#unsupervised flit

[something-in-blue]

An Elementalist like his mentor Quintessence. Eike Harlow Aka Catalyst shares a uniquely powerful connection to the earth, which led a few speculations that he has the potential to be far more powerful than his mentor.

Catalyst holds the belief that mankind is capable of solving the problems plaguing it, but only with a firm and guiding hand.

He posses a highly intelligent and charming personality. Easily talking his way in and out of different situations.

A trait he used to earn himself the position of Mayor of Vera City despite barely being 18 years old. He's keenly aware that he earned himself enemies at every corner.

Catalyst behaves much like an older brother to the sidekicks.

Often lending them a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to their woes.

He somewhat remained in contact after Nora after she left the team. She had no interest in anything related to the Omega Responders but let her know that he was always one phone call away.

Catalyst is willing to do what needs to be done in the name of the greater good, no matter how illegal or ethically wrong it may be. As much as he loves the sidekicks like a family he's well aware they wouldn't agree with his methods and would try to stop him. Especially Flit, who he developed romantic feelings towards.

After the Starlight Stand, amidst grieving the closest thing he had for mother Catalyst was approached by a peculiar man who offered him something out of his wildest dreams.

Link to picrew:

[rusty-clockworks]

Speed running the villain route of Unsupervised because I need the new content but can’t bare to watch the rest of the team grow to hate me.

I swear I support the rehabilitation of criminals and the downfall of PARENTS! Even if I just murdered a guy! “It’s for the achievements!” I scream

[something-in-red]

I've been playing Unsupervised on Choice of Games and basically everytime I try to do a supervillian run I end back pedaling because I can't bring myself to hurt Flit/Sawyer.

[always-just-red]

hii! i have a request!

the mc/reader has a pet cat and adores cats so rafayel will have to accept that his beloved bride has a furry little companion bc them and the cat are a 2 for 1 deal and the cat is basically their baby and there’ll alway probably be a cat in the home forever

ty!! adore ur writing!

Aww thank you anon!! As a devoted cat-person, I'm THRILLED to finally be sharing my vision of cat-dad Raf. 🙂‍↕️ This fic felt so personal in the end, I swear I can't write Raf without it accidentally becoming this window into all the intimacy I want but don't have 😭 Anyway!!! Dedicating this to my babies, Floof and Velcro!

Cat-Sitting

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: Was it really a good idea to leave Rafayel and your cat unsupervised?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship

| Word count: 2.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Captain Jenna indicates the large, glass monitor behind her— a finger dragging across it, zooming in on a smaller section of the virtual map. “There’s been an insurgence of Wanderer activity here, and—” another swipe of her finger— “here, so we’ll be increasing patrols in these districts. While public safety remains the priority, we should be investigating any unusual fluctuations of…”

You’re so, so tired. Your chin is resting on your hand and your leader’s briefing is starting to sound like a bedtime story. Sat beside you, Xavier is looking similarly uninspired. The blue of his eyes is glazing over. His eyelids are drooping. When he blinks, it’s slow and unfocused.

Your phone buzzes and it feels like you’ve been doused in cold water; your heart jumps. Glancing around, thankfully no-one but Xavier noticed. His gaze flits over to you with lazy interest as you reach into your pocket, checking your phone under the table. It’s a text from Rafayel: your cat is broken??

You frown, ever so slightly. Before your mind has any time to run away with that ominous message, another notification comes through:

[Silly fish <3 has sent an image]

With one more furtive check that no-one’s watching, you tap at the screen, opening up your messages. You squint down at the photo. It’s your cat, perched on the arm of your sofa. She looks perfectly content, and decidedly unbroken.

Rafayel texts: it had legs before, right?

Again: where

And again: where are they???

You have to consciously hold back your smile. Your cat’s legs are tucked away underneath her; you can’t see them in the photo. ‘Loaf’, you surreptitiously text back.

Rafayel responds: ???????????

You close your phone as more messages come through. You don’t have to read them to know it’s the same emoji, over and over: artsy birb, lying in a puddle of tears. You’ve silenced your phone so it no longer buzzes. Jenna is drawing patrol routes on her map. Xavier leans over to you, whispering: “How’s the first-time cat-sitter?”

Without saying a word, you move your phone under the table so he can sneak a peek at it. There are now twenty-three unread messages. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Xavier chuckles under his breath, and this time, you can’t help but smile. Jenna turns, locking both of you in a steely-grey stare. Xavier gives her a grin, and you give her a double thumbs-up. With a sigh, she goes back to her presentation.

…

“So I said, ‘what am I supposed to do? Not kill the Wanderer? Y’know, the Wanderer tearing its way through a street full of people— just because it’s a tiiiiny bit different than normal?’ And get this! He says, ‘yes.’ He says, ‘you should have taken some time to study it, brought me data and samples.’ Can you believe that?”

You laugh quietly as you finish up typing your latest report. You can believe that, actually. If a Wanderer broke in through the window of this building right here, right now, you’re pretty sure Nero would be sat with a clipboard, taking notes. “C’mon, what did you expect?”

“Uh… some empathy, maybe?” your colleague frowns.

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Your phone rings in your pocket, and you whip it out with business-like efficiency. You’re on autopilot. “Hello?” you ask, opening up the next set of gloriously exciting blank text boxes on your screen.

“Cutie!”

It’s basically a yell. You narrow your eyes at your monitor, inputting your name, your badge number. “Raf,” you return apathetically. “What’s up?”

“Code red. Code red!”

“Mmhmm?” You don’t know what that means.

“You have to come home. Right now. It’s an emergency!”

“Is it, though?” Your keyboard clacks, only stopping when you have to check today’s date before filling it out on your form.

“Are you even listening? I said code red. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yup! Gold star for Rafayel.”

“Seriously?! I’m trying to tell you that your precious little angel’s in trouble.”

Was that supposed to be your voice? You don’t sound like that. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Raf.”

“No!” he squeaks. “Not me! The— oh for the love of the ocean, the lobsters, the sharks and the crabs— can you just get here? Please?!”

For the love of all of those things, hmm? You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Hang in there. Okay, angel? Little angel fishie. Ooh! Angelfish!”

There’s silence from the other end. “…You done?”

You hit enter on your keyboard. “Please, we both know you’re blushing right now.”

…

You stand at the door of your apartment— home early from work, courtesy of the old ‘family emergency!’ card. It’s sort of nice, honestly; you can’t remember the last time you got to play it. Family emergency… You think of you and Rafayel, your little cat, and Reddie. There’s a warm feeling in your heart as you open the door.

That feeling is gone when Rafayel snatches you by your arm.

“Quick,” he says, dragging you towards the lounge, “quick, quick, quick!”

No ‘welcome home’ kiss means something’s wrong. Actually wrong. Your bag tumbles from your shoulder; you have to skirt around the coffee table to keep from crashing into it. “Whoa,” you mumble, “Raf, slow down. What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“Look!”

At last, your arm is released. Your heart is in your throat as you do look, and—

You’ve got to be kidding.

Your cat has moved from the arm of the couch, but she didn’t make it far. She’s snuggled up like an adorable croissant— one paw over her face. You realise, fairly quickly, that the ‘emergency’ lies in what she’s found a nest in: a crumpled heap with a criss-cross pattern. Cream, navy, and red wool, all squished up beneath her. It’s Rafayel’s cardigan.

“Aww!” you coo.

“Aww?” Rafayel echoes. “That’s all you have to say— aww?”

You’re not listening. You crouch down beside the couch, leaning in close. “Hi baby,” you coo again, tickling at your cat’s paw gently. She lifts it, one eye half-opening. You smile, and the eye widens more— filling with your reflection. “Has the big, bad fishie been bullying you today?”

She makes a tiny chirp as she stretches her front legs.

“That’s a lie!” Rafayel snaps.

“Oh no!” you sympathise— pointedly not with the man behind you. “What did he do, huh? This is a safe space. You can tell me.”

Both of your cat’s eyes are open now, still heavy with sleep. She speaks back to you: matching your tone with a soft-spoken meow.

“I see,” you tut, nodding. “And then what?”

She meows again. You gasp.

Suddenly, Rafayel is on his knees beside you, jabbing a finger towards her face. “You traitor! We had a deal.”

Your cat stares at the finger. Yawns— briefly an eldritch horror: all sharp, shining teeth— before curling a paw over it. Rafayel goes still. His eyes shine with the quiet panic you see when you brush a hair away from his forehead, or sweep a tear from his cheek with your thumb. It’s so soft; he doesn’t know what to do with it. You smile knowingly. He sees you and clears his throat, his hand slinking back.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “I have an idea. Lemme just…”

He pinches an edge of the cardigan. “What’re you doing?” you ask.

“You ever seen that magic trick? With the tablecloth? I’ve just gotta…”

“No!”

He’s biting back a grin as he adds: “But if I’m fast enough—”

“No, Raf!” you giggle as you intercept him. He laughs in a small, genuine way too, his hands shooting back to the cardigan every time you manage to wrestle them off of it. You have to pry at his fingers. Catch them before he sends your cat on an unscheduled flight across your apartment.

Inches away, she watches your scrabbling hands, completely unperturbed. When Rafayel gives up— his fingers relaxing in their tangle with yours, his laughter dwindling— she blinks drowsily.

Time feels slower, and somehow forgiving. You lay your head down on the sofa. “Do you really want your cardigan back?” you murmur, because your cat is asleep again.

Rafayel slumps, mirroring you as he pulls your hand close to his lips. “Nah.” His voice is like warm, orange light, and he kisses the tip of your forefinger. “It’s okay. What’s mine is yours, cutie. And what’s yours is—” he falters, looking towards the bundle of fur beside you.

You hum appreciatively, letting him plant one, two more kisses before you pull your hand away. “Wait here,” you breathe, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

One expedition to the kitchen later, you return with a small bag of treats. You find your previous seat on the floor, then reach into the bag— pulling out a small, fish-shaped biscuit. “Look,” you chuckle, wiggling it through the air like it’s swimming, “it’s you.”

“Ha, ha.” Rafayel rolls his eyes, cheek still squished against the couch.

He needs more convincing, so you make the fish swim in his direction, stopping just short of his nose. It floats patiently before him, persisting even when his face wrinkles. You wiggle it one way. Then the other. This earns you another eyeroll, but he does at least smile.

You flick the fish over to your cat. She’s awake in an instant, mouth snatching it up: teeth splintering it with a crack. You swear you see the colour leave Rafayel’s face. You hand him the bag of treats, and with a pout, he starts to set up a trail of them: leading across the sofa. There’s a mournful sigh for each he lays down. Even the odd, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” you huff. “I watched you eat an entire seafood platter last night.”

He narrows his eyes at you, holding your gaze as he puts the next treat down deliberately slowly. Behind him, your cat has stood, stretched, and is now pottering along, crunching away without a care in the world. Rafayel reaches for his cardigan, giving it a shake before threading his arms through the sleeves.

When the crunching stops, he turns— another treat caught between two of his fingers. Your cat takes it carefully, delicately, and she chirps as those same fingers tickle the top of her head. A contented purr underscores the moment. Rafayel smiles as he plays with her ears.

Then he catches you watching him, your eyebrow raised. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

You scoff. “Code red my ass.”

