they could get to test the switches and get closer looks at the moving components inside until the group had to move on and simply the animals were up to being photographed some more back on their pallets that when the demonstration was through were loaded onto the trailer the guys had borrowed from a neighbor to bring the animals home. At least there you and Erik could make them work much longer and improve upon the designs at your whims to at least make the ducks run longer for the older children to play with. And when he sat down for lunch while you started to nurse your girls he asked, “And just how long did they give you to build those?”

.

The following morning wasn’t free of any nerves as the duo were amongst the hundreds who came to this museum sized gallery that had been chosen. Different days the gallery would be filled with each class the Professor instructed and today following the order of how your easels had been lined up you got a few peeks at the other student’s pieces until you found yours in the last section opposite the young woman’s artwork on display. Soon the numbers began to grow and while you tried to answer as many questions on they style as possible you couldn’t ignore the number of cameras being snuck in by those Eddie could tell were from papers throughout Canada. Chatter however in the distance had grown and waned in the path of a particular group.

Salvador Dali, Hemingway, T.S Eliot on a working vacation of sorts had made a stop here today having read about the show in the paper. More than a few pieces inspired by the famed painter got ample comments until saved for last the Professor slid into the room listening to their impressions of each students’ sketches and paintings. Every story shared of the final paintings were noted down and quietly you listened yourself as the other young woman opposite you spoke hers then listened to comments and was freed herself. Finally the crowd who had waited around stood in wait as the group asked you about each sketch that seemed to be more impressive than the last at the varied tries of each style. Including a sketch that was in Dali’s style that made him grin your way, “I just may have to convince you to sell me this one.”

The grin that eased across your face shifted to Hemmingway in his asking about your portraits, “You painted a soldier? Was the roof leaking, that why he’s hiding his head?”

Softly you chuckled and answered, “These are my husband James.” That turned his gaze to you a moment then back to the portrait as you said, “When we were in Europe we made more than a few stops in brothels along the way. This one James got stuck babysitting me and when he found a tub in our hotel next door we could take turns in a few of the guys came upstairs and there wasn’t a lock. So he sat against the door with his coat over his head in my turn, and while I dried and combed my hair he took his own turn.”

Elliot chuckled and said, “It is a striking memory to capture on an easel.”

The Professor asked as Hemmingway moved a bit closer as if to decipher which brothel neighboring a hotel this was, “You stopped in brothels often?”

“No secret men at war crave companionship. Most of the time when we crossed paths with other platoons their men were too distracted by the brothel to notice I was there.”

Hemmingway stated, “Must have been a harrowing trial in your lifetime to be thrown into war so young. We are all amply fortunate you do not exude grimmer angles of those experiences outside of what you publish in your comics.”

A statement which had your Professor state, “Those are fiction.”

A statement that had the author who had been there himself including your arrival at Normandy say, “No, they are not. Saw more than one Battle Bunny and Venom freed city myself. Every issue rings far truer than some might claim to believe.” His eyes locked on you and he said, “I have seen you tear planes from the sky and machine guns from those hill hidden bunkers. To not have chosen to show that is great courage to bear what you have on your heart rather than your wrist.”

Dali said, “And the care you have taken of these shoulder blades, no detail of his strength missed. Bold choice. A show of relaxation and hunched focus and tension, excellent contrast.” Around your back James folded as the Professor gave his own comments and took notes on his way to make another round of everyone’s art to hear what newly arrived people were saying. The artist when he was gone crept closer to your side making you smile as he said, “Do not mind his opinion. You have captured Monet’s style with ease and respect to his technique.”

A lunch after when the works were boxed up and taken to be locked in the trunks of your cars with the famous faces was highly documented. Including the signing of the sketch you passed over to Dali and the ones that Elliot and Hemmingway chose for their own collections to leave you the ones you preferred to your own tastes and the pair you had painted of James.

No shortage of people had claims of having met you and gotten signatures and moments to speak with you on various subjects slipped in between more thoughts on your work. These pieces of art gave way to more as riding on the tails of this showing of your artistic skills like that for Kodak before led into the release of your second photography book that exceeded the sales of the first and had four signings in Canada with two settled for when you would get back to New York just like the last time. Stops that would distract you until you would receive copies of your transcript to take back with you to Barnard on how you scored in your summer courses.

Pt 79

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam​​, @swoopswishsward

[sunmoonandeddie]

and grace, my fears relieved

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,623

summary: You meet someone new in the most unlikely of ways during the quarantine in New York City.  A hospital isn’t the worst place to meet someone, right?

chapter warnings: swearing, both steve and the reader have covid-19, but neither die

masterlist

a/n: Let me know what you think!

The virus started out inconspicuously enough, with just a few cases here and there that everyone assumed would be quarantined and taken care of, but Steve was paranoid.  How could he not be?

He’d been a sick kid.  Real sick.  And then when he was a teenager, he got some revolutionary kind of treatment for his heart and lungs and it was like his entire body had been kickstarted.  He shot up a foot taller and gained over a hundred pounds.

He had the stretch marks to prove it.

Granted, he had to work a little to gain as much as he did.  After the treatment, the weight gaining workouts and diet plans suddenly worked.  He looked… normal.  And then he buffed up.  Real big.

It came in handy pretty often with his job.  He had become a firefighter, and carrying people out of burning buildings was often part of the job.

Fires still happened in a quarantine.  If anything, they happened more frequently because people were home and the number one cause of house fires was unattended cooking.  A parent could be cooking any meal of the day and then their kid distracts them and boom.  Fire.

So he worked overtime, day in and day out.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.  He was scared shitless.

It was like his ma used to say, back when she was alive, “Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you run away.  You fight back for what’s right.”

Sarah Rogers had been a lot smarter than people assumed.  She was a former socialite, and an Irish Catholic one at that.  Her parents had an absolute conniption when she’d fallen in love with a former convict.  His dad had been in and out of jail for petty things.

It certainly hadn’t been her choice to fall in love with him.  But she had told him that if he didn’t get his act together, she wasn’t going to be with him.

He’d straightened himself up and become an outstanding citizen.

But that hadn’t stopped her family from disowning her.  Once she refused to break up with him, she was out.  Out of their house, out of their wills, everything.

She went from wearing Valentino and Chanel to items picked out at Goodwill.

But Steve’s parents had loved him more than anything.

He’d become a firefighter just like his dad.  He wanted to help people just like him, and well… That’s what he was doing now.

Or had been, until his throat had started to hurt.  And when it hadn’t let up three days later, even after a plethora of cough drops and teas, he went to the hospital.

It had only been about a month since it really started and the first dozen cases showed up in New York City.  He’d been cautious—overly cautious, some might say—but he still had to go to work.  And who knows how many people he’d come into contact with that had the virus?

It was still early days.  He was able to get the test, and for that, he was lucky.

But then he had to go home and wait.

And then he got the call.  He had to immediately go back to the hospital to be quarantined.  He’d been put in a hospital room that was usually used as a private room in the Emergency Room—a trauma room, they called it.  Trauma Room 2.

All of their other hospital rooms were taken.  It was a lot worse than anyone had let on.

He was there for about twenty minutes before you got there, clearly terrified and holding a duffel bag full of clothes so you wouldn’t just have to wear the scratchy ass hospital gowns.

He’d only thought to bring two different pairs of sweatpants and a few sweatshirts, as well as his usual pairs of jeans.

But he was quickly finding that those weren’t too comfortable to wear while being quarantined.

Maybe he’d be able to convince someone to run down to the hospital gift shop to grab him something to wear.  Some Brooklyn Hospital sweats or something.

“Hey.”

He looked up from his tablet, looking for the source of the voice.  God, he was so tired.  And everything hurt.  There was only so much that honey could do for his voice.

“Hey!  Over here!”  The voice broke off into a coughing fit, and it sounded nasty.  Real nasty.  The kind of coughing that hacks up a lung.

He gets up out of his bed with a grunt, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  And not the big, strong shoulders he had no.  The weak little skinny ones he had before.  The ones where he could barely lift a gallon of milk in each hand without getting overworked.

You’re sitting on the ground, taking deep breaths as you try to catch your breath.  “Hey,” you said with a weak smile.  “You got any cough drops?  I ran out and my nurse said she was gonna try to find me more two hours ago.”

There’s no medicine available to treat the virus.  So they just treat the symptoms.

And there’s a severe shortage of cough medicine amongst the patients, but no one really mentioned that.

“Yeah,” he said as he walked over to his little bedside table.  He opened the drawer, pushing the Bible left inside to the side and grabbing the cough drops.  He grabbed four little individually wrapped pieces before dragging his feet back to the doorway.

He couldn’t lie, sitting down looked really nice right at that moment.  His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest just from walking that short distance.  So he sunk to his knees and leaned back against the doorframe, on the opposite side that you were.

Even though he’d become a firefighter like his dad, he didn’t understand how he could have such a strong faith in God when things like this happened.  Sitting across from you, seeing how tired and run down you looked, he wasn’t sure he believed at all.  How could a God that claimed to be so benevolent and loving do this?  Or at least not step in and do something to stop it?