…

Rafayel doesn’t really know when you fell asleep.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his pencil moves mindfully slowly: a quiet scratch, scratch as it waltzes over his sketchbook. The room has gone dark. Tangerine light has stopped spilling from the windows, and he can’t reach any light switch, so he settles for the bleedings of the TV. Cool blues. Pale greens. The space around him flickers, and there are voices, too: broadcasters, droning on.

He hears it, even though he’s trying not to. “Another Wanderer attack”, they report. “Indicative of a recent, worrying insurgence of incidents.” Updated statistics. Civilian casualties. Hunter casualties.

Rafayel’s pencil has stopped. After a moment, he sighs— pressing a kiss to the top of your head you don’t feel, and will never know the weight of. He forces himself to look back down. Draw the shapes and the lines of the things that distract him from that feeling in his chest.

Someone is watching him.

His gaze wanders up, finding eyes across the room. Your cat is studying him from afar, sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. He pokes his tongue out at her. She chirps back. He returns to his sketches, and half a minute later, she lands on the arm of the couch beside him, having pounced gracefully up. She doesn’t deserve any more of his attention. His pencil moves up and down, up and down, and she’s transfixed by the end of it. She lifts a paw, and—

“Nuh uh,” Rafayel warns, his eyes still on the page.

The paw waits. Rafayel chuckles. He raises the pencil, waggling it in the air between them, and her pupils go wide as she bats at it. With one sweep, she brings it closer to her mouth— bites down. Crunch.

Rafayel tuts: “Monster.”

Thankfully, she’s soon bored by the game. She sits, watching him expectantly, like he must have another one lined up for her. He doesn’t, so he turns his sketchbook towards her instead.

“What d’you think, little co-conspirator?”

The page is full of sketches, mostly of you. There’s one of you sat at your kitchen island, sipping some tea and looking like you wished you were back in bed; your hair was a mess. There’s also Reddie: soft, flowy lines and shimmering, monochrome scales. In one corner, your cat is sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her. ‘Loaf’ he’s written next to it, with a crude, tiny sketch of some bread.

Your cat isn’t looking; she’s staring past the page, at the real you. With a half-formed meow, she leaps onto his legs, making a beeline for yours. “Nope!” he says, blocking her path with the sketchbook. “Sorry, kitty, but our brave hunter needs to rest.”

She tries to get past him, but for her every movement, his sketchbook moves too: always one step ahead. With another, more indignant meow, she starts to tread circles on his lap. Then she kneads at his leg, claws sinking in. “Monster,” he whispers again, drawing air through his teeth. “Relax, will you? Jeez.”

His thighs are still being treated like pincushions, so he lifts her gently, his other hand reaching behind him. He knows what she wants. His cardigan is draped over the back of the sofa, and he drags it onto his lap—straightening it out as he grumbles, “this is extortion, you know.”

The cat is lowered back down, and she curls up in the wool of his cardigan, like that had always been the plan. A purr begins to rumble, deepening as Rafayel pets at her head, running fingers— aching from sketching— through the warmth of her fur. Her eyes are sleepy. Rafayel yawns, his head drooping to rest against yours.

His fingers move mindlessly, enjoying the softness while the television talks of tragedy, and he doesn’t notice.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Pet Soldier | 3

Summary: Bucky's past catches up to him, unlocking painful memories of his time as the winter soldier. The only thing that could make it worse was having to be on a team with a captured HYDRA soldier he wants to see dead. But her healing power is simply too invaluable to let go.

THIS IS A DARK FIC!

Warnings for the Series: 18+ only. Heavy Angst (eventual hurt comfort). Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con and Dub-Con. Psychological Trauma. Not Canon Compliant. Manipulation. Hydra.

Important Warnings for this Part: trauma, torture, manipulation

Pairing: eventual Stucky x reader, Stucky x hydra!reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist coming soon

“I believe it would be best if L/N was moved from Avengers Tower.” 

Those were the first words out of Steve’s mouth. He was trying and failing to get out more before the protests started. Not only had he scheduled an emergency meeting before anyone got a chance to eat but now he wanted to just let you roam free unsupervised? Outside of the tower. 

“Enough! As the captain, I am choosing to make an executive decision.” 

“This is bullshit and you know it, Steve. She can’t be trusted.” 

Bucky called for Dr. Myers. His knee bounced up and down the entire time as he waited for the therapist to arrive on their floor, ignoring the arguments coming from the rest of the Avengers. Every so often, his eyes flitted over to you. Nothing in your body language or facial expressions was readable. Bucky finally sighed in relief once his therapist arrived.  

“Let’s just let the doc decide if this move is best for everyone mentally,” Bucky spoke slowly. “FRIDAY, starting from two months ago, anywhere from one in the morning to around three, please find any time when I entered L/N’s room.” 

That shut the team up. No one could figure out why he would have been in your room but they knew it probably wasn’t good. However, they all expected the problem to be you. Bucky swallowed thickly as the video played. You weren’t the monster. He was. That was the only real thought going through his head. It didn’t matter if it was the winter soldier, not at that moment. 

Tony clamped a hand over his mouth, wide-eyed and head shaking as the video showed Bucky choking you to a point of concernment. The winter soldier’s nightmares were nothing new to the team. But there was always a sort of blank stare in his eyes. An obvious sign that Bucky wasn’t present with anymore.

The soldier on the video in front of them was far more expressive than any nightmare before. There was a concentrated darkness to his gaze and sadistic enjoyment in his smile. Like he wanted you to feel this pain. And that scared everyone. 

“Barnes, what did you do?” Natasha struggled to even look at him. “What did you do to her?” 

“Nothing HYDRA hasn’t programmed him to do,” you answered for him, startling everyone that you seemed to be defending him. “The Asset’s rampages have never been easy. HYDRA found an outlet to subdue and satisfy those rampages with minimal violence and eventually no casualties.” 

“They let him rape you?” Sam asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the now still image on the screen. 

“Why do you sound so surprised? I thought you all go on and on about how HYDRA are the bad guys.” 

“But to allow him to do that to his own handler?” Natasha folded her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t seem within their nature and a good way for them to lose control of their asset.”

You didn’t have a good response so you chose to stay silent, hoping your face didn’t accidentally crack from the relatively bored expression you had been sporting since entering the room. It wasn’t exactly a shocker to you that the Avengers would be horrified by HYDRA practices. But you were a bit surprised to see that their expressions were showing actual concern for you. Someone they believed was a handler and higher-up in that horrid organization. 

Wanda’s gasp drew everyone’s attention. Her eyes never left you, making you squirm in your seat. If anyone was going to recognize the change in your microexpressions, you had expected it to be Natasha or Bucky. You went stiff at the sudden remembrance that the woman still staring at you could read minds. 

“What is it?” Steve asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered. 

He was almost taken aback by the lack of authority in your voice. It was a tone they weren’t used to hearing from you. A tone of near defeat. Steve was conflicted. You had just been through possibly the worst thing he has ever personally witnessed and he didn’t want to push it. But if it helped your or Bucky then he kind of really needed to know. He looked at Wanda, knowing she was reading his mind. She gave him the most miniscule nod before speaking in a very sweet tone. 

“Whatever you’re afraid of everyone knowing, we can help. You have no need to be scared.” 

You scoffed. “I’m not afraid of him or any of you. I do not want to be held responsible for breaking Sergeant Barnes.” 

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” Tony said, finally finding his voice. “We’ve seen enough HYDRA footage to reach that decision of our own. But if it makes you feel better then Manchurian Candidate never has to know what you tell us. You can talk to just Wanda or Nick or whoever. The only person you can’t avoid knowing is the leader of this team who is, unfortunately, Capsicle. But he won’t tell Barnes, will he?” 

Steve nodded with the utmost seriousness. “I promise.” 

It was like your entire body shut down. When did they see any footage from the facility? How could they be treating you the way they had if they had seen anything? You had made your peace with your past and how it would blend into this new present but that was when you were operating under a different level of assumptions. Carefully, Nick and Maria inched their fingers towards their holsters as they watched your face scrunch up in anger. Frantically, you scrambled for the dog tags hidden under your clothes. 

“So, has it been you this entire time then? Even those times you terrorized me at night?” you spat at Bucky with more vitriol and emotion than the entire team had seen before. “I spent hours rationalizing it was him and not you. Those nightmares might have been one thing but I thought even your real mind was too damaged by HYDRA for you to remember the truth. Yet, you’re saying it’s you? You’ve seen the records and you chose to treat me like this? Not the Asset. Not Soldat. Not even Sergeant Barnes. You, James Buchanan Barnes? Fuck you, Bucky.” 

You threw the dog tags at his face before storming back to the resident area of the tower, choosing the stairs so no one could try to intercept you on the elevator. For once, you didn’t give a shit how many times FRIDAY alerted Tony that you were on the stairs of some levels you weren’t authorized to be on yet. You didn’t stop walking until you reached the residential area again, ending up on the balcony to try and calm yourself with the fresh air. 

The Avengers sat in the meeting room confused. No one had ever seen that much emotion from you before. But they couldn’t figure out what had upset you, especially if you weren’t upset about the winter soldier’s nightmares. Almost afraid, Bucky grabbed the jewelry you threw at him. It slipped from his fingers instantly and landed on the table with a sharp clanking that pierced his ears. 

“What is it?” Sam reached for the metal his friend now refused to touch. Two wedding rings and a small engagement ring flanked either side of the two dog tags. Sam flipped the flat pieces of metal over. “James B. Barnes. Y/N M/I L/N… What the actual fuck is going on?” 

“Bring me Zemo,” Bucky said, darkly. 

Despite being in handcuffs, the man’s face held a smirk that didn’t break even when Sharon harshly forced him into the empty chair. A growl nearly ripped through Bucky’s throat when Zemo started clapping. 

“I take it you finally figured it out, Sergeant Barnes. I admit, you took much longer than I thought. I suppose they fried your brain even more than I believed.” 

“Why?” 

“I told you already. I don’t care for super soldiers, righteous or otherwise. I might hate supposed superheroes even more. Y/N happened to have helped keep one alive all these years when she should have just let you die. Don’t get me wrong, she might be the only person with powers I like, dare I say maybe care for. But small sacrifices must be made.” 

“You knew we’d eventually figure it out,” Steve muttered. 

“I had hoped for the winter soldier’s mind to be more fractured beforehand… There’s still time.” 

Natasha was seconds away from wanting to kill Zemo right where he sat. They had isolated you for months over what was looking more like a lie by the second. She had slapped you clear across the face on her first day of meeting you. 

“What did you do with the real footage?” 

“Flitted through whatever pieces I found could fit a narrative, hid the parts that didn’t fit, only focused on one angle of the cctv. It wasn’t that difficult to get you all to fa—” 

“Where’s the real footage?” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly bring it all with me when I was arrested.” 

“Do you have the real footage of what you showed us?” 

Nick slammed Zemo’s head into the table when he refused to answer. Trying to ignore the blood running from his nose, Zemo eventually relented. The director called in for another SHIELD agent while Tony intently watched Zemo to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on them again as he recovered the footage. 

“Get a team back to the Siberian facility. Scour it for footage. It’s solely a recovery job. Get in and out as quickly as possible.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Fury turned back to the team. “Are we ready?” 

Tony watched the screen flicker for a moment before nodding. “FRIDAY has run all the footage we currently have through her system. Just press play on the remote.”      

Despite the fact that they were ready, they hesitated to actually start. What if more of the footage resembled Bucky’s winter soldier nightmares? That wasn’t something they were eager to relive again, let alone so soon. With a roll of his eyes, Zemo pressed the play button. The team stared at a scene that seemed so familiar already, hesitant at what new information they might be gathering. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” you said as you walked past Bucky’s shower stall. 

Instead of staying on you, a second cctv video started to play alongside what they had seen from the original video. 

Bucky wasn’t stoic at all. His body didn’t move but a smile graced his face. 

“Are you just going to stand there the entire time and watch me like a creep?” 

“If I want to admire you, soldier, I can.” Your voice was light and jovial. 

“Well, doctor, if you’re going to keep staring at me, can you at least check for injuries?” 

“Does something hurt?” There was a hint of serious inquiry in your tone. 

Bucky turned ever so slightly, smirk still plastered on his face. “My last mission was really hard. I think I still might be affected by how hard it was.”

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy line but began shrugging off your lab coat anyway. “Well, a doctor’s touch should heal you right up.” 

“I was hoping you might say that, doc.” 

In the meeting room, everyone was slowly turning a shade of red or feeling warmth heat up their faces. Bucky tried to look everywhere else but the screen. However, he kept locking eyes with various teammates and resolved himself to just stare at his tea instead. Tony stopped fixing his cup of shitty breakroom coffee, whipping around to face the screen. 

“Hold on, were you two actually fucking roleplaying? That’s what that was?” 

“It would appear so.” Bucky felt his ears go hot when a familiar part of the audio returned. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Sarge. Maybe they should send you on more of these hard missions so I can come see you. I didn’t know you were so well endowed.” 

This time, Bucky wanted to leave the room for an entirely different set of reasons. He never thought there would be a day where his bedroom fantasies were broadcasted past Wanda accidentally reading his mind at inopportune moments. He almost wished it had been one of those times. At least he and Steve weren’t into this embarrassing roleplay that everyone was witnessing right now. 

“I’m sorry to have met your acquaintance only recently, doc,” Bucky said through a moan. “Rest assured, I’ll keep coming to your office after all my hard missions now that we’ve met.”

“I’d like that… I missed you, James.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart. But if you keep touching me like this, I’m not gonna last long enough to return the favor.” 

“I thought you’d be tired. You just got back.” 

Bucky finally turned around, stopping centimeters from your lips. “I’m never tired when it comes to you, only bright spot in this shitty little nazi den.” 

You gasped. “Buck! What if someone hears you? They’ll wipe you again.” 

“Wipe me for what… it happened again, didn’t it?” 

You nodded, thumbs caressing his face. He shuddered underneath you before sighing. 

“I guess it won’t be long before they send me to the machine. I’m sorry if I forget you for a few days like last time.” 

“As long as you come back to me safe. Relatively safe,” you amended when he gave you a look. 

Bucky smiled. “Well, if I don’t have too long before another trip to the frying pan… Think it’s time to start seeing if this hunk of metal can bring you some pleasure. You’d like that?” 

Tony cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat back down with a now prepared cup of coffee. “Well, I’m glad you two found some levity. No matter how much I wish to scrub my memory of this foreplay.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” Bucky muttered, cringing as he heard himself asking you to finish all over his fingers. “FRIDAY, we can go ahead and skip the rest of this one. I don’t think we’ll find anything else of importance.” 

“Certainly, Sergeant Barnes. However, there is probably one more bit that might be of some significance.” 

Reluctantly, Bucky told the system to keep playing the video if it really was super important but to skip as much of the intimacy as she could. 

Bucky smiled as you both got redressed, watching you intently. You pulled your necklace you had taken off to shower with him from your lab coat pocket. Tilting it ever so slightly, you let the rings slip off the necklace along with one of the three dog tags. Bucky plucked one of the plain rings from your hand with grace, smiling as he put it on his right hand. 

“Thanks for keeping it safe for me, doll.”

“I always will.”

Bucky pulled you to his chest, giving you another kiss before you both left the showers. The two of you walked towards the garages hand in hand. With a suaveness that hadn’t been seen since he was in the 40s, Bucky held open the car door for you. 

“Hate that I had to take a shower outside my own home,” Bucky said as he reversed out of his parking spot. “Sorry you had to drive down here, sweetheart.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t mind. As long as it stops you from tracking blood through the house.” 

“I would have cleaned it up, promise.” 

The drive was only a few minutes but you and Bucky made those minutes stretch, including the time it took the elevator to reach the floor with your apartment on it. Giggles couldn’t stop pouring from your mouth when you were lifted off of your feet and carried bridal style out of the elevator. Bucky wouldn’t listen to your laughter filled requests to put you down. He opened the door with one hand, shutting it with his foot once you were both safe inside.

“What would you like to do tonight?” you asked him, accepting that he wasn’t going to set you down until he was ready. 

“Well, I would love to ravish my beautiful wife until the sun comes up but I don’t think she’d let me.” 

“You got that right, Sergeant. But maybe I’ll consider a few hours. After dinner, of course.” 

“Then I’ll go heat up some of that chicken noodle soup we made a few days ago. And can I request that you, Mrs. Barnes, go put on your favorite lingerie and one of my button downs? I’ve been dreaming about that for a few days now.” 

“I think I can make that happen, Mr. Barnes. I might even throw on one of your favorites.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

Bucky wanted the ground to swallow him whole. No one had anything to say. Wanda kept rewinding the last few minutes, hearing those few sentences repeated over and over again. Bucky squeezed the necklace that had been resting in his hand since they brought Zemo up to the meeting room. 

“FRIDAY, please just play the next one,” he whispered. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself from leaving to go find you. 

“Are you sure?” Zemo asked, making Bucky look over at him. “Sergeant Barnes, you were very different as the winter soldier. Even with Y/N.” 

“Just play the damn thing.” 

You were kneeling outside on the balcony in nothing but a thin lingerie dress. The rain beat down on your shivering skin. It was like you were afraid to look up from where you hugged your own body to keep warm. The sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears. 

“Can I please come back inside? Please, Buc—Soldier?” 

He didn’t answer you, not that he could with the mask still on the lower half of his face. But the man made no moves to remove it.             

Bucky felt his heart shatter, bile rising in his throat, as you kept trying to apologize for whatever you did wrong while the winter soldier simply ignored you. Steve took large, slow nods. 

“That’s why she didn’t want to get off the quinjet.” 

“It’s your favorite way to punish her,” Zemo said as he sat back with a satisfied smile. “I noticed that throughout the tapes. The soldier always went back to this one. The rain or snowfall, minimal to no clothing, out there until you let her back in. Sometimes you weren’t even watching her, just left her out there.” 

“Stop,” Bucky murmured weakly, eyes never leaving the screen. 

“You always chose to have her just on the brink of collapse. I suppose that makes the threat more real. You know, if you were feeling extra cruel, you would put her straight in the shower after being out there. Hot water. Never hot enough to burn but it certainly must have felt like it, especially after the snow.” 

“Just stop!”

Your self-soothing was rather loud. Roughly, you kept wiping at your eyes to try and stop the tears while telling yourself to breathe and calm down. 

“It’s not Bucky,” you whispered. “It’s not Bucky. You’re fine… you’re fine, Y/N. It’s not Bucky so he can’t be talked to like him.” 

With stiff joints, you moved yourself to sit against the balcony guardrails. 

“It’s getting rusty.”

The soldier looked down at his metal arm before returning his gaze to you. 

“If I have to replace it, you will get another punishment…” You sighed as Bucky simply ran a finger over all the metal plates, another plea falling on deaf ears. “They can’t have you performing in the field in a compromised manner. They’ve said this to you multiple times now. Let’s go inside and I’ll work on you instead of Karpov.”  

Bucky sniffled at the added context. He watched the soldier nod and finally hold open the door for you. The rest of the video didn’t matter to the brunette. He didn’t need to see it to figure out how the context changed. You weren’t requesting time in cryo because you were sick of the soldier.

You were scared and needed your own recovery time. Because of something he did to you. It was all he could think about. Bucky almost didn’t register the videos were over until he heard Nick tell Maria to make a phone call to Ross and Steve question something. 

“But if she stays here… what if Buck’s nightmares make him hurt her again?” Steve argued. 

“Now that we have gotten some glimpses of the truth, I believe the soldier’s anger towards what he perceived was Miss L/N will be mitigated or gone entirely. FRIDAY monitoring Mr. Barnes’ whereabouts could give peace of mind. But I believe moving her could do more harm,” Dr. Myers said.  

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

The doctor started packing up the new file he created for you. “Be gentle with Y/N. That’s about the best we can do until further examination. And please do not change the decor of the resident area too much, really the entire tower should stay relatively the same. Her environment should be stable unless she is the one to actively make changes. She needs a routine. Like her days at HYDRA, only healthier. And I’m recommending that she no longer accompanies you all on missions unless absolutely necessary. Even then, she should stay in the quinjet.��� 

“Anything else?” 

“Oh, comfort. She should be given the option of comfort. Don’t bring it into her room. Let her do that herself but it should be there.”  

Everyone nodded at his suggestion. They could do that. Tony wasn’t even planning on any major redecorations for a while. He was already texting Pepper to pick you up a long list of what Dr. Myers suggested as well as going into FRIDAY’s system to remove all the restrictions that had been placed on your living situations.  

“Buck, where are you at?” Wanda asked gently after Dr. Myers exited.

“I hurt the one good person I had in there. I had a wife. I had a wife and I hurt her.” The crack in his voice was unmistakable. 

“Bucky…” 

He pulled away from Sam’s touch. No one was sure of what to say. Sometimes it was best to let Bucky rationalize and process all by himself. Especially when it came to HYDRA. But this was different and the team wasn’t sure if leaving him to simmer in his own thoughts was a good idea. Even after Maria, Sharon, Nick, and Zemo had left, the team stayed with Bucky. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but it felt like it was at least an hour before he was able to rise from the meeting chair. He needed to find you and talk. 

The rain had started about fifteen minutes after you had initially stepped onto the balcony. Practically running, you tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Fear ran up your spine at the sudden remembering you technically didn’t have permission to be here yet and your thumbprint wasn’t yet accepted by the lock. Your breathing got shallower as you tried to yank the door off of its hinges. You started calling out to every person on the team even though no one was in your field of vision. It was the only thing you could do at the moment to not completely shut down. 

Bucky was in his head as they returned to the resident area. He wanted to talk to you. Had to. Although, what he was going to say, he was absolutely unsure of. His ears perked up at the sound of crying.   

The brunette ran when he caught sight of you pounding against the glass of the building, pleasing to be let back inside. The terrace door nearly flew off with the force he used to open it. You shook hard as he held you close, bringing you to the safety of inside. Your fist pounded at your chest in a poor attempt to regulate your breathing again but it wasn’t working. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, teeth chattering the entire time. “I’m sorry for whatever I did, Bucky. Please don’t make me go back out there. Please. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He rocked you both back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You did nothing wrong. Come on, let’s get you out of these soaked clothes.”   