“Did you bring the goods?” You asked with a bit of a laugh, before breaking off into a deep cough.  “Fuck…”

“Me, too,” he said softly as he grabbed one of the cough drops and tossed it in your direction.

You groaned as it landed behind you, shooting him a glare.  “Do I look like a basketball player to you?”

Steve let out a snort as he grabbed another one.  “Okay, are you ready this time?” He asked, raising a single blonde brow.

“Oh, my god, yes.  Please, just throw it,” you said, but there was a slight grin toying at the corner of your mouth.

“What’s the magic word?” He asked.  This was, quite honestly, the most fun he’d had in ages.

You gave him a look that said you’d kill him if he didn’t give you a cough drop.  “Give me a cough drop before I break down sobbing because it hurts so bad?” You deadpanned.

“Okay, okay.  No need to get dramatic,” he said before he tossed another one.  This one hit your forehead before falling into your lap.

“If you want dramatic, I can turn into a Disney princess right now,” you giggled.  Your voice was weak, but it was hard to muster up the energy to talk sometimes.  Actually, not even sometimes.  Most times.

He watched you for a minute as you worked the wrapper of the cough drop off and popped it into your mouth.  “I’m Steve.  Steve Rogers.”

“Well, hello, Steve.  Steve Rogers,” you said with a giggle, your words slightly distorted from the hard candy in your mouth.  You gave him your name as he tossed you the other two cough drops.

It was nice to have someone to talk to.  It had been four days since the two of you entered the hospital before you had called out to him.  And yeah, he still had his phone.  He texted and called Bucky everyday, but it wasn’t the same as having a face-to-face conversation.

It also kinda helped that you were really, really pretty, even when you were sick and exhausted.

In fact, he couldn’t remember anyone that he thought was as pretty as you.

“Stevie?” You said a week and a half later.  It had gotten worse.  So much worse.  You had breathing tubes in, as well as an IV.  His wasn’t as bad.  He just required the IV.

Your nurses tried to get you to stay in your beds, but they soon gave up the fight, choosing instead to help the both of you move your chairs so you could talk to each other, separated by a hallway.

“Yeah, doll face?”  Steve’s heart was hurting as he watched you with sad blue eyes. You were wrapped up in one of his hoodies, drowning in the fabric.  He’d gotten Bucky to run by his apartment and grab him some more comfortable clothes, though he’d had to leave it with a doctor and wasn’t allowed to see him.

They couldn’t risk it. “They’re talking about a second wave,” you said as you wrapped your blanket tighter around you, pulling your knees up to your chest.  “They wanna start opening things in late May…  But it’s too early…  I…”  You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding against your rib cage.  “I’m so scared, Stevie.”

“Hey…”  There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to walk across the hall and take you into his arms.  “Whatever happens, you’ve got me.  You hear me?  We’re in this together, okay?  And we’re gonna make it.  We’re gonna make it because we gotta.”

That night, he waited for the lights to go out and for the nurses to switch over to the night shift.  A lot of the nurses weren’t as vigilant about taking care of them as the day shift, and he knew he could use that to his advantage.

He knew this was risky, but he had to do it.

Steve carefully got out of bed and dragged his monitor behind him, taking slow measured steps.  He’d waited about an hour after rounds, knowing that they wouldn’t be coming for another three.  It gave him plenty of time.  He tiptoed across the hall after ensuring that the coast was clear, slipping into your room.

The room was bathed in a soft blue light coming from the open curtains, a billboard outside flashing.  You looked so peaceful, finally asleep after tossing back and forth for hours.  The blue tones glistened against your soft skin.  You were so quiet that his eyes instinctively flickered over to the heart monitor, listening to the quiet beeping that reassured him that you were alive.

He wobbled the chair over to the side of your bed, being careful not to drag it so it didn’t squeak and alert a nurse or doctor.  When it was finally in place, he sunk into it with a relieved sigh.

Your nose scrunched up at the faint noise.

“Dollface,” he whispered as he gently caressed your cheek, his heart pounding.  This was the first time he’d ever gotten to touch you.  This was the first time he’d been close enough to even attempt it.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily at him.  “Stevie?”

“Hey…,” he said softly as he traced the patterns of her face.  “It’s me…  Don’t worry…”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.  “We’re supposed to be—”

“I know,” he said as he gently scratched your scalp.  “But I’m worried…  And you need me.”

You slowly relaxed back against your pillow as your eyes searched his face.  He liked when you were soft like this.

Well, he liked you all the time, but still.  He liked you most when you were sleepy and relaxed.

“How are you feeling?”

With a shrug, you let your eyes close again.  “I don’t know…  I’ve been better.”  A sigh escaped your lips as you opened your eyes again, trying your best to not melt too far into him.  You didn’t want to fall asleep when this was the first time you’d gotten to feel him near.  “We’re lucky… Our cases aren’t as bad as what others are going through…”

That was true.  Others were on respirators, going into comas.  You two were lucky.

And he was so grateful for that.

“I was thinking…,” he murmured.

A snort.  “That’s never good.”

He gave you a look, raising his brows.  “Apparently people aren’t… completely better even after they’re cleared of the virus…,” he said.  He was watching your face carefully for any sign of a reaction.  “And I live alone.  And you said you have roommates but two of them are considered essential workers, which means there’s a risk of you getting it again…  And I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?...” You probed, sitting up a little.

“We’re gonna need someone to help us… without risking the others that we love, and I just…”  He coughed to clear his throat, his cheeks red.  “I was thinking maybe you could move in for a little while?  Maybe until all this has passed?  And we can… we can…”

Your eyes flickered over his face.  “We can take care of each other?”

Steve nodded, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat.  “Yeah.  We can take care of each other…  I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.  And maybe it’s quick, but... ”

Can’t you feel it? He wanted to ask.  Can’t you feel this thing between us?  This connection that was found and fostered in possibly the darkest time of this generation’s existence?  This love that made me think that maybe there is a Grace in the world?  Because otherwise, how the hell would I have been able to find you?

But he knew that was probably a lot, even if the feeling he had when he looked at her was a little bit more than like.

“But… you barely know me.”

“That’s not true,” he breathed out quietly, a finger running down your jaw.  “I know about your family.  I know your first pet’s name and where it’s buried.  I know that you like white Christmas lights over rainbow because you like how it can look like snow if it’s done right.”

Tears were in your eyes, your cheeks flushed as you listened to him.

A smile crept up on his lips.  “I know you like the citrus flavored cough drops, and you have to sleep with a blanket on, even if it’s eighty degrees outside.  I know how much you love cheesy rom-coms and you can only watch horror movies at night because otherwise you’ll have nightmares.”  His forehead rested against hers, your noses brushing.  “I know you.  And I wanna take care of you.  When we get out of here, I don’t want to forget you.  I want to spend my life with you.  And maybe that’s too much too soon and more than a little cheesy, but—”

“Stevie…”  You were the one who leaned in first and pressed your lips to his, the salty taste of your tears mixing in with your peppermint chapstick.  “I’m not easy to take care of.  I’m even more stubborn when I’m feeling helpless like I am now…”

“That’s okay,” he said as he pecked your lips again, letting it linger.  The two of you knew that a nurse could come down the hall any second and catch you, but it didn’t matter.  You were together and you were alive.  “I don’t need easy.  I just need you.”

[starlightsearches]

The Runaway—Ch. 3

It was supposed to be like any other bounty. Just another job. But when Din Djarin meets a runaway trying to escape a tragic past and a bleak future, everything changes. (Set after the events of Season 1, no spoilers for Season 2)

Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader (no y/n)

Series Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, mentions of abuse.

AN: Near-death experience in this chapter, but that’s the only extra. Feedback is always appreciated!

Din squints into the darkness, hardly able to see even with the adjustment his visor makes to the steadily dwindling light. He doesn’t show it, as he leans up against the rough-hewn entrance to your makeshift home, but there’s a stiffness to his muscles after the journey here—his legs aching underneath the weight of the armor, and the sun had been inescapable, beating down on both of you like the wrath of god. Although it’s setting now, the heat hasn’t abated in the time since and underneath his armor Din’s clothing is clinging to his skin.

“It’s around here somewhere,” Din can just make out your shape now, a dark smudge against blacker surroundings, but you move with confidence and quiet surety as you search around the small space. “Ha! Here it is,” there’s a faint click, and the little hovel you’ve led him to is filled with a yellowing light that stutters against the walls before steadily growing brighter. You swing the flashlight around in small, sweeping motions and Din takes it all in, his heart shriveling in his chest like a life-vest with a leak.

“It’s not much,” you say quietly, watching him out of the corner of your eye, “but it’s far from the worst place I ever lived.” Din doesn’t want to know what those places were like.

You’re hunched over, practically in half, but the dirt of the roof still scrapes at the top of your head, little crumbles of dust nesting in your hair as you move. He has no idea what stuff you’ve planned on grabbing—there’s nothing here worth taking. You’ve got a meager supply of food, stacked against the far wall, high off the ground to keep it away from any pests, but no table, no place to build a fire. There’s no bed, either, just a mat and a blanket so threadbare it seems to be made of holes. He can’t take his eyes off the blanket, the blood draining from his face; for a moment, he thinks he might be sick. His fingers curl in on themselves, twin fists resting at his sides, and he wishes that your father were here, right now. He’d end him.