The bloodcurdling scream you let out the moment he tried to help you up made Bucky accidentally drop you. 

“No! Please don’t take me back out there. Soldier, please!” 

Bucky stepped back with a vengeance, hands up to try and make himself seem like less of a threat. He moved out of the way when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Sam crouched down to your level, holding you by both of the shoulders and doing very exaggerated breaths. 

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” 

You nodded, teeth still chattering. 

“These clothes can’t be comfortable any more. I can fix that if you want.” 

Sam thanked Steve as he took the large towel from the man. He wrapped it around you, rubbing your arms to warm you up a bit. You took his hand after some careful consideration, letting him help you get to your feet. Your breathing was still unstable. Everyone watched you take in large gulps of air as if you were drowning. 

“Nat and Wanda are going to help you get into something dry and warm. Is that okay?” 

Your eyes flitted over to Bucky. Without missing a beat, Sam stepped in front of him. 

“Hey, hey, look at me. He’s not going to do anything, alright? No one is taking you back to the terrace.” 

You wouldn’t move, still staring at Bucky. The super soldier sighed, patting Sam on the shoulder so the other man could move aside. The rest of the team held their breath as he approached you. Even if he didn’t like to speak it, he never forgot a single word of Russian he learned. 

“Let’s go. The girls will put you in something warm, dry. Safe.” 

He didn’t wait to see if you were following, knowing that wasn’t going to help. Bucky’s ears were tuned into you though. He finally breathed when he heard the sounds of your footsteps moving towards him. Nat and Wanda were quick to follow.

✭

part 4

TAGLIST:

@lil-riddle-kiddle @valckenaux @fries11 @blackterrae @violetlilites @dakotali @23victoria @dottirose

[revelboo]

The scavengers?! YEEEESSS!!1! my precious darlings :D They deserve this <3 can't wait to see more :) Thank you for writing this, i really needed something positive right now.

No worries :) I just really wanted to write these five goobers struggling

A Lifeless Ordinary

IDW Scavengers x Reader

• “You realize that thing is sentient, right?” Fulcrum asks, leaning to watch Spinister trying to coax their new pet into saying his name. So far the only response has been for it to lift both hands, middle fingers extended in what he suspects isn’t a friendly gesture.

• Looking up, Krok vents as Crankcase hesitantly mimics the gesture at the alien and it starts laughing like a Cybertronian would. Everything about it, that it’s bipedal, its little face, its hands and legs, is uncannily like a Cybertronian in form aside from being organic. “Of course, I do,” he finally says, servos flitting over the controls to check everything is ready to go even though he’s already checked three times while they wait on Misfire. Knows he’ll check more times, but unable to stop since the repetitive gesture keeps him focused. And from overthinking exactly how much damage Misfire can do running a simple errand unsupervised.

• “Honestly, I’m surprised Spinister’s not forgotten it’s his and shot it yet.” Fulcrum winces in sympathy when the hulking purple medic seizes you and roughly runs a servo over your head while you try to smack him, chattering angrily before giving up and slumping in his hand. “Any luck with that language?”

• Krok hesitates as Misfire comes running into the ship, a tiny container in his servos. “We should probably go,” he says right as the natives start firing on the ship.

• “Did you steal that?” Fulcrum growls, as Krok powers up the ship. Not even sure why Fulcrum’s asking, because of course he did. Why wouldn’t he have?

• Indignities upon indignities. Dangling from the biggest one’s hand, you finally give up as his big servos pet your hair and he rumbles nonsense at you. As far as you can tell, you’re a pet. Not exactly flattering, but since they’re not hurting you and they’ve kept you trapped on their ship since finding you, there’s not much you can do about it. You’d made attempts to try and play charades with the big one and after hours of it you’d decided either you’re just awful at charades or he’s an idiot. But at least his hands are warm even if his touch is a bit rough as he tries to cuddle you against his neck.

• “In my defense, they refused to sell to Cybertronians. Something about us being warmongering abominations destroying the galaxy,” Misfire says, prying open the container and immediate leaning away from the stink. “Organic food for the organic.”

• Grumbling slightly, Spinister lowers you near the box and they wait as you look inside then back at them questioningly. “You think it knows what it can and can’t eat?” Crankcase mutters as Misfire huffs. But that is something Krok hadn’t considered. Surely you do know. Right?

• Whatever they brought you looks like blue noodles and smells like dirty socks. And they’re just staring down at you talking amongst themselves, because they can’t understand you. What even is this? It’s when the one with a chunk missing from his head bends and mimes eating that it sinks in. Surely they don’t think you’re going to eat this garbage? Apparently they do as the calmest of the five gently nudges you closer to the box. And inhaling to gather yourself, you gingerly pick up a slick noodle in your fingers and bite into it. By some miracle it does actually taste good despite having the texture of a raw potato. You suppose they’re trying to take care of you and that’s something.

• Listening to the miserable sounds that aren’t even marginally better than the tantrum Spinister had thrown threatening to shoot Misfire over the whole mess, Krok reaches out a servo and rubs between your shoulders as you keep dry heaving, because apparently you don’t know what you can and can’t eat as difficult as it is for him to grasp. The rest of the Scavengers had retreated a safe distance when you’d started noisily purging the food, so now it’s just the two of you.

• They probably weren’t trying to poison you. Maybe. Shaking and dehydrated, you slump over and the calm one carefully wraps his servos around you and cradles you to his chassis, murmuring softly as you press your palms against your eyes, head pounding and throat raw. His touch is at least gentle compared to the other’s as he runs a big servo along your spine over and over. When you’re less miserable, you need to try charades with him since he seems to be the leader. Maybe you can get it through his head that you’re not a pet. Right now, you just want to soak in the warmth of him and rest.

Previous

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[muiitoloko]

Ghosts of a Gentleman

Summary: Eggsy believes in Harry’s redemption, but Merlin sees a predator in waiting. With Harry growing more desperate to reunite with the woman he lost, the line between victim and manipulator begins to blur.

Pairing: Harry Hart × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Manipulation.

First, Second, Third and Fourth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the manicured lawns of the Kingsman estate. It was the first time in weeks Harry had been allowed outside the confines of his padded room. The fresh air felt foreign against his skin, yet it stirred something deep within him—a fleeting sense of peace that hadn’t visited in far too long.

Eggsy strolled beside him, a careful yet relaxed demeanor about him. He chatted idly about missions and mundane updates, but Harry barely heard him. His sharp gaze scanned the gardens, noting every detail: the neatly trimmed hedges, the distant hum of bees, the faint chirp of birds flitting between the branches. It was beautiful, yes, but also strategic. Every path was clear, every line of sight unobstructed. They were watching him.

Eggsy paused near a small bench, gesturing for Harry to sit. “Figured you’d like some fresh air, yeah? Merlin’s still wary, but I told him you’ve been good. Thought you deserved this.”

Harry nodded faintly, taking a seat. He adjusted his cuffs with the meticulous precision Eggsy had come to recognize as a hallmark of his old mentor. “Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry murmured, his tone sincere but measured. “I appreciate the trust.”

Eggsy shrugged, leaning casually against a nearby tree. “S’all good, mate. Just don’t give me a reason to regret it, yeah?”

Harry smirked faintly but said nothing. His gaze wandered to the flowerbeds just a few steps away. Vibrant bursts of color spilled over the edges, their rich hues almost hypnotic. And then he saw it—a butterfly, its delicate wings painted with striking patterns of black and yellow, fluttering lazily between blooms.

The insect landed on a nearby flower, its movements precise and graceful. Harry’s breath caught for a moment, his mind supplying the name almost instinctively: Papilio machaon. The Old World Swallowtail. It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered the species; Eggsy had once commented on the array of preserved butterflies in his study. It was a strange habit, Harry had to admit, but one that had brought him a certain satisfaction.

As the butterfly flexed its wings, Harry found himself mesmerized. His mind briefly drifted back to nights spent meticulously pinning specimens, his hands steady and sure as he mounted each delicate creature with care. There had been something meditative about the process, a quiet reprieve from the chaos of his life.

Eggsy stepped away momentarily, muttering something about needing to check in with Merlin. Harry barely noticed. His gaze remained fixed on the butterfly, its fragile beauty holding him captive. For a fleeting moment, the thought of escape surfaced. The gates weren’t far, and Eggsy had left him unsupervised. It would be easy—just a sprint and a leap over the fence. But then he saw it: the subtle movement in the shadows, the glint of a camera lens hidden among the trees.

A test. Of course, it was a test.

Harry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to relax. Instead of bolting, he leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly as he watched the butterfly take flight. It danced through the air, oblivious to the weight of the world below, and for a moment, Harry envied its freedom.

Eggsy returned, a bright smile on his face. “Sorry ’bout that, mate. Merlin’s always gotta check in, yeah?”

Harry glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Quite all right. The gardens are lovely. I’d forgotten how much I missed being outdoors.”

Eggsy chuckled, gesturing toward the flowers. “Bet you spotted that butterfly straight off, didn’t ya? You always were good with that kinda stuff. Used to creep me out a bit, all those dead butterflies on your walls.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “They’re not dead, Eggsy. They’re preserved. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Eggsy replied with a grin. He glanced at the flowers, his tone turning more serious. “You seemed… different just now. Calmer. Like you were enjoying yourself.”

Harry nodded faintly, his gaze drifting back to the flowerbed. “Perhaps I was. Sometimes, it’s the small things—details others overlook—that bring the most peace.”

Eggsy studied him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. “See? That’s the Harry I remember. You’re gettin’ there, mate. Slowly but surely.”

Harry’s smirk widened ever so slightly. “Let’s hope so.”

As they walked back toward the estate, Harry couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He’d passed their test, for now. But the real game was just beginning. And when he finally had you in his arms again, he would remind you exactly who you belonged to—every inch of you marked, claimed, cherished.

“Soon,” he murmured under his breath, his voice low enough that Eggsy didn’t hear. “Very soon.”

The soft glow of the monitor illuminated Merlin’s face, deepening the shadows around his eyes and sharpening the furrows in his brow. His office was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the desk. On the screen, Harry sat quietly on the bench, his posture relaxed, his gaze distant but calm as he watched a butterfly flit through the garden.

By all accounts, Harry was behaving perfectly. He hadn’t tried to bolt, even when Eggsy left him alone. He hadn’t shown any signs of aggression or defiance, his tone measured and his words carefully chosen. Merlin rubbed his temple, exhaling deeply. If there were a textbook example of a man trying to recover, Harry Hart seemed to embody it. And yet…

Merlin’s instincts screamed at him like a warning bell ringing in the back of his mind. Something about Harry’s demeanor was too perfect. Too calm. Too calculated. It wasn’t evidence, not the kind he could bring to the other agents or justify to Eggsy, but Merlin didn’t trust it. Not for a second.

His fingers drummed against the desk harder now as he leaned forward, scrutinizing the footage. He rewound the clip, replaying the moment Harry glanced toward the tree line, his gaze lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. Merlin’s eyes narrowed. Was it nothing? Or was it something?

“Come on, Harry,” Merlin muttered under his breath, his Scottish accent thick with frustration. “What game are you playing?”

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, the urge to pull up additional camera angles nagging at him. But he hesitated, letting the video play out again. Harry’s movements were subtle, deliberate, and maddeningly smooth. If this was a performance, it was a bloody good one.

Merlin leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s up to something,” he murmured to himself. “I know it.”

But knowing wasn’t enough. Not in Kingsman. He needed proof. He couldn’t barge into the padded room and accuse Harry of deception without solid evidence. Eggsy, bless the lad, was already too invested. The boy was too soft when it came to Harry—too loyal. He’d never believe it without undeniable proof.

Merlin turned his gaze back to the screen, watching as Harry and Eggsy walked toward the estate. Harry’s expression was calm, almost serene, as though the fresh air had genuinely done him some good. But the way his lips curved ever so slightly, the faint flicker of something unreadable in his eye—it set Merlin’s teeth on edge.

“Bastard’s playing us,” Merlin muttered, his fingers curling into fists.

He leaned forward, rewinding the footage again, this time slowing it down. His sharp eyes scanned every detail, from the subtle shifts in Harry’s posture to the fleeting glances he cast at his surroundings. Nothing concrete. Nothing damning. But the nagging feeling in Merlin’s gut refused to be silenced.

The door to his office creaked open, and Eggsy stepped inside, his usual swagger tempered by a hint of unease. “Merlin,” he greeted, his tone cautious. “Got a minute?”

Merlin didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on the screen. “What is it, Eggsy?”

Eggsy hesitated, shifting on his feet. “It’s about Harry,” he said finally. “He’s been doin’ good, yeah? I mean, you’ve seen it. He’s calm, cooperative. I think… I think we should let him see her.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened, his fingers pausing their drumming. He turned to Eggsy, his expression unreadable. “You think he’s ready for that?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an edge.

Eggsy nodded, his brow furrowed. “Yeah. I mean, he’s been through hell, right? Maybe seein’ her will help him. Give him somethin’ to hold onto.”

Merlin studied the younger man, his sharp gaze probing for any cracks in his resolve. “And what if you’re wrong, Eggsy? What if letting him see her sets him back—or worse, puts her in danger?”

Eggsy flinched, his confidence faltering for a moment. “Harry wouldn’t hurt her,” he said quietly. “Not in a million years.”

Merlin sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re too close to this, lad,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

Eggsy’s fists clenched at his sides. “And you’re too bloody paranoid!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’re lookin’ for somethin’ that’s not there. Harry’s tryin’, Merlin. You can see it.”

Merlin’s gaze hardened. “And that’s exactly what worries me,” he said coldly. “He’s too good at it. Too controlled. If he’s faking this, Eggsy, we’re all in bloody trouble.”

Eggsy opened his mouth to argue but stopped short, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You really think he’s fakin’?” he asked quietly.

Merlin didn’t answer immediately. He turned back to the screen, watching as Harry and Eggsy disappeared into the estate. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “But my instincts tell me not to trust him. And they’ve never been wrong before.”

Eggsy nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if you’re wrong…”

Merlin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then I’ll live with it. But if I’m right…” He trailed off, his gaze darkening. “If I’m right, we’ve got a bloody monster on our hands.”

Eggsy left the office without another word, and Merlin returned to the footage, his fingers drumming against the desk once more. The nagging feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it. Harry Hart was playing a dangerous game, and Merlin would be damned if he let him win.

Harry sat on the edge of his cot, his sharp gaze trained on the door as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the quiet corridor. Dinner time. It was the highlight of his day, though not for the food. It was the interaction he craved, the opportunity to plant more seeds in Eggsy’s mind, to ensure his plans were moving forward.

When Eggsy entered, Harry immediately noticed the shift in his posture. The boy’s usual swagger was absent, replaced by a stiffness that set Harry on edge. Eggsy avoided Harry’s gaze as he placed the tray on the small table by the cot, his movements hurried and almost mechanical.

“Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry said softly, his tone warm and inviting as he studied the younger man’s body language.

Eggsy merely nodded, his hands shoved into his pockets as he took a step back. “Yeah, no problem,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

Harry’s sharp mind immediately went to work, combing through his recent interactions with Eggsy. Had he miscalculated? Slipped up in his performance? But no, he could find no fault, no moment where he’d broken character or revealed his true intentions.

Then it clicked. Merlin. The bastard had said something to Eggsy, turned him against Harry, planting doubts in the boy’s mind. Harry’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he forced his expression to remain calm, even melancholic.

He needed to act fast, to counter whatever poison Merlin had sown.

“Eggsy,” Harry began, his voice soft and hesitant, laced with just the right amount of vulnerability. He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I… I remembered something today.”

That caught Eggsy’s attention. His gaze flicked to Harry, though he remained cautious, his posture defensive. “Yeah? What’d you remember?”

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the memory. “It was… the first time I killed someone.” He added a tremor to his voice, his hands gripping the edge of the cot as though grounding himself.

Eggsy’s eyes widened slightly, his defensive stance softening. “Blimey,” he muttered, stepping closer. “That’s heavy, mate. You alright?”

Harry nodded faintly, though he didn’t lift his gaze. “I’m trying to be,” he said quietly. “I’ve been doing everything I can to recover my memories, to be the man I was. For her.” He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “But today, when that memory came back… I—I don’t know if I want to remember anymore.”

Eggsy’s brow furrowed, his concern growing as he crouched slightly to meet Harry’s eye line. “What d’you mean, Harry? You gotta remember. You were a bloody legend.”

Harry shook his head, his hand coming up to cover his face as if holding back tears. “A legend who killed, Eggsy. That’s what I remembered. The man’s face, the way his blood sprayed… and the sound…” He shuddered, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The sound he made when I ended his life. It’s haunting me, Eggsy.”

Eggsy placed a reassuring hand on Harry’s knee, his tone earnest. “Harry, listen to me. You were Kingsman. That means every person you took out was a bad guy, yeah? Villains. The worst of the worst. You didn’t kill innocent people. You saved lives.”

Harry lifted his head slowly, his eye glistening with unshed tears. “But they were still lives,” he said, his voice trembling. “They were still people with families, with stories. Who am I to decide who lives and who dies?”

Eggsy hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re not just anyone, mate,” he said firmly. “You’re Harry bloody Hart. You didn’t take those lives for fun. You did it to protect people, to make the world a better place.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, his hands dropping into his lap. “A better place,” he repeated, his tone laced with self-loathing. “For whom, Eggsy? For me? For you? And at what cost? How many lives will I have to remember taking before I lose myself entirely?”

Eggsy shook his head, his grip on Harry’s knee tightening. “You’re not gonna lose yourself, Harry. You’re strong. You’re—”

“Am I?” Harry interrupted, his voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his expression tortured. “Look at me, Eggsy. I’m a broken man, a shell of who I was. And every day I try to claw my way back, it feels like I’m losing a piece of myself in the process.”

Eggsy opened his mouth to respond, but Harry cut him off, his tone softening as he leaned back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m doing this for her, Eggsy. Everything. Behaving, cooperating, trying to be better. I want to be the man she loved again. But if this is what it takes… if remembering means reliving every life I’ve taken…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Eggsy’s expression crumbled, his heart clearly breaking for the man he idolized. “Harry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re here for you. I’m here for you. And so is she.”

Harry feigned a shaky sigh, his hands trembling slightly as he stood, crossing the small room to the sink. His movements were slow, deliberate, each step calculated to draw Eggsy further into his web.

“It’s no use,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow and broken as he gripped the edge of the sink. His head hung low, his body slumping as though the weight of his anguish was crushing him. Water dripped from the tap, the faint sound punctuating the heavy silence.

“Harry, come on, mate,” Eggsy urged, his voice full of concern. “You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, Merlin—her. We’re all here for you.”

Harry turned abruptly, his movements sharp as he grabbed Eggsy by the shoulders, his grip firm but not aggressive. His expression was raw, desperate, his voice trembling as he hissed, “But that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? She’s not here, Eggsy! Not when I need her most!”

Eggsy froze, wide-eyed, unsure how to respond. Harry let out a ragged breath, releasing him and pacing the room like a caged animal. He stopped in front of the large two-way mirror, his reflection staring back at him. He knew Merlin was watching. He could feel the eyes on him, the judgment, the doubt. Perfect.

“She's the only person I remember,” Harry continued, his voice cracking with emotion as he leaned heavily on the sink, his fingers curling tightly around its edge. “The only good memory I have so far. And now, in my moment of anguish, she's not here to help me! Do you know what that feels like?”

Eggsy stepped closer, his hands outstretched as though to comfort Harry. “Harry, I’m here now, mate. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry straightened, his shoulders trembling as he let out a low, humorless laugh. “It’s not enough, Eggsy,” he murmured, his tone dripping with despair. He turned his head slightly, just enough to cast a glance at the mirror, his lips curling into the faintest, bitter smirk before quickly masking it. “None of this is enough.”

He faced the mirror fully now, his voice rising, raw and anguished. “Do you hear me, Merlin?” he shouted, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’ve locked me away like some madman, stripped me of everything that mattered! And for what? To break me? To reduce me to a hollow shell of the man I was?”

Eggsy stepped closer, his voice soft and soothing. “Harry, please. Let’s sit down. We’ll talk this through—”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted sharply, spinning to face him. “Don’t pity me, Eggsy. Don’t treat me like some fragile thing that needs fixing.” His eye glistened with unshed tears as he added, his voice breaking, “Just leave.”

Eggsy hesitated, torn between his loyalty to Harry and the need to follow protocol. “Harry, I can’t just—”

“Get out!” Harry roared, his voice echoing in the small room. His body shook, his hands gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please… I need to be alone.”

The desperation in his tone was enough to convince Eggsy. The younger man nodded reluctantly, his expression pained as he backed toward the door. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But I’m coming back tomorrow. You’re not doing this on your own, Harry.”

Harry didn’t respond. He kept his back to Eggsy, his head bowed as though in defeat. The door clicked shut behind him, and Harry waited, his body tense, until he was sure he was alone.

He turned back to the mirror, his expression softening into something vulnerable and broken. He pressed his palm against the glass, his voice low and trembling as he whispered, “You’re watching me, aren’t you? Judging me. Deciding what to do with me.”

He let out a choked sob, the sound raw and guttural, as he sank to his knees, his hand sliding down the mirror. “But you don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You never will.”

Inside, his thoughts were a whirl of satisfaction. Eggsy was his now, completely and utterly loyal. The boy’s naivety was a tool Harry wielded with precision, and each carefully calculated outburst only deepened the bond between them.

But his outward display was a masterclass in manipulation. He let the tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he whispered, “I just want to see her. To hold her.” His shoulders trembled with each choked sob, and tears streamed freely from his single eye, leaving wet streaks down his hollowed cheeks. He buried his face in his knees, his muffled cries echoing in the small, padded room.

From the other side of the two-way mirror, Merlin stood rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Eggsy hovered beside him, his face etched with conflict and concern. The younger man shifted on his feet, his fists clenching and unclenching as he watched Harry’s broken form through the glass.

“He’s hurting,” Eggsy said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. “You can see it, Merlin. He’s not faking this. Look at him—he’s falling apart.”