“Hey,” Din turns at the sound of your voice and finds you kneeling at the edge of the back wall, near the mat and you’re looking up at him expectantly—Din wonders how many times you’ve tried to get his attention. You wait for a moment, and he nods to show that he’s listening. “Can you help me with this?” He’s not sure what this is, as you point at the wall—a gesture that gives him no helpful information—but he agrees, the child following closely behind as he takes his first step inside. 

 Din crouches, but only manages one or two half-steps before falling to his knees, which is all it takes to cross the distance from the door to the place where you kneel. You push the flashlight into his empty hands before lowering yourself to the ground. 

Starting in the bottom corner of the room, you rest your palm against the wall, stacking your hand one over the other with careful precision and Din shines the flashlight in your direction without asking any questions. About halfway up the wall, you begin to move towards him, walking your hands along the wall until you’re leaning over him, your body stretched across his without ever moving close enough to touch.

The light falls across your face, your lips moving silently casting strange shadows on the wall behind you before you stop just on the other side of him, the tip of your finger carving a soft x in the wall. “There,” you say quietly, just a soft puff of air against the side of his mask.

You lean back, taking the flashlight from his hands, sitting back on your legs, looking at him expectantly. Din is at a loss.

“I need you to hit the wall where I marked,” you say, characteristically cryptic, “really hard.”

Din looks at the wall, examining it more closely; unlike the rest of the packed-dirt structure, this side seems rock-solid underneath the caked-on, crumbling dust. He hits it hard enough, he could break some fingers, at best. 

You see his skepticism through the mask, shuffling a little closer, “it’s a false wall,” you say, retracing the x with your fingers, “I built it myself when I first came here—couldn’t just leave my stuff out in the open.”

“Why didn’t you keep it under your mat?” Din asks, still hesitant. That was the standard procedure for most of the criminals that Din had encountered, although he’s not sure that you fall into that category. Thieves among thieves will target their own if needed, but it’s futile to try and steal from anyone who sleeps on top of their possessions. Especially when there’s a blade under their pillow. 

You roll your eyes at him, “because that’s the first place everybody looks.” Din makes no move to do as you’ve asked, and you examine him more closely, your eyes searching the mask for the answer to a question that you haven’t yet asked. There’s a pause, a shift in the momentum of this conversation, this partnership, “don’t you trust me?”

Din sighs, rolling his eyes at you and he thinks some part of you knows because you smile as he pulls his fist back, his eyes on the carved x.

“Then again, my hands could have grown in the time since-” you blurt out in warning, but Din’s already loosed the punch. He closes his eyes, unwilling to watch the impact, waiting for the snap of bones, but it doesn’t come, his hand crashing through the wall amid a shower of dirt. 

It’s not a large break in the wall—Din can feel both edges of the space you’ve created without much movement, the tips of his fingers brushing the back wall while his wrist is still visible. He pulls his hand from the crevice, brushing the dirt from his glove and you fill the place immediately, shining the light and digging around in the illuminated opening. 

“Here,” you shove something into his hands, still focused on the crack in the wall. Din takes it, glancing down.

His eyes blow wide when he sees the item—a necklace like a collar, made of woven gold and blood-red gemstones. It’s caked with dirt, but still sparkles in the evening light, each stone throwing fractured ruby streaks against the walls of the room.

“Is this real?” Din asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. He’s not sure what kind of material the necklace is made of, but it looks expensive. He starts the mental tabulation: fuel costs, food, repairs that need to be made. New weapons to be purchased, toys for the kid. Maybe even an upgrade for his armor.

Before he can finish the thought, you’re shoving more jewelry his way—handfuls of glittering stones and expensive metals. Din sways on his knees, light-headed.

“I think that’s the last of it,” you turn to face him, shifting into a sitting position. You hold your hands out, and Din lets the collection fall into your waiting palms. You begin to sort the baubles into small piles, brushing the debris from each sparkling surface. Din stops your hand as you’re about to place a set of delicate silver bangles next to a jewel-encrusted hair pin.

“What is all this?”

Your eyes flicker with confusion, trying to interpret Din’s response, and honestly, he’s doing the same. His hand stays on your wrist, his grip loose enough that you could break it if you tried, but you don’t, your stare fixed right where his eyes would be.

    “You told me you didn’t have anything left. That you sold it all.” His voice shakes as he looks at the extravagant spread, the necessities and indulgences he had been calculating earlier multiplying ten-fold. With this sum, you could buy . . . anything. But when he looks at you, your expression pained, he’s immediately chastened. There were some things that had no price.

    “I lied,” you say gently, watching as the child wanders over to inspect the treasures. Din moves to grab him before he can reach any of it, but you hand him something to play with—a simple golden chain—and he’s mollified for the moment, pulling at the object with his little, green hands.

    “Why didn’t you tell me?” You both pull your attention away from the kid when Din speaks, and you sigh, brushing a few stray hairs away from your face with a rough hand.

    “I didn’t know if you could be trusted. For all I knew you were going to take it all and turn me over to my father anyways.” A huff of air escapes Din’s lips at your statement. There’s plenty you’ve left unsaid, words that weigh heavy on Din’s shoulders, a trust that he can’t fully fathom. It’s not just your life that you’ve placed so fully in his hands—it’s his, too, and the kid’s. With this, and the bounty your father had offered, he could buy a better life: no running, no danger, no bounties. He could find the child’s people, make sure he was safe. And then, after that, he could do anything.

    You knew all of this, when you brought him here. Din feels very small, sitting on the floor of this dingy dirt hut in the middle of nowhere, and this choice, this offering, feels much too large.

    You push the piles towards him, scooping them all together in your hands. “I want you to have it,” you say through shaky breaths, “for helping me.” 

    Din makes no move to take it, although he could. He grabs the strap of his satchel instead, tossing it into your lap.

    “Hold onto it for now,” he commands, “I don’t take any payment until the job is completed.” 

    You don’t move, lips parted and eyes on him. He thinks he might see the barest hint of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, but they fall closed, and for the first time, Din can see what this means to you. You want to live. You want to be okay.

    You begin clearing up the jewelry, packing it into the satchel, slinging it over your shoulder. That’s when Din hears the noise, footsteps crunching over the terrain outside. He stops you with a finger to his lips, pulling the flashlight towards him and flipping the switch, throwing the room into darkness.

     His visor adjusts to the shadows and his eyes follow soon after. You seem to know that something is wrong, and he can see you in the eerie green light that the mask offers as you pull the child into your lap, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes.

    Din moves quickly, back on his feet and out the door in mere moments, scanning the black horizon with careful eyes. He catches their flickering light source first—three people, he assumes based on the cadence of the footsteps and the soft chatter between them. The shortest one carries the torch, walking a few steps behind the others, and Din stands casually, waiting for them to notice him. His hand hovers over his hip, and he unlatches the strap on his holster.

    “‘S that you, Mando?” The familiar voice, one that grates like gravel against his ears, calls over the distance between them. He was right before; three people approach, but the man in front is the only one he recognizes, and everything gets more complicated. 

    “Hello Tate,” Din keeps his voice even, folding his arms over his broad chest, and the light from the torch flickers dangerously off the beskar. He hopes you’re hidden from view, with the child and the satchel. Din could get you all out of this with relative ease, as long as none of them notice your presence. 

    “Greef told us you were on the runaway job,” Dev says, and then he chuckles, “he actually told us not to bother.” He shifts his weight, leaning on one leg more heavily than the other. He’s got a blade in his hand, but his grip is casual, and he rests it against his hip. The other two have weapons as well—the zabrak on his right has a dangerous-looking club slung over his shoulder, and the twi'lek on his left carries a blaster in the hand not holding the torch. None of them seem too eager to use them just yet, and he’s not planning on giving them any reason. Still, he shifts again, resting his hand on his own hip, just above his blaster. Better to be safe. 

    “We decided to take our chances anyways,” Tate continues, eyeing the change in Din’s posture, “and with a bounty like that, can you blame us?” The others laugh, but the smiles don’t reach their eyes. “Somebody on the way to town told us to look for her out this way. We thought we might find you here.”

“The place was empty when I arrived,” Din gets straight to the point, “I think she might have left it abandoned. I’ve been waiting for her to return.”

    Tate smiles, “I thought you might say something like that.” 

    It happens quicker than the light flashing against his armor—weapons are drawn and he’s got the barrel of a blaster resting at the edge of his mask. Din keeps his own blaster aimed at Tate, but he watches the others in his periphery, tracking their movements. 

    “You gotta get a more subtle look, Mando, if you’re gonna be tellin’ lies like that. We heard from a few different people that they saw you chasin’ the girl out of the cantina.” He steps closer, twirling the blade with surprising dexterity given the meatiness of fingers, and from this distance, Din can see the dirt caked into the creases of Tate’s face, see the shadow of a beard growing over his skin. 