Merlin didn’t respond immediately. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Harry, analyzing every twitch, every movement, searching for cracks in the performance he suspected. The calculated stillness of Harry’s posture didn’t sit right with him, but even Merlin had to admit—it was convincing. Too convincing.

“Falling apart or playing us for fools?” Merlin murmured at last, his voice cold and measured.

Eggsy whipped his head toward Merlin, his eyes blazing. “Are you serious? Look at him!” He gestured toward the mirror. “He’s a bloody mess, Merlin. This ain’t an act. He needs her. We have to let him see her.”

Merlin turned his head slowly, fixing Eggsy with a hard, calculating stare. “And what if you’re wrong, Eggsy?” he asked, his tone clipped. “What if this—” He motioned to the mirror with a sharp jerk of his chin. “—is all part of his plan? What if he’s manipulating you, me, and everyone else to get what he wants?”

Eggsy shook his head vehemently. “No. No way. Harry wouldn’t—”

“Harry Hart, the man we knew, wouldn’t,” Merlin interrupted sharply, his voice rising. “But the man in that room isn’t Harry Hart. Not yet. He’s fractured, unstable, and dangerous. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re too close to this.”

Eggsy flinched as if Merlin had struck him, but he quickly straightened, his expression hardening. “I’m close because I care, Merlin,” he snapped. “I care about Harry. I care about her. And I care about gettin’ him back to who he was. You’re just so busy lookin’ for lies, you’re blind to the truth.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to the mirror, watching as Harry’s muffled sobs quieted into soft, broken whimpers. The older man’s instincts screamed at him, warning of deception, but Eggsy’s words gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

“I’m not blind to anything, Eggsy,” Merlin said finally, his voice low but firm. “I see a man who’s mastered the art of manipulation, who knows exactly how to twist emotions to his advantage. And until I have concrete proof that he’s not playing us, I’m not risking her safety. Or yours.”

Eggsy stepped forward, his face a mix of anger and desperation. “And what if you’re wrong? What if he really is falling apart, and you’re just sittin’ here, lettin’ him suffer? What then, Merlin?”

Merlin’s expression didn’t waver, though his fingers twitched at his sides. “Then I’ll live with it,” he said quietly. “But if I’m right, and we let him see her now…” He trailed off, his gaze darkening. “We risk losing her. Permanently.”

Eggsy opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of Harry’s voice stopped him cold.

“Please…” Harry’s broken whisper drifted through the speakers, barely audible but cutting through the tension like a knife. He raised his head slightly, his tear-streaked face turned toward the mirror, his eye filled with raw desperation. “If you’re watching… if you can hear me… I just want to see her. To tell her I’m sorry. To hold her. That’s all I want.”

Eggsy’s breath hitched, and he turned to Merlin, his expression pleading. “You can’t ignore that, Merlin. You can’t. He’s not playin’. He’s hurting.”

Merlin stared at Harry through the glass, his sharp mind racing as he weighed the risks. Every instinct screamed at him to hold firm, to resist the pull of Harry’s words, but the anguish in the man’s voice was undeniable.

“I’ll think about it,” Merlin said finally, his tone begrudging.

Eggsy exhaled sharply, relief flooding his features. “That’s all I’m askin’, mate. Just think about it.”

As the younger man left the observation room, Merlin remained rooted in place, his eyes locked on Harry’s trembling form. The man was a master of deception, a strategist of unparalleled skill. But for the first time, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure if he was watching an act or the genuine breaking of a man who had once been Kingsman’s finest.

And that uncertainty was more dangerous than any plan Harry Hart could concoct.

[tsunami-of-tears]

But Daddy I Love Her

Mor x Vanserra!Reader (sapphic)

A/N: IMO this is some of my best writing yet. Thank you to the anon who requested some angst with Mor. I’ve been wanting to write some more sapphic stuff, so this was fun 💕  Also thank you to @daycourtofficial for being my sounding board ✨ As you can tell I didn’t go with either title option we discussed 😘

Wordcount: 4.4K

Warnings: Female Reader; Angst; Beron being Beron; Controlling father dynamic; visit to the Court of Nightmares; coming out; canon homophobia + patriarchal bullsh!t.

Reader

Your father was a complex character, to say the least. 

He was every bit the callous ruler that he portrayed to the world, but inside his blackened, hateful heart there was a soft spot. You. His only daughter.

While your brothers were pitted against each other and forced to fight for his approval, you couldn’t do much wrong. 

He was protective of you to a fault. So much so, that you were never allowed to court anyone. No one was good enough for his precious pup. Not that you were very interested in males anyway, having grown up with a litter of brothers. You found males irritating at the best of times, and utterly repulsive at the worst. 

You were closest to Beron’s eldest and youngest sons – Eris and Lucien. They were very protective of you too, but in more of an annoying way. They always had your best interests at heart. 

You were never allowed out of the Forest House unsupervised. Adventuring with your brothers was the only time you got let off your leash. You could run with the hounds, fish in the stream with Lucien or just simply be – relaxing under a tree, reading aloud to Eris. 

You often dreamed of a world where you were free. Free from your father’s strict rule. Free to do as you please. Free to be whoever you wanted to be. 

But alas, this was not a world for the dreamers. 

————

The conflict with Hybern was drawing nearer and your father was summoned to attend a meeting with the six other High Lords of Prythian. 

Your entire family was to attend, to showcase the strength of Beron’s brood.

You enter the meeting room together, sticking close to Eris and trying to seem confident, bored even. You keep your head held high, ignoring your brothers’ sneers beside you. 

“Enough” Eris murmurs, calling all three brothers in line. 

You take in the grand room around you, and the wealth of power convened within. 

You recognise most faces from Under the Mountain but some were new to you, their allegiance given away by the shades of midnight blue and black that they wore - the Night Court. The Court that your father despises the most. The Court you were raised to hate.

The High Lord, Rhysand, sat with a casual grace, his great taloned wings stretched out behind him. Beside him was his High Lady, Feyre - the saviour of Prythian - in a glittering dress that looked like it was made of pure starlight.

They were a beautiful couple, and you wonder how evil the male could truly be if he proclaimed his wife as his equal, something that had never been done in all of Prythian’s history. 

The rulers of the Night Court meet your curious gaze; for a second there is understanding on their faces and you have to remind yourself not to smile. 

You break their stare and your eyes flit over two more winged males and a female who shared the same golden hair and blue-grey eyes as Feyre before they settled on a blonde female. 

To describe her as breathtaking would be an understatement. 

She needed no introduction. Not with the rage upon her face as she watched your family, the pure venom in her eyes.

The Morrigan.

You’d never met the female your eldest brother was formerly betrothed to, and he never spoke about her. 

Morrigan’s fury wanes as she looks at you. For a moment you can see behind the mask she was wearing. You can feel the pain underneath, you can see the love for her family and her Court. Only for a moment before she built that wall back up again, sealing herself within. 

You knew her anger towards your family was justified and you couldn’t help but empathise with that. Like so many women, your mother included, she’d been dealt a losing hand.

You successfully kept your eyes off Morrigan for the remainder of the meeting, remembering the role you had to play – the shy, pretty pawn of the Autumn Court. 

If you failed at this game, the results would be devastating.

————

After the meeting ended so terribly, you were hiding out in Eris’s quarters, avoiding the path of Beron’s temper. The pair of you were curled up in front of the crackling fire with Clove, your favourite hound, asleep in your lap. 

Eris has been quiet since returning from the Dawn Court. His mind was surely racing after the encounter with her. 

You turn towards your brother slowly, breaking the silence, “You never mentioned how beautiful she is. You never speak about her at all.”

Eris knew exactly who you meant. “What’s there to say?” He shrugs, “She’s free from the burden of being with me in this festering court.”

“You think so low of yourself, Eris. Someone will be very fortunate to have you doting on them one day.” 

Eris wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head affectionately. “Until then it’s just you and me, bright spark.”

You smile at his nickname for you, one he gave you when you were just a faeling. “Don’t forget Clove!” You exclaim, ruffling the hound’s coat.

————

In the months following the final battle against Hybern, Eris spent a lot of time in the Night Court, working to secure a strong alliance for Autumn. 

Eris was about to head off again, to a ball at the infamous Court of Nightmares. 

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Morrigan. 

You needed to see her again, but she’d never step foot in Autumn. 

You’d have to go to her. 

By the grace of the Cauldron, Beron said yes to you attending the ball with Eris. You were both so stunned by his answer, that you were lost for words. Before dismissing you both, your father had one order for Eris: Do not let her out of your sight.

And so you found yourself in the Night Court, deep inside the Court of Nightmares.

You did your best to bite down on your anxiety as you walked up the dimly lit hallway leading to the ballroom. The intricate carvings of beasts on the walls only add to your feeling of unease. 

You breeze through the large doors, arm-in-arm with your brother. The two of you are the epitome of Autumn. 

Eris wears a suit in a deep burgundy colour, much like the spiced wine you drink to warm your belly on a crisp evening. Your gown of burnt orange swishes around you as you walk, the sequins catching in the faelights, twinkling like the embers of a dwindling fire. 

All eyes turn to you as you walk down the aisle, but you don’t notice them. 

All you see is her, and that golden thread connecting your souls, sealing your fate.

Oh no.

Oh no no no. 

Panic floods your veins as you realise who you’re walking towards. 

Your mate. 

Your brother’s ex-fiancé. Your father’s enemy.

Not her, it can’t be her.

Not here, with so many people watching. 

Your feet slow to a stop halfway to the dais and you turn to Eris. Concern flickers on his face - he can sense something is wrong, he has no idea just how bad it is.

You drop his arm, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’, before disappearing into the air. 

You don’t know where you’re headed or what you will do next. All you know is you need to leave. Now. And get someone safe. 

The thought, somewhere safe, echoes through your mind as you appear in a clearing atop a mountain. 

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, making the sky glow a brilliant shade of orange. The air is cold against your skin, and you rub your hands on your biceps in an attempt to regain some warmth. In moments like these, you are thankful for the fire within your veins. 

You look around, attempting to glean your location. You spot a cabin on the other side of the clearing. As you turn towards it, the front door swings open. An invitation. 

You approach the open door and wonder if there’s a spell on the cabin, tricking you into a false sense of safety to lure you inside to your death. 

You glance around, the only movement you spy is the rustling of leaves in the wind. 

You peek inside and see the small dwelling is well-maintained, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone home. It looks comfortable and homey, with whimsical paintings of vines and flowers framing the door.

Whatever is inside that cabin can’t be worse than the wrath you surely face back in Autumn, so you step over the threshold. 

————

Rhysand

Rhys watches intently as his guests from Autumn walk towards the dais. 

Eris is his usual cocky self, strutting beside his sister. Every bit the High Lord’s heir. Y/N looks like a living fire, glowing as she walks beside her brother. Despite being siblings, there were clear differences between the two fae. Unlike Eris, who Rhys found to be insufferable at times, Y/N had a kind warmth to her. A sweetness that somehow hadn’t been soured by her father over the years. 

She was like the flames that dance in a hearth. The kind of fire used to warm a home or cook a comforting meal that chases away the cold and loneliness. 