    “So now I’m forced to wonder,” Tate continues at a whisper, “where you’ve got her stashed if she’s not here, hmmm?” Din keeps silent, shifting his grip on his blaster, putting the slightest amount of pressure on the trigger.

    “Where is she, Mando?” he asks again, but  his gaze flickers to the zabrak, a movement so minute he almost dismisses it, until he shifts to check on the twi’lek. Din lets out a low sigh through his nose. Tate thinks he’s got the upper hand on him based on numbers alone. In his mind, he’s already won.

    “She back on your ship?” he asks again, growing impatient with Din refusal to accept defeat, “she out there with that little green freak you stole?”

    The sound of the shot booms in response and Tate stumbles back, hand at his midsection, checking for the burn of the blaster bolt, but it’s the twi’lek who falls, eyes rolling back into her head before she lands with a thump, the blaster falling from her hand.

    Din’s already aiming again, for Tate this time but the shot goes wide as the zabrak catches him on the shoulder with the club. His knees buckle and he fights to stay standing, blocking the next swing with his forearm. Wood clangs against beskar and Din grunts at the impact, pain sparking through his armor. 

    He’s hardly recovered before he hears the metallic slash, feels the burn in the open space where the pauldron meets his chest plate, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees red. 

    One of them hits him in square in the chest, and then there’s a boot at his neck. He places one hand at the heel, but the other isn’t cooperating—a strange tingle travels from the tips of his fingers up to his shoulder, and it burns, dead at this side.

    “Gonna ask you one more time, Mando,” Tate leans over him and Din sees black around the edges of his vision, fighting for every breath, “where’s the girl?” 

    Din says nothing, willing some kind of life into his arm, struggling against the weight of the world for one more lungful of air. He hopes you’ll keep the kid safe. 

    There’s a streak of red that shoots across his vision, and it’s funny to him; no one ever mentioned that as a part of dying, but he’ll accept it. There’s another—he lets his eyes fall closed. And then the weight is lifted, and he can breathe again, and he falls into a deep and restless sleep.

[xcziel]

Between Dusk and Dawn

by @alxina & @xantissa

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationship: Wu Xie/Wang Can

Characters: Wu Xie (DMBJ Series), Wang Can (DMBJ Series), Wang Meng (DMBJ Series), Liu Sang (DMBJ Series), Wang Pangzi, Zhang Qiling

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, AU, Undercover, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, First Time, Angst, Humor, Romance, The 10 years when Wu Xie was a mob widow

Summary:

When Wang Can stumbled onto Wu fucking Xie while hiding abroad, he expected everything but being told to play a goddamn honeytrap on the man!

Sex he could deal with, but emotions were not supposed to be a part of this.

-

The low roar of the engine as it made its way through the desert sounded oddly loud in the early dawn. The sand had started picking up the silver from the horizon, widening around him as he stared ahead through the windshield. Wang Can stared at the road stretching ahead, seeming almost limitless in the faint light, and stepped on the gas, the whine of the engine drowning out all of his thoughts.

He was still feeling faintly queasy, so he rolled down his window, letting the cool air hit him in the face, and didn’t roll it back up when he started feeling a little better. The car seemed suddenly small with the windows up. He still wasn’t sure whether it had been the right decision to leave at night instead of waiting for Wu Xie to wake up and then leave in the morning. It had been hard, picking up his clothes from the bed in the dark and getting dressed as quietly as possible, but it would have been even harder if he had had to look at Wu Xie’s expression while he dressed, then still make the decision to leave. No, it was better this way. He wasn’t stealing away like a thief in the night, he was just making… strategic choices. Choices which he could follow through without risking them being waylaid by his own unreliability. Because that was what he was when facing Wu Xie - unreliable. He would have had to leave anyway, there was really no point in dragging this out anymore than he had to.

He shifted a little on the seat, trying to get comfortable despite still being sore from being fucked only hours before, and he clenched his thighs reflexively as he remembered that. There were a few more hours of driving ahead of him, and he tried to focus on that for now.

It was only much later that Wang Can realised that he had left the headlights on even once the sun was up. It frustrated him, and he swept his gaze across the dashboard, checking if there was anything else that had escaped his notice, and saw the pack of wet wipes sitting in a corner where he had obviously forgotten to put it back under his seat. The wipes made him think of Wu Xie, and he reached out with one hand to get at them, trying and failing to reach them, before letting them stay there for the time being.

They had reached the meeting place where Wu Xie’s backup was supposedly waiting. Wang Can was curious as hell, but managed not to ask. He told Wu Xie he was going to leave the next day. He told him he didn’t want to talk. He preferred sex, it so much easier that way, just flesh and sensation.

And he did leave in the morning.

Just… earlier in the morning than he might have implied.

It was easier to focus on what he was doing. On making sure no cars were tailing him, on keeping track of his fuel, or the occasional speed trap.

He stopped for food twice. Once at a gas station to buy a hot dog wannabe, and the second time by a small trailer parked at the edge of a side road leading off the highway towards some sort of small town. There were plenty of other cars - all local - parked on the side of the road, people eating from small plastic bowls while leaning against their cars.

The stew was phenomenal, tasting all the more amazing with half of a fresh baguette. He ate in his car with the AC blasting full force, and tried to ignore the papayas piled on turned over crates beside the trailer and the boy selling quarters of them for a few coins, using a large knife to skilfully cut them open with one whack and scraping the seeds into a bucker by his feet, the breeze carrying the scent towards him and irritating him to no end.

He switched the AC to internal air circulation and was oddly glad for the amount of spice in the stew, which made his nose run and him unable to smell anything.

A few hours later, Wang Can was pulling up in front of the street where Lao Shen lived, and, even as he killed the engine and picked up his bag, he glanced out through the window to see if there was anyone around whom he recognised. Coming here was a risk, but he hoped the information that Wu Xie was alive hadn’t yet reached any of his handlers, and he had to get the documents he had stashed here. Money, equipment, those he could deal without, but the documents would be so very hard to get, and those he had here were acquired through a local freelance contact not exactly Wang sponsored, so, to him, in the situation he was in, they were priceless.

He got out of the car and walked up to the front entrance, feeling the back of his neck tingle from the way two mercenaries whom he hadn’t seen before looked his way as he entered. Of course there would have been a dozen new recruits during the time he was away in the desert, but even still, Wang Can watched them as he made his way through the open hall and towards the stairwell. He walked over to his room, which was at the very end of the corridor, turning the key in the lock and pushing in without making too much noise. It smelled musty inside, and he flicked on the light switch and immediately made his way to the bed, looking around once to check that everything was in its place.

Dropping to a low crouch, Wang Can peered under the bed, running his fingers along the edge, then moved them further inside until he felt the familiar shape of the package underneath. Wang Can ripped off the tape holding it in place and let it drop into his hands. He returned to the desk to open it and see what he could use at the moment. He didn’t want to risk damaging the documents, so he brought out his combat knife and sliced it open at the top, then scattered the items out on the surface of the desk.

“You know, Hans must have liked you, because he actually tried to cover for you when I called.” Lao Shen sounded tired, the characteristic rasp of his voice more pronounced than usual.

Wang Can let his hands drop on the desk as he slowly looked around.

“Don’t move,” Lao Shen said, the distinct sound of a safety being pulled back echoing in the quiet house. “I’m too old to get into a hand to hand altercation with you.”

“Lao Shen,” Wang Can said slowly, watching the man silhouetted in the doorway.

[hillnerd]

How about my Prodigal Prat Percy and My shy neurodivergent Hugo who is his favourite Nephew - if you like. (No obligation what so ever.)

It was take your kids to work day at the Ministry. Percy knew his own job was rather boring for his twin daughters. Lucy looked on with polite interest, while Molly didn't bother looking interested until she found out more about the Floo network and how there were maintenance workers who would go into it.  "It's the most dangerous job at the Ministry beside those at the MLE office."  Molly's eyes lit up.  "What happens in there that's so dangerous?" "Well you have to go in there with specially charmed gear so you can breath and travel through it without getting your lungs messed up from prolonged exposure to all that soot and flame. Also the workers are fighting a tornado of flames and Floo magic when doing the charms in there-- so it's rather hazardous. Easy for someone to lose their footing and get tossed around for hours on end if you don't take all the proper precautions." "Oh! Ohh! I want to do that!" Percy let out a sigh. Of course she did. She said that about every dangerous job she'd ever heard of. Dragon taming, Auror, experimental potioneer, curse breaker... The list went on and on.  "I'm sure you'd be very good at it. What about you, Lucy?" "I'd rather keep my feet on this side of the Floo," she quickly answered. “What kind of spells keep a person in place through that, though?” His twins weren't identical in looks or personality, unlike his twin brothers. He wondered if they'd be sorted into the same Hogwarts house or not. Molly was as Gryffindor a child as he'd ever known, but Lucy was harder for him to pin down.  He looked at his pocket watch. Nearly half past three.  "Time to meet your mother."

"Ohh Daddy can't we stay longer? I want to go do maintenance in the Floo!" "Only trained professionals get to do that, Molly," he said, leading them down the hall to Floo them to their mother. "I wanted to see the mail sorting room again," Lucy added, looking with longing down the hall.  "There'll be plenty of other times you can see that," he said, but his chest puffed up a bit. Perhaps he'd managed to make their time at the office less than boring, after all. "As I recall, you both wanted to visit the Magical Child Welfare Office today." "The Adoption Carnival!" Lucy smiled, hands grasping together beneath her chin. She excitedly twirled her skirt back and forth like a bell. "I'd forgotten!" Molly gave a whoop, punching the air. "I LOVE the carnivals!" "Once you're done with your volunteering, you get to have fun with the other kids, but not until then." Both his daughters rolled their eyes. "We know, papa!" "You tell us that every time!" "I don't want you to forget the reason for the carnival," he forewarned, wagging a finger their way. "It's so the kids can find families, we know!" Molly moaned. "We're not dumb." "It's not a question of your intelligence. It's a matter of slowing down to recognize how lucky we are to have families, and to prioritize those children's needs." "Will there be a petting zoo?"  He gave a sigh. Maybe they were a little young for him to be giving this speech.  "I believe your mother might have mentioned baby nifflers." He could barely contain his smile as the girls squealed and laughed.  When they arrived at the MCW Office it was controlled chaos, as it ever was.

 Kids were running about in much nicer clothes than usual, though many weren't quite finished dressing yet. The twins were happy to join the ruckus, both yelling 'Uncle Ron, Uncle Ron!' and running across the den to join their Uncle in braiding some little girl's hair. Various Weasleys were part of the fray. He spotted George out in the garden setting up carnival games, Ginny polishing brooms, his Mum magically changing spots of grass to bright colors for a cake walk, and various other brothers and spouses were walking between booths, arms laden with supplies.  Percy looked about for his wife. He soon found Audrey chasing down a four year old who was wearing socks on both his hands and running away with no trousers. Percy quickly headed the boy off, picked him up and presented him to Audrey. "Thank goodness for you," Audrey panted, blowing a curl out of her face. "This conejito doesn't like putting on trousers, even though he knows guests are coming." "Is that so?" Percy asked the boy with his sternest of faces, as his wife pulled the polka dotted socks from the small boy's hands. "It is quite important you wear proper attire when meeting new people." "Trousers are hot!" the boy exclaimed, head dramatically thrown back. "Hmm... A very good point," he nodded, looking to Audrey. "Perhaps we can turn these into shorts instead?" "You do it? I'm too tired to remember how to tailor things," she quietly griped, pressing her head against his arm. He tried his best not to smile when she was put out like this, but always found her pouting looks rather adorable.  "Long day?"  "Long month!"  He quickly spelled the trousers into shorts and they finally got the wriggling boy. They went about the room tying shoes, tucking shirts. It took a whole lot of child wrangling from Audrey, her staff, and all the Weasleys-- but they finally were ready for the prospective foster families (and perhaps even future adopters) to arrive, and for the children to go about the carnival having an intense amount of fun. Later on Harry arrived with his own children, which caused a lot of turning heads, not only because it was ‘THE Potter,’ but because James had let out a cry of glee and immediately knocked over a table full of food. Percy’s twins joined with their cousins, and Percy was happy to let Harry look after them for a bit. With so many staff on hand this year Audrey didn't have to be as hands on for the paperwork side of things for once, giving them a chance to slip away.  They went back into the center to their favorite spot, a little sunroom with an old comfortable couch.

"This looks to be your best carnival yet. Wonderful turnout."

"I'll feel better next week when I know if it paid off," she said with a sigh, putting her head on his shoulder. "But yes, it definitely looks like fun. Nothing but toothy grins everywhere I looked."

Percy nodded and leaned his head on top of hers. Their peace was broken by the sound of fireworks going off, making them both jump. "Those weren't supposed to go off for an hour! I was going to have ear plugs for the children and everything!" "Can we have a strict family foster George for a bit?" asked Percy, shaking his head.  "Sadly he's past the age limit for fostering by fifteen years." She closed her eyes and rubbed her brows.  Another great bang came, but this one sounded more like a slammed door followed by the pattering of tiny feet. Audrey made a move to get up but Percy waved her down. "I'll get this one." It didn't take much looking to find a head of bright ginger curls poking out from under a craft laden table.   "Hugo?" Percy asked. His knees creaked as he squatted down, something they'd been more and more prone to doing lately.  His tiny nephew had his back to the wall and hands over his ears as he rocked a bit. His eyes were tightly scrunched closed.  Percy did a quick Muffliato, and closed the curtains with a flick of his wand.

Despite saying he'd take care of it, Audrey had some in to fix the problem. He silently mimed 'tell them I have Hugo,' which she immediately understood. 

Knowing there was little point in talking to Hugo at this time, he gathered a few books and a cup of water. He gently placed them in front of his nephew as he waited for the boy to open his eyes. They had an old copy of 'Beedle the Bard' he'd given the house a decade ago he silently read. A good five minutes passed before his nephew started to move.  "Water?" Hugo nodded before drinking the cup and giving a small 'ahhh' as he finished it. "I have a few books we can read from in the sunroom, if you like. Which do you prefer," he said, laying the three books out. "Beedle the Bard, Stellaluna, or Arrow to the Sun?" Hugo pointed to Stellaluna, grasping Percy's finger as they went to the sunroom to read.  He read Stellaluna three times, at Hugo's silent request. The boy's bright brown eyes lit up every time the bat and her little bird friends hugged at the end.

"Do you want to go back to the carnival?" Hugo shrugged and buried his mop of curls into Percy's side.  "Was it just the fireworks that were too loud, or were the people too loud too?" he asked, weighing his hands back and forth. Hugo put both hands in Percy's. "I understand. It was rather chaotic out there. Lots of noise." Hugo nodded.  "If I put some headphones on to make it quiet, would you like to go outside? The petting zoo, cake walk and broom riding booth looked like fun." Hugo worried his lower lip, looking much like his father had at the same age.

 Ron hadn't been on the spectrum, exactly, but he'd always been a more sensitive child like Hugo. That was most likely why he was so partial to the lad. He'd always preferred Ron to the rest of his siblings, though he tried to cover up his partiality the best he could. Whenever he had a choice, he'd make sure Ron got his castoffs first because it meant more to him and he showed such care and kindness to all his items and pets. 

His nephew had just turned four and still barely talked, but he had that same deep care within him about things. He held books with reverence, smiled with the same whole-bodied smile, and had a natural curiosity all his own. He hoped to hear Hugo talk more, eventually, because he imagined the boy had quite a lot to say. "So, headphones?" "Are... Are they Muggle?" Hugo whispered.  Percy had to fight back the mad grin trying to make its way across his face. He hadn't heard Hugo in months, despite being around the boy many times.  "They're very close to the ones you normally use, so sort of," Percy answered, bringing Hugo with him to raid the supply closet. "Your Dad and Uncle George invented them based on Muggle technology, but they don't use electricity. They use magic to help cancel out certain sounds, but still let you hear the important things." He held up a pair and Hugo looked glum. "Ready for me to put them on you?" Hugo shook his head, brows furrowing a bit.  "What's wrong?" Hugo looked away and bit his lip. His nephew didn't much like things that were different from what he was used to. What did his headphones look like? They weren't the mass-produced ones. No, they were the prototypes, so they'd used actual Muggle tech and just spells on top of it. Percy racked his mind trying to remember the details of them.  "Sorry they don't look like your normal ones from home. Did you need me to spell them another color?"   Hugo stopped responding, looking to the ground.   "They do the same job though... I can magic them to look more like the ones from home. Make them have have the same padding on the inside, change the color... Make them plastic-looking." Hugo suddenly nodded, running up to Percy and pulling at his sleeve. Ah, he'd forgotten about Hugo's interest in plastic. It took a few spells before Hugo finally put on the headphones and smiled.  "Ready to go back out?" His nephew nodded, giving a thumbs up and a broad grin. "Excellent. I have it on good authority that there will be baby nifflers at the petting zoo."

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 40

Read on AO3. Part 39 here. Part 41 here.

Summary: Out of curiosity, is it possible to have a party in Gilead that doesn't end in disaster?

Words: 5600

Warnings: emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello! Welcome back, again, to my weekly updates. Haha. I think the last few chapters may go a couple weeks in between updates, if only because I want to get them exactly right--just as a heads up.

I am hoping this chapter seemed correct in its pacing and length--these are two things I am trying to get a better feel for as I write, hence the extended length of the chapters, but I'm wondering if it feels too draggy?

Anyway, I love y'all very very much, and I love your thoughts and kindness and generosity. I am truly so lucky. <3

The Night Buzzard was hardly the most comfortable sleep you’d had, but it had easily been the deepest in weeks. Between the exhaustion of being fucked within an inch of your existence and the knowledge that a veritable army was only feet away from you, you felt invulnerable enough to slip into what apparently was complete unconsciousness for six hours. Nothing--not the rumbling of the terrain, not the voices of the Knights, nor the wailing of the engine--had roused you. Only a firm pressure on your shoulder was enough to finally drag you from your blissful semi-coma.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with a film of sleep, coming to focus on the morning-kissed face of Kylo Ren.