Of course, those flames could still burn you if you got too close. 

Y/N stops in the middle of the room. Her eyes not moving from Rhys’s cousin, stood beside his throne. 

‘Something is wrong,’ Feyre says into his mind. 

Rhys quickly throws a glamour over his guests, shielding them and his Inner Circle from the rest of his court. 

Rhys glances at Mor, whose eyes are glued to the flame incarnate before her. 

The expression on Y/N’s face is pure terror as she disappears into a cloud of smoke. 

Eris grabs at the wisps of darkness but it’s too late. Y/N is gone. His eyes are filled with panic as he turns back to Rhys. 

“You Vanserras love to put on a show.” Rhys drawls. “How did she get out past the wards?”

Eris rakes his fingers through his hair, tousling the slicked strands. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know she could winnow.”

Rhys clicks his tongue, “It seems the little fox was hiding some tricks.”

Eris looks Rhys in the eye. “We need to find her,” He says. 

Rhys raises a brow at the Autumn heir. “We?” 

“Beron will kill us all if she’s gone missing. His only order was not to let her out of my sight.” Eris shakes his head in shock.

‘Azriel, go. See if your shadows can find her.’ Rhys orders his spymaster mind-to-mind before the male vanishes into the shadows.

“If she’s still in this court, we’ll find her,” Rhys says calmly, expertly masking his concern that the Jewel of Autumn vanished while in his court. “Let’s go, we can continue this little chat somewhere without an audience.” He rises to his feet, dropping the shield and addressing his court. “I’m afraid I have to leave you to play amongst yourselves. Keir, don’t make too much trouble while I’m gone.” 

Rhys strides out of the ballroom with Feyre by his side. Eris follows behind closely with Cassian and Mor on his tail. 

————

Once out of view, Rhys takes Eris’s hand and winnows him to the Moonstone Palace on top of the mountain. Rhys heads straight to one of the living rooms, opting for somewhere more comfortable to continue the conversation. He silently requests Nuala bring up a tea service as he sits comfortably in one of the plush armchairs. 

Eris slumps down in the chair opposite Rhys, rubbing his temples. His complexion has paled to a colour much like the white stone walls of the palace. Eris’s usual swagger and charm disappeared with his sister. 

“I shouldn’t have agreed to bring her,” Eris sighs, hands ruffling his red hair.

“I’m surprised Beron let her out of the palace,” Rhys admits. As much as he detests the male, he can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

“No one is more surprised than me,” Eris says. “She was the one who asked to come. When Y/N really wants something, not even my father can say no.” Eris smiles softly, as if picturing his sister’s compelling arguments.  

Rhys nods in thanks to Nuala as she sets down a tea service. He starts pouring a cup for Eris as he turns towards him. “What happened then?” Rhys asks. “Y/N looked as if she’d seen a ghost.”

“The bond snapped,” a female voice says from the doorway. 

Both Rhys and Eris’s eyes snap to Mor as she strides across the room and sits across from them on the sofa. 

“What bond? And who with?” Cassian asks from behind her. 

“With me,” Mor says quietly.

Rhys can’t keep the shock from his face. “But you’re…” He trails off, gesturing at Mor’s figure. 

Mor just sighs, “Cousin, I’ve always known that I preferred the company of females. That’s why he, you know.” She risks a glance at Eris who is meticulously masking his real feelings as he sips on his tea.

“Cauldron, I didn’t think I was that bad,” Cassian jokes.  

Mor rolls her eyes and nods her head towards Eris. “He knew. That’s why he didn’t touch me.  That day on the autumn border, Eris gave me my freedom. I let you believe him to be horrible because I wasn’t ready to embrace that part of myself, truthfully I’m still not.” Feyre places her hand on Mor’s arm as she makes her admission. 

“We’d never judge you for that, Mor,” Rhys says sincerely. 

“It’s been instilled in me since I was a faeling, the fear is not something one forgets easily,” Mor shrugs.  

“When did it snap for you?” Eris asks, his face still void of emotion. 

“At the High Lord’s meeting,” Mor responds. “That’s the only reason I came today, hoping to see her again. I know Beron would never let her be with me, but I still had some shred of hope. Clearly, he’s poisoned her view of me…” 

“He hasn’t,” Eris interrupts. “You’re not a frequent topic of conversation, and Y/N never asked about you until after that meeting. She never said, but I suspect it’s why she wanted to come today. In some ways, she’s lucky that she’s been so sheltered. She’s still kind. She saw how all of you acted that day, she saw through the masks. My father’s only weakness is her. Beron is completely blind where Y/N is involved. He will start a war if we don’t find her.” 

“We’ll find her,” Rhys says. “Do you have any idea where she would go?”

Eris rubs his chin as he contemplates. “She doesn't ever go anywhere unsupervised. She loves being in the forest, but there’s no way she could transport herself that far.” 

“I’ve got Azriel searching,” Rhys says. “There’s not much more you can do right now. You can stay here, I’ll show you to your suite.” 

Eris nods, “Thank you, but if you think I will sleep while my baby sister is missing, you are sorely mistaken.” 

Rhys smirks back at the male. “Oh I know, but this way you can sulk in private.”

————

Eris

Eris is pacing in his room when there’s a soft knock on the door. He exhales before opening the door to the blonde female in the hall. Eris folds his arms across his chest and inclines his head, inviting her inside. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell them the truth,” Mor says. “I’ve been lying to myself for so long, I’d convinced myself that part of me didn’t exist.”

“There’s always got to be a villain, I understand why you did it. But thank you for apologising.”

“This bond... It is not going to go well with your father.”

Eris nods, agreeing with her. “We’ll deal with that later. When I’m High Lord, you’ll be welcome in Autumn again, if you ever wish to return.”

“Will you have me over for tea?” Mor scoffs. “I don’t know how this will work with Y/N or if she even wants it. But I’d like to try if she does.” 

Eris straightens defensively. “I’ll support whatever will make her happy,” He says. 

The pair stand in silence for a few moments before Eris smiles sadly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known,” He laughs. “When she was a child, she never wanted me to play as a prince, we both were princesses… As she grew, she never took much interest in courting anyone. If Beron had forbade me or my brothers there would’ve been a riot on his hands. But Y/N was never phased by it. Truthfully, I think she was relieved.” 

Mor returns his smile. “I’m glad she has you. We’ll find her, don’t worry too much.” 

————

Reader

In the cabin, you stare at the eyes on the wall. You would know them anywhere. 

You knew your mate had been here, maybe it was even her cabin. Deep down, your heart knew you’d be safe here. 

You feel so tired, right to your core. You didn’t know you could winnow, your leash had been so tight you never even tried. Mother knows how far you just travelled. 

A steaming cup of tea appears in your hands, the scent of cinnamon and chamomile reminding you of home. Somehow, the cabin knew what would calm you down.

You pull a blanket around your shoulders and sit on the lounge, worn with decades of use, admiring the colourful paintings adorning the walls and every surface. You can tell this place is well-loved, and many happy moments have been spent here. 

Exhaustion nags at you and you fight your drooping lids until you can’t any longer. You slip into the darkness of sleep, wrapped in the blanket, with your mate watching over you. 

————

You’re woken by a cool sensation on your ankle. You look down and see a wisp of shadows wreathing around. It circles a few times before disappearing into the air. 

It’s early in the morning, the first light creeping over the mountains outside. You’re still wearing your ball gown, the fabric creased from your slumber. 

Your head spins as you remember the events of the night before. 

‘How long have I been sleeping? Oh gods, Eris must be going out of his mind…’

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. 

You stand slowly, stretching your stiff limbs and go to answer it – for a moment you forget it’s not your house.

One of Rhys’s winged friends stands on the porch. “Y/N, are you okay?” He looks you up and down, taking in your dishevelled hair and wrinkled dress. “You’re not injured? And how did you get inside?”

“I’m okay, I guess. The door opened for me. It felt safe.” 

The male nods, “Eris is worried about you, I’ve just let Rhys know I found you and you’re unharmed.”

“Thank you,” You say. 

“Mor wants to speak to you, is that okay?”

You nod in answer, “Yeah, we probably need to have a chat.”

“She’ll be here soon, can I get you anything?” He offers.

You shake your head, pulling the blanket further around you. 

“Okay, stay inside, she’ll be here soon.” 

————

Eris

Keeping to his word, Eris didn’t sleep at all. He was watching the sunrise breaking over the mountains when he heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” Eris calls out. 

Rhys enters the room. “Azriel found her, she’s safe, Mor has gone to bring her back.” 

Every cell Eris was tensing is released at Rhys’s words. He tries to roll his shoulders but they are stiff after a tense night.  

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Eris asks. “She ran because of the mating bond.”

“Mor wanted to speak to her privately. They are the only ones who understand.”

Eris nods, feeling relieved that his sister has been found. He’ll be able to rest once he lays eyes on her again. “Thank you, for helping,” He says. 

Rhys waves a hand dismissively. “It does work in my favour to return her safely,” Rhys drawls. “But I would do it anyway.” He turns to leave, “You should eat something, it’s been a long night and we have much to discuss now.”

————

Reader

You do your best to freshen up while you wait. You smooth out your hair and change into some fresh clothes summoned by the cabin – a soft v-neck camisole, cropped at the navel and flowing harem pants, more skin than you’ve ever shown outside your bathing room. The matching set is a brilliant shade of forest green that perfectly complements your hair. 

A knock sounds on the door, announcing your mate's arrival. 

“Hello Morrigan,” you say stiffly, unsure where to look or where to put your hands. You settle with holding them clasped at your front to stop their trembling.

“Just Mor if you like, can we talk?” 

You nod and sit across from each other, the air hangs heavily around you.

Mor sighs, breaking the tense silence. “I guess it snapped for you?”

You nod, the words not making it past your lips. 

“This is a cruel twist of fate,” She laughs darkly, leaning forward on her knees.

“Do you not want it?” You ask, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

“No,” Mor answers quickly. “That’s not what I meant. With my history and our fathers, I don’t see how it could work.”

Why beat around the bush, you suppose? “What happened, with my brother?”

Mor looks at you curiously. “He never told you?”

You shake your head. 

“We were amicable, not quite friends, never lovers. I confided in him about my preference for–” She waves at you. “Female companionship… and that I didn’t want to be someone’s wife. Of course, my father had other plans. I ruined them by… sullying myself, and my father dumped me on the border of your court. I’ll spare you the grizzly details right now, but your brother gave me my freedom. I wasn’t ready to tell people the truth, so I let my friends believe Eris to be a monster. In truth, I was the monster all along.”

You allow her candid words to wash over you. What your brother had done, allowing himself to be the villain when nothing was further from the truth.

You stand, moving to sit closer to Mor.

“I never believed the things Beron said about you,” You admit, looking into Mor’s warm brown eyes. Eyes that are full of hope. 

“I know that I’m sheltered, but I see the way he treats people. Even my brothers, Lucien especially. I do love him as a father, but as a person… he is awful. I long for the day when Eris takes over Autumn, and I can finally be free. Until then, I will dream of a better world.”

A tear falls from the corner of Mor’s eye and you rest a hand on her knee. 