Light filtered through the black-tint windows, splitting him in shadow, his expression soft and stern. His hair was filthy with sweat, clumped in frizzy locks over his forehead and ears, his chin and upper lip peppered with a hint of stubble. As you met his gaze, you could see nothing but tired, guttered rage in his pupils, an umbra under his eyes. His attention flickered over you, examining you, a warm, gloveless hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing over the still-tender skin. You winced, and his head tilted, his hand skating down your arm, sparking affection in your chest. Affection you did not want. Frowning, you shrugged him off. 

His lid twitched, his jaw tensed. He glanced to the side. “We’ve arrived home.” Toward the front of the Buzzard, the Knights were shuffling, the door whining as it opened. “Once you shower and dress, we’ll be departing again.”

You blinked, tugging the robe to your chin and propping yourself up on an elbow. “Again?” you asked. “Why?”

“City hall,” he replied. “Tying loose ends.”

“Okay.” You shrugged, rolling over, looking at the wall. “You enjoy that. I won’t be going.”

Pressure on your shoulder again, turning you toward him, and you shook him away. “You’re coming.”

“If you’re concerned about my safety, leave a Knight or two outside.” A tiny smirk on your lips. “They’ve become pretty familiar with me by now, anyway.”

Kylo grumbled, gripping your arm. “You don’t have a choice.”

Spinning on him, you seared him in his spot. “What else is new?” you spat. “Go ahead, then. Make me.” You grit your teeth. “I’d really like to see you try.”

He stared at you, studying your face, lips pinching together. The last Knight stepped off the Buzzard, and the door closed, drenching you both in silence. You held him in your gaze, unyielding, breath stalled in your lungs. Kylo swallowed, and then averted his eyes, his conviction melting in the ferocity of your fury. The hold on your arm loosened--you grabbed two of his fingers, plucked them free, and tossed his hand to the side.

“Right,” you said. “That’s what I thought.”

Huffing, you clambered out of the bunk from the end of the mattress, pulling your robe--his robe, technically--over your body and cinching it tight. You felt Kylo’s gaze linger while you gathered your shoes and underwear into your arms, flouncing barefoot down the steps and into the front yard of his home. The sun was peeking into the sky, spilling newborn light through dawn clouds, the air still woven with the wool of summer heat. Sighing, you paced to the front door, arms folded with your belongings, trained on the floor as you escaped to your room.

When you shut the door to your tiny cell, you burst, hurling your clothes into the air with a howl, throwing yourself on your bed. It didn’t matter if you wanted to cry--you would continue to refuse, content to bask in rage instead, to let yourself simmer in it. You would tolerate no more kindness from Kylo Ren, no more exceptions in his design, no more delicate baths or malted whisky eyes or hope-hollow words. If he was to never let you go, you would never let him hold you again.

It was about a half-hour before the Buzzard peeled from the driveway, and the Audi with it. You allowed yourself a moment of respite in his absence--now was your chance to bathe and catalogue the thoughts flipping through your mind. Another long, soft sigh escaped your lungs, and you rolled out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes and new uniform before heading to your door, only to be met with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. You swallowed, paused, heart flipping. It could only be a Knight--you just hadn’t expected to be met in your room. When the boots stopped outside of the threshold, but went no further, you shook off your nerves and opened it.

One of the Knights--helmeted, as usual, God only knew what they looked like--stood in front of you, silent, as if it was totally normal for him to be waiting outside of your door like a sentry. Warmth rushed your face in memory of the previous night, acknowledging that he’d not only seen you naked, he’d stroked his cock to the sight of you being fucked, and he’d shot hot jets of cum somewhere onto your body. You supposed it’d be awkward to ask which load had been his.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. If only there was a way for you to glimpse his mind, to know what he was recalling--or imagining--in this moment. “Excuse me.”

“Apologies,” he sputtered. The voice was familiar--Ushar, you guessed. “Wasn’t expecting you to be leaving.”

“Oh.” Perhaps getting his semen blown onto your face afforded you the privilege of a conversation. Or he was concerned you’d be afraid, and then mention it to your Commander. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stepped toward him, and he pivoted, back to the wall, allowing you a wide berth as you passed. Fear seemed more likely. 

It wasn’t until you’d made it approximately twenty feet down the hall that he moved to follow, trailing behind while you snuck down the steps and to your bathroom in the annex. You opened the door and slipped inside, tossing your uniform to the side and running your bath. Seconds later, Ushar arrived at the door in silence. 

As alone as you could get inside Kylo Ren’s home, you shrugged off your robe, and scanned your body, seeking evidence of your evening. There was no mirror in your bathroom, just as there was not one in your bedroom--so you improvised, pressing your palms to your cheeks, mapping the topography of your skull with your fingers. Pain tingled at your touch, the lumps and bumps that had burgeoned overnight still thumping and soft, the bruises on your face stinging with latent life. 

They were all trophies, to you, little souvenirs from your holiday at his hands--and you hoped by the time you’d lost them, the feelings packaged with them would be lost, too.

When the bath was halfway full, you sank into the water, shuddering as tension and ache was vacuumed from your limbs. You gazed at your stomach beyond the surface, imagining it as an island in the bath--your skin stretched tight, belly button protruding like a tiny hill--and coasted your hands over it, as if this would manifest your illusion. When it finally did become reality, there was no telling where you’d be, what you’d be bathing in, or who you would have come to trust. But you knew that wherever you landed, it would be by the strength of your own wings, in a nest that, no matter how humble, was crafted by only your design.

After you were clean and the water had cooled, you hoisted yourself from the bath, arms and legs heavy from relief in buoyancy. You stumbled onto the tile and steadied yourself with the sink, taking a few breaths. Balanced, you dressed into your uniform and tucked your hair away before tossing your leftover items into the hamper and exiting the bathroom. 

Ushar was still stationed outside--your cheeks burned again when you walked past him, returning to your room. You’d had plenty of encounters with men--your red dress was proof of that--but in the past three years, the only person whose release you’d handled had been your Commander’s. The sudden fact that seven men had anointed you with cum within the past 24 hours sharpened the post-engagement awkwardness to a knife. Not that you regretted it. 

You shut your door behind you and flopped onto your mattress face-first. The sky was bright, but it was still early. There was nothing else for you to do but continue to sleep.

The sun had passed mid-point when a squealing cheer from somewhere in the home startled you awake, eyes opening into a blank wall. A little hint of dread poked your brain as you recalled what Johana had mentioned the day before. A party to celebrate. You grunted, wanting to bury yourself in your pillow--but cramped, stomach seizing in hunger, informing you that you hadn’t actually eaten in over 24 hours. Between the doctor, the Buzzard trip, and getting your brains fucked out and then jizzed on, your appetite had been whittled to nil. Unfortunately, you were still human.

Sighing for the five-hundredth time that day, you trudged out of bed, adjusting your bonnet before you opened the door to Ushar, steadfast as ever. He sidled against the wall again, and you once more plodded through the hall, down the steps, with him in slow pursuit. 

Another peal of laughter ricocheted off the walls, and your neck prickled. They were in the parlour room, whoever they all were, and it was required you pass the parlour room to reach the kitchen. Turning to Ushar, you cocked your head in a silent plea, to have even a sliver of a chance to be invisible. Perhaps, again, out of fear, he nodded, backing into the hall--and you willed yourself to be a scarlet spectre, unseeable unless you wished to be seen, in the hopes you could escape their eyes.

As you crept to the archway, one of the women clapped her hands.

“Oh, Johana!” she said. “I had one of those too! Perfect for the baby room.”

“Do you think so?” That was Johana, sounding concerned. “No choking hazards?”

“No way!” said another woman. “You just hang it up above the crib and they fall right asleep!”

“Yes, it doesn’t go in the crib!”

Johana laughed. “Oh, give me a break, I’m a new mom.”

The group erupted in giggles again. Your stomach churned--but not from hunger. As their chatter escalated, you stepped forward, visible through the threshold, and every word on their lips died. 

In the center of the room was Johana, perched on the edge of the leather Chesterfield with a mobile in her lap, buried in a mountain of handmade baby clothes, toys, and room decor, a bevy of neatly wrapped boxes still unopened. Surrounding her were at least a dozen Wives, none of whom you recognized apart from Dolpheld Mitaka’s--you supposed the others had become Widows. They scrutinized you in confused disgust for a long, quiet moment.

It was almost shocking, how quickly they’d pulled this amount of material together, but you also knew most Wives stockpiled baby things in anticipation for their day. Perhaps the only truly surprising fact was their willingness to share.

“Ofkylo.” Johana’s cheeks glowed, but you couldn’t tell if it was from joy or embarrassment. “Good afternoon.”

“Um.” You folded your arms over your chest, like you could hide the knowledge that you were pregnant from everyone in the room. “Hello.”

She placed the mobile to the side. “I trust you had an uneventful evening.” There was no edge of malice in her tone--your pregnancy appeared to have at least one tangible benefit.

Pinching your lips between your teeth, you ignored the swarm of blood to your face. “Yeah,” you said, and then corrected, “yes. I, um. I did.”

One of the Wives, plump with dark hair, snorted, rolling her eyes. “You let your Handmaid out during the day?” she asked. “I can’t stand to see them crawling around like that.”

“Oh, I know!” replied a blonde-haired woman. “They’re like rats. Conniving, selfish things.”

“The one I had would always be making eyes at my husband, I swear.”

“Wasn’t she blind in one eye?”

“Well, yes, but she was still looking at him with her good eye--”

The back of your neck bloomed with sweat, your fingers burrowing into your arms. Venom gathered on the tip of your tongue, the most foolish part of you wanting to test out just how absolute your Commander’s protection was. 

“--and all I knew was, she better have been sleeping with that one eye open, or I was going to--”

The dark-haired Wife shushed the rest, leering at you as she spoke. “Be careful what you say,” she said, “you know Jo’s husband has a soft spot for Handmaids.”

The others nodded in agreement, supplying Johana with looks that ranged from pity to complete contempt. 

“That’s right!” This woman, a red-head closest to Johana, patted her knee. “Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if I were you. I don’t think I’d ever put up with everything you do.”

“It’s kind of stupid, isn’t it?” said another. “Benefits for Handmaids? Who cares? They’re literally whores!”

A gaggle of them laughed, and you licked your lips, teeth crushing your tongue into submission. Johana met your eyes, glimpsed your whitening knuckles, and her jaw stiffened.

The red-head patted her knee again, like this was comforting instead of patronizing. “You’re being quiet!” she said. “You don’t share your husband’s… preoccupation with Handmaids, do you?”

Johana blanched, scowling. “What? No.”

“That’s good.” She sighed. “Because I was just thinking the other day, you know, this never would’ve happened if Moden were alive.” A spoiled-fruit sweetness tinged her tone. “Don’t you think?”

For a sharp, clear second, Johana froze, and the last restraint on your mouth snapped.

“I think that’s pretty inappropriate,” you said. “Ms. Johana has no say in what her husband does.”

Silence swallowed the room, every muscle motionless. A low murmur of disbelief vibrated through the Wives as they glanced at each other, and then at Johana. She was looking at you like she’d looked at you at the dinner party--only this time, bathed in familiar light.

“Actually.” Back straight, she cleared her throat. “Ofkylo, why don’t you. Come... sit with us.”

The Wives flipped on her like a dozen switches, their brows drawn back or raised, before gazing at you, waiting for you to make your choice. There was some delight you’d take in staying, in deliberately making them uncomfortable, just as Johana wanted--but God, you were hungry. You shook your head, put up your palms in deference.

“Oh, no,” you said. “That’s, um, that’s fine, Ms. Johana, but I was just going to get something--”

“Nonsense.” She scooted over, patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Sit.”

You rolled your tongue over your teeth, ready to turn and leave, but something in her expression was tight, needled with pain. As if she was pleading. A current of pity rippled through your mind--in this room, surrounded by gifts, supposed friends, and social and legal superiority, she was still left depending on you. With a shrug of agreement, you waded through the crowd until you reached her, sinking onto the sofa, squeezing between her and the building hill of presents.

None of the Wives spoke. Johana clapped her hands on her thighs. “So!” she said. “Next gift?”

They surveyed each other for a moment, and a small hand crept into the air.

“Um.” It was Mitaka’s Wife, her mousey face peeking through the crowd. “You can open my gift next, Johana.” She offered a floppy paper package, eased it toward the couch. “I, um, I made it awhile ago for… someone else. It’s not much.”

Johana took it into her lap with a small grin. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just lovely.” 

You watched, like you were beyond a screen as she opened a gift meant for your child as if it was hers. She looked out at the other women, peeling the wrapping back, exposing a small, knit sweater. The room gasped, shrieking in restrained glee when she held it up, flipping it in display. 

“Adorable!” said the blonde-haired Wife, clapping her hands. “That’s perfect.”

Johana released a nervous chuckle. “But it’s so small.”

“No way!” said another woman. “That baby’s taking after you. He’s going to be tiny!”

“Yes! Precious little man!”

“Oh,” Johana said with a laugh, “we’ve decided it’s a boy, now?”

Another jubilant interruption, the lot of them breaking into smiles while your muscles locked, your focus drifting to your stomach. You hadn’t really considered its gender, or its appearance, or its actuality at all. Something twisted through your heart--a swell of repulsive affection--as you imagined it in your arms, every feature blurred, save for one clear detail: a feathery mop of thick, dark hair. 

“What are you going to name him?” 

The baby in your arms disintegrated, and you snapped to the parlour room. 

“He won’t be a Junior, will he?”

The first thought through your head--Kylo would never want a Junior--before you realized that Kylo would never meet his child, and the question hadn’t been directed toward you at all.  

Johana shrugged, her shoulder brushing yours. “You know, I’ve thought about names, but I can’t decide. My husband doesn’t really have a preference.” 

“He’ll be just as handsome as your husband, I’m sure,” said the dark-haired woman. “But let’s hope he gets your manners.”

“What do you mean?” asked the blonde Wife. “Her husband is polite! He’s so quiet.”

The room dimmed with stifled muttering as the women who had spent more than five seconds around Kylo Ren exchanged sardonic smiles. Johana tensed at your side.

The blonde woman blinked. “What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Polite isn’t the word I’d use,” said the dark-haired woman. 

“I’d use the word ass--”

“Shh! Don’t say that, Jo’s right here.”

“Well, she’s the one enabling all of his--”

“It’s fine!” Johana’s face was pale, fists bunching in her dress. “I--I mean, he’s rough around the edges,” she said. “But I’m sure he’s… I’m sure he’s going to be a great father.” She pursed her lips, looking at you, that same plea in her eyes. “Right?”

Your stomach roared in protest--the thought of remaining in a room, listening to Wives discuss your child and its father’s involvement as if you were exempt from the equation had bubbled nausea to your tongue. Clearing your throat, you stood, dusting off your skirt. Johana grabbed your wrist.

“Hold on. Where are you going?” 

Grimacing, you wagged free of her grip. “I, um, really have to eat.” Your face was on fire. “Excuse me.”

Focus fixed to the floor, you scrambled from the group of Wives, whisking through the hall, wiping your palms on your sides. A great father. Even if you thought that was true--which, given everything you’d come to know about him, you now admitted you’d be delusional to think--Kylo Ren was never going to know if his child was even born. 

When you arrived in the kitchen, you met with Emma and Rose, preparing some sort of hors d'oeuvres. You wondered how many of these they did, given all of the parties Johana seemed hell-bent on forcing on this home. At the sound of your boot on the tile, they spun from the counters, and you offered a small grin, easing past the threshold.

“Hi.” You looked around the kitchen. “I was just. Um. Coming to get something to eat.”

Rose sighed. “Can you come back later? We’re a little busy.”

“Oh.” An angry growl somewhere in your abdomen. “I mean, I was just going to maybe have a sandwich?”

“Just let us finish this up,” Emma said, “then you can make yourself whatever you want.”

On the counter were dozens of cucumber slices, handfuls of cherry tomatoes, and a tub of shiny cream cheese. It couldn’t have been that much more work to do. And you didn’t want to be rude. You chewed your lip, folded your hands behind your back.

“Would you like help?”

They paused, glanced at each other, then back at you. Rose stepped to the side, providing you space in the counter, and you joined them, looking over the spread. 

“Here.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a knife, and placed it in front of you. “Finish up the cucumbers.”

There were only a few more to cut. You nodded, scanned the counter for a cutting board. “Oh, um. Do you have a spare…”

“There should be one in the bottom of the pantry.”

You nodded and crossed to the other side of the kitchen, opening the bottom drawers and searching through them, pushing aside the aluminum sheet pans and sets of kitchen utensils. No cutting board.

“I can’t find it?”

Emma sighed. “It should be under the muffin tins.”

“Oh.” You pried up the set of muffin tins, revealing a small wooden slab. “Got it. Thank you.”

Bending down, you wedged it from underneath the plethora of unused accessories, wiggling it from the drawer. As you pulled it free, the cresting rumble of the Audi’s engine coasted into the driveway. Your grip wavered, and it crashed to the floor. 

“Shit!” you hissed. Emma and Rose looked at you, brows pinched in concern, and you swallowed, heat building in your cheeks. “Um. I mean. Sorry.”

When you picked it up, the door to the Audi closed, followed by the scrape of boots through the front path, and you paused, your grasp on the board so tight you were surprised the wood hadn’t splintered. With you in the corner of the kitchen, your Commander wouldn’t see you as he passed through the hall--but it wasn’t seeing you that had your heart in your throat. It was the impending discovery of the party around the corner, full of women--and his Wife--whom you feared were guaranteeing their casualties under his design.

The front door opened, and you heard Kylo march through, shutting it behind him and striding into the hall. Chest tight, you returned to the counter, cutting board in hand, and placed it down before drawing in a slow breath. You plucked a smaller cucumber and laid it on the slab. His footsteps stopped.

“What is this?” 

Hands quaking, you lifted the knife, the handle heavy in your palm as you recalled how to wield one. 

“Oh! Commander,” Johana said. “It’s a party! For us!”

You lined up the blade with the tip, lips pulled in between your teeth. Sliced.

“Us.”

Fresh cucumber wet your nose. Beside you, Emma and Rose were chopping away, as if they didn’t sense the impending mushroom cloud just meters beyond the walls. 

“Yes. For our baby!” A ripple of laughter through the group. Then silence smothered the air.

Slice.

“I mean, look at everything everyone’s brought for us.” 

Kylo Ren said nothing. The sound of your rocking blade was thunder in your ears as it hit the board.

Slice.

“We’ve, uh, actually been joking that it’s a boy. That he’s going to have my manners.” 

Only a few women forced a laugh.

“But don’t worry!” Rustling of something, like paper. “We said he’ll have your looks.”

Still not a word. This time, not a single mouth managed a noise.

Slice.

“Well?” Johana breathed a mock-sigh. “It’s our baby! Aren’t you excited, Sir?”

No response. 

“Commander?” 

Slice. Slice.

“Sir--”

“This is over.”

Your breath stalled and the knife slipped--you hissed, dropped it in pain. A sliver of blood leaked from your thumb.

“What?” A tentative snort of disbelief. “What’s over?”

“You. Me. All of this.” 

A choked laugh--none of the other Wives made a sound. “Ky--Commander. What?”

Rose and Emma paused, too, staring at you. Face tingling with flames, you were unwilling to meet their eyes--you glanced around the kitchen, seeking out a towel. Red drops speckled the cutting board. 

“I want everyone out of this house. I want you gone by the weekend.”

Your hands trembled, littering the counter with blood. Breath failed to find your lungs. 

“Gone? You can’t… you can’t be seri--”

“Out. Now.”

The Marthas muttered something to you, their voices muffled by the hammering of your heart. Part of you was stuttering in disbelief that your Commander was actually doing this. The other part was busy filing its nails, having predicted this the second the doctor slapped your thigh with the news. Behind you, you heard the Wives filing out, whispering to themselves as they fled through the door. Meanwhile, you flitted around the kitchen, thumb curled into your fist in an attempt to staunch the flow, still unable to find a single goddamn piece of cloth.

“Hey.” Rose grabbed your shoulder, shoved a dish towel into your chest. “I was trying to give you this.” 

Your lids widened, and you nodded in thanks, thumb throbbing as you fumbled to swathe it closed. The last Wife shut the door behind her, your breath shallowed. The parlour room was quiet. A frustrated, feminine sigh.

“I mean. What do you expect me to say? Are you serious?”

A dark crimson daub blossomed through the cloth. You needed to get a fucking bandage. Those were all the way in the washroom. Past the parlour room.

“Yes.”

Johana huffed. “And where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“I don’t care.” 

Another pause. You and the Marthas had ceased moving, ceased talking--only in awe of the crumbling foundation of your home. 

“How do you--”

“You have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings.”

“Kylo, that’s only four--you asshole, where are you going--”

His steps disappeared into the home, turning the corner toward the staircase. You stood there, for a moment, squeezing your thumb in its makeshift tourniquet, each of you looking to the others.

Emma bared her teeth in a strained grimace. “Is he really kicking out his--”

A piercing screech ripped through the air, followed by a tearing of paper, the toppling noise of boxes, hollow wood, piles of clothes hitting the floor. Second later, a feral growl clawed out of Johana’s chest, her little feet shaking the ground as she stomped through the halls. You looked between the Marthas and your thumb.

“I’m going to, um, take this chance and grab a bandage.”

They said nothing, urging you on, and you tip-toed through the halls, wary of crossing either your Commander or his Wife, neither of whom you wanted to see or speak to in this particular moment, each for their own reasons. You passed the parlour room--Johana’s gifts were terrorized, spewed across the room in busted heaps. The little sweater was entombed by a set of boxes, the mobile fractured on the floor. 

It made sense, of course, that this would be his response--Johana’s presence threatened your own. As long as she laid claim to your child, your life was irrelevant. And while you didn’t feel bad for her shattered delusion, you knew that her only liferaft in Gilead’s storm had now been engulfed and drowned by the tidal wave of Kylo Ren. Barring her life, there was nothing more for her to lose. 

Head spinning, you continued to the washroom, ready to turn the corner, only to be paralyzed by the sound of Johana’s voice, serrated like a predator wail, shredded as you had never, ever heard it before. 

“We’re not finished yet, Kylo!”

You heard him stop, and you whirled around, pressing your back to the wall, holding your breath. She’d caught him at the bottom of the staircase.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Johana.”

“No! What the actual hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

“Oh, can it, smart ass. You think you can kick me out and still expect me to treat you like my husband?” A disgusted laugh. “You’re more delusional than I took you for.”

“Delusional.”

Johana deepened her voice in mockery. “Delusional--yes, delusional. This is Gilead, Kylo. The nation you helped found? There are laws. You can’t dispose of your Wife for your--God, I don’t know--little pet!”

“Careful.”

“Or what?” she asked. “What, you’ll, you’ll--humiliate me again? Order me in the middle of a party to leave the only home I’ve known for three years in front of my friends?” She laughed again. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Move--”

“Don’t! Touch me!” she screeched. “How do you see this working out? Huh? Do you see yourself telling the Council your plans to divorce your Wife, something Gilead doesn’t even allow? Do you see them letting you play house with your Handmaid?” 

“Don’t assume my plans.”

“Please! It’s so obvious how obsessed with her you are. You don’t even need eyes to see it.” She grunted. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then move.”

“Moden still has friends in the Council,” she said. “When they hear about what you’re doing, it’ll be over for you! And you know what that means? It’ll be over for her, too.” The sound of shuffling. Coming toward you. “Get back here--”

Adrenaline erupted, and you darted off, skittering like a squirrel down the hall and dipping into the parlour. Throwing yourself against the entry wall, you sucked in a breath to silence yourself in hopes they would pass the archway and miss you entirely. Your pulse throbbed in your thumb, blood pumping into the towel, soaking to your skin.

Kylo’s tromping feet barreled forward, but you heard Johana on his tail--the sound of a squeal, a grumble, the squeak of a spinning heel. 

“Johana--”

“Do you have any idea how long I defended you? How many excuses I made for you? Do you know I used to fucking feel bad for you? And you’re kicking me out?” That squawking laughter escaped her. “You’re demented!”

“I was generous to give you four days. You tempt me to make it four seconds.”

“Go ahead. You’ll be stuck here with her, and she’ll hate you too, just like I do, just like your parents did, just like everyone in the world fucking hates you!”

Something slammed the wall, and you jumped, clapping your hand over your mouth, towel flopping to the floor. 

“Punch all the holes you want!” she snarled. “You think just because you call yourself Kylo Ren that you’re not the same pathetic asshole that Ben Solo was, you’re wrong--you haven’t changed, and you never fucking will. It’s no wonder they fucking sent you away!”

“Get out.”

“Oh, go ahead and try.”

“Get--”

Johana screamed, and a sharp smack, skin on skin. 

“Serves you right, asshole! Fuck you!” She leapt into your line of sight, snatched the mobile from the floor, unaware you were behind her, and cracked the wooden frame in half, brandishing the broken rod like a sword. “I swear to God, if you try to touch me I’ll--” 

Her eyes caught you in the periphery. You froze. 

Chest cycling with rapid breath, she crystallized, gaze flashing between you and her husband beyond the archway. Tawny locks of hair curled out like smoke from her scalp, face flush with fury, her chin trembling as she drew a long breath into her lungs. For a moment, she held it there, and exhaled, shoulders sagging, fingers loosening, the mangled mobile clattering to the floor. Johana trapped you in her stare, inspecting you inch by inch, until her face fell, eyes flooding with fat, wet tears.

She nodded, focusing past the threshold. “Okay. I’ll leave. But not until the weekend.” Chewing her lip, she glanced at her feet, then back to you. “I give up,” she said softly. “You won.”

You wanted to tell her that the only thing you’d won was a fatherless child. But she tore out of the room, a whirlwind of empty apologies shrinking like shucked leaves on your tongue. 

Shaking, you looked to your thumb, pulsing with pain; creeks of blood stained your sleeve. One footstep, and another, and your Commander crossed into the parlour room, dressed in his boots, black slacks, a matching dress shirt. His hair was washed and wavy, his face free of shadow, a pink mark on his cheek. For all of Johana’s mistakes, you couldn’t justify this particular punishment she’d received--and yet, your heart clenched in his presence. You were afraid you would never stop loving him. 

He examined you, his lid twitched when he spotted your still-weeping wound. Frowning, he stepped toward you. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaw tight, you retreated, glaring at him. “I know.”

“Come.” He reached for you. “You need a bandage.” 

“No, I don’t.” You dodged, snagged the towel from the floor and circled around him, his eyes shimmering with shielded grief, following you until you met the archway. “I’ll let it bleed.”

Kylo Ren said your name--but you had escaped to the hallway with the towel around your thumb, unable to stay, unwilling to hear what came next. Your appetite had disappeared. In the dash to your room, you passed Ushar by the annex staircase, but he did not follow you up the steps. Instead, he remained a statue, stoic as you fled, a red wraith of rage, behind your door.