You steady your breathing before continuing, “I’ve never had much interest in males and never allowed myself to consider alternatives. I’d like to try this, if you want to. I know courting in secret will be difficult, but I’m willing to give it a go. I’m ready to start building the world I’ve been dreaming of.”

Tears stream down Mor’s face and she pulls you into a hug. You savour the moment and for the first time, you allow yourself to hope. 

————

“ERIS!” You call out, running towards your brother and jumping into his arms. 

He catches you easily, wrapping his arms around you. “I was so worried, bright spark,” He says softly into your hair. 

“I know. I’m sorry to do that to you. I panicked. I didn’t even mean to winnow, it just happened.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. But maybe don’t show that trick to anyone else,” Eris puts you down and stands back, taking in your appearance. “It seems this court suits you, Y/N,” He smiles. “Come now,” he extends his arm for you to take, “We’ve got business to discuss with Rhysand. We need to figure out something official so that Father will let you return here with me.” He winks as he walks you to meet with the High Lord.  

————

You’re convinced your brother is a genius. 

He told your father that you and the High Lady got on well and that your presence allowed him and Rhys to get on with business while the females ‘talk about fashion and whatever else they like to discuss.’ 

You had batted your lashes at your father, insisting that the High Lady needed some help with fae etiquette and that she was seeking your help on how to be a proper lady. 

Beron scoffed at the thought of the ‘wild human harlot’ ever being considered a lady, but he couldn’t say no to your wide-doe eyes. Especially not when Eris mentioned that the friendship could give Autumn more sway in political discussions. 

Eris winnowed you both to Rhysand’s Moonstone Palace for your regular ‘meeting’, where Rhys, Feyre and Mor were waiting for you. 

Mor looks ethereal under the starry night sky. Her hair flows like liquid gold in soft waves down her back. Her dress is a deep wine red, paying homage to your home court and hugs her curves perfectly. Your eyes linger on her figure for a few moments before moving back to her face. 

Thank you, Mother.

Rhys steps forward. “Welcome back, we won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares this time,” He explains. “We thought it was time to show you our true home.” 

Feyre smiles warmly, her eyes twinkle with anticipation. 

Rhys takes Eris’s hand and Mor takes yours, winnowing you into the sky above a sparkling city. 

Wind rushes around you as you free-fall. The stone floor of the balcony getting closer and closer until it hits your feet. You steady yourself, feeling grateful for your fae reflexes. 

Still holding Mor’s hand, she leads you to the balcony's edge. You look out at the city sprawling below you, alive and bustling. The humming sound of life below is like music in your ears.

Mor smiles widely at you. “Welcome to Velaris,” she says. “The Court of Dreams.”

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

The big questions

Summary: Guzi asks his dad where babies come from. Qi Rong has never wanted to disappear as bad as he does in that moment

--

Qi Rong absentmindedly munches on an assortment of human fingers when his ears pick up the sound of little footsteps. He has half the mind to hide his unorthodox snack away before Guzi comes into view, and he has a look in his eye that makes Qi Rong want to sigh already.

The boy definitely has a question.

“Daddy, I have a question!”

Called it.

“What is it, little morsel? This ancestor knows everything so you can ask me anything!” Qi Rong goads, laughing heartily, taking enjoyment in his own arrogance.

Guzi grins widely, looking up at Qi Rong with an eager expression before asking, his voice echoing through the cave. “Where do babies come from??”

Silence befalls the entire establishment, to the point that not even the screams of the humans boiled into the soup a room over ceases, as if they had also been shocked into silence.

“From fucking.” Qi Rong answers crassly, clearing his throat as if to hide his embarrassment.

Guzi appears more confused than anything, a frown on his face. “What’s that?”

Qi Rong silently curses himself for his reply. Of course, Guzi doesn’t know what that is, he is too young to have even heard of something like that, let alone know what it means. Qi Rong has explicitly forbidden his goons to ever speak inappropriately around his…this child as well, so he couldn’t have heard of it.

“It’s, uh…” he starts, and is thankful that he can no longer blush on account of being dead, “It’s when two adults sleep together.”

“Oh, sleep together?” The boy repeats, understanding on his face. “Like we do when I have a nightmare?”

“NO!” Qi Rong shouts, horror painted across his face, “Absolutely not, and don’t ever fu- freaking say that again! That is NOT what we are doing when you have nightmares!”

Guzi frowns again. “But you said-“

“It’s NOT the same thing!” Qi Rong insists, nearly hysteric. “What you’re asking is – is something else entirely!”

“But what is it?!” the little one presses, and Qi Rong has never wanted some heavenly officials to attack his lair as much as he does right now. Why does this kid have to be so persistent?!

“It’s… when two adults find each other fuckab- uh, attractive, they… touch each other.” Qi Rong cringes at his own words, so sanitized and juvenile that he almost feels sick. This is not knowledge a kid this young should know and Qi Rong is absolutely not equipped to impart it to him.

“Touch each other where??”

Qi Rong pales to the point he nearly turns translucent. He can hear the snickering of his subordinates around the room and flits a hand to make the candles on their heads burn hotter, glaring at them as they run out of the cave screaming.

“Tell me!” Guzi insists when the answer doesn’t come soon enough, and Qi Rong really wishes he could disperse himself right now.

“Uh, everywhere.” He replies, nearly muttering it, “Which is important that you do this…activity only when you’ve grown up, alright?”

Guzi nods eagerly. Qi Rong feels a strange sense of protectiveness come over him, so he continues,  “If anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise or make you do something nasty like that, you tell me right away. I’ll skin them alive and eat them limb by limb!”

“Okay!” the boy answers, “But you still didn’t tell me what that’s got to do with babies…”

Qi Rong nearly chokes on a breath he can’t even take anymore. “W-Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it… after those two people…uh, share a bed, one of them gets pregnant and a brat like you grows into their stomach…”

“Oh…” Guzi frowns again and Qi Rong sighs, a tortured look on his face.

“What is it?”

“Uncle Hua said it works different!”

Qi Rong groans, running a hand through his messy hair. Uncle Hua?! He knew he should have never allowed Guzi to run around Ghost City unsupervised, now he refers to that red bastard as his uncle?!

Guzi continues, “He said that when two people love each other, the seed of their love blooms into a beautiful flower and that’s how babies appear!”

Qi Rong rolls his eyes, “That’s bullshit.”

“I didn’t really believe uncle Hua either which is why I asked you! I’ve never seen a baby in a flower before!”

“Ha!” Qi Rong exclaims, “My boy is so smart!” He ruffles Guzi’s hair affectionately, “Don’t believe anything those two losers tell you! They don’t know shit about making babies!”

[justmystyles]

Family Portrait

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: Harry has a couple of heartfelt surprises for you while you're visiting him on tour.

warnings: a couple of curse words, but other than that, it's tame.

a/n: this is what happens when @allthelovehes and i are left unsupervised. i say 'that should be a fic' about pretty much anything, and she enables me. it's is pure, unadulterated cheesy stupid fluff. read at your own risk. it's also another excuse to post that annoyingly sexy sunglasses gif.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

You stood in the empty stadium, marveling at the size of the space that would soon be packed to the gills with people there to see your boyfriend. No matter how many times you visited Harry on tour, you would never get used to the amount of people who shared your love for the wonderful man that you get to call yours. 

You were pulled from your thoughts by a light squeak, followed by the feel of something tapping your foot. You look down with a smile to see your dog, Polly, staring up at you panting with her signature smile, her eyes flitting back and forth between you and her pink ball, as her tail wagged uncontrollably. 

The two of you had been inseparable since the day you adopted her four years ago. When you started dating Harry, you made sure he knew that the two of you were a package deal. Luckily, he was happy to accept that and fell in love with the little chiweenie himself, quickly becoming her doggie dad, and insisting that she join you when you visit him on tour. 

“Alright one more, then we’ve gotta go find your dad.” You picked up the ball, throwing it across what would, in a couple of hours, be the pit. After every soundcheck, while Harry reviewed notes with the band and technical staff, you and Polly would play fetch in the venue, getting her good and tuckered out so that she would sleep soundly backstage during the show, allowing you to go out and watch Harry perform. 

This time, when Polly returned, you tapped your thigh lightly and walked toward the backstage area. She trotted along beside you, proudly carrying her ball. As you walked the halls, everyone would stop to greet Polly, who would immediately drop to her back, demanding belly rubs. She had become the unofficial tour mascot winning the hearts of everyone on the crew. 

When you reached Harry’s dressing room, you knocked softly on the door waiting for him to respond. When he called for you to come in, you opened the door and Polly bounded over the threshold and moving straight to the couch where Harry was sitting, she jumped up on top of him, frantically licking his face. He chuckled at the display, allowing her a few kisses before pulling her away and flipping her so he could rub her belly. 

“I wish your mother would get that excited to see me.” He said, making eye contact with you as you entered the room. 

You stick out your tongue and throw your middle finger in his direction. When you hear a clicking sound, you look to your left and see Lloyd taking pictures of the interaction. “Oh sorry, did I interrupt?” You asked, leaning down to give Harry a kiss, Polly jumping between the two of you to prevent being left out. 

“No, you’re good. I have a surprise for you actually, and I asked Lloyd to document it.” He said as you took a seat beside him. He lifted Polly off of him and handed her to you before standing up and retrieving a bag from the other side of the room. You crane your neck, trying to look into the bag. “Uh, uh, uh,” Harry chided. “Patience, my love.” 

He places the bag on a nearby coffee table, and reaches in pulling out a black track jacket holding it up on display. You immediately notice the Love on Tour logo on one side, and your name monogrammed on the other. “You got me a tour jacket?” Your eyes went wide. 

“I know you’ve been wanting one.” He was right, you’d been jealous of the jackets since he’d shown you the original mock ups. But you didn’t want to ask for one, since you didn’t actually work on the tour. “Plus, now you can stop stealing mine.” 

You shoved him gently as you approached him, taking the jacket in your hands before wrapping your arms around him and kissing him. “You like when I wear your jackets.”

“That I do,” he hummed, kissing you once more before pulling away. “Wait, I have more.”

Your brow furrows as you watch him reach back into the bag, pulling out a significantly smaller jacket. “Shut the fuck up.” You say in awe when you see the tiny jacket, the back of it embellished with the tour logo, as well as Polly’s name. 

Harry chuckled at your reaction. “I got jealous that the two of you already had matching tracksuits without me. Now we have a full family set.” He notices your eyes start to water and he pulls you against his chest and kisses the top of your head. “Princess, you’re crying over a dog jacket.” 

He feels you shake your head against him before he hears your muffled words. “You called us a family.” You pull back, looking in his eyes. “You’ve never said that before.” 

“I thought, at this point, it was implied.” He joked. “If you cried at that, you’re going to positively lose it at the next part.” You look at him curiously. “Once you two put them on, Lloyd is going to take family photos for us.” 

“Ugh!” You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Great plan, make me cry, get my eyes nice and puffy and then take a bunch of pictures of me.”

“I’ve got nothing but time until the show, if you want to take some time to freshen up.” Lloyd suggested. 

“Yes, please.” You sing-songed. “I just need like five to splash my face with water and toss on a little makeup.”

A few minutes later, you had fixed your face and stepped out in your new jacket with a fresh face of makeup to find Harry on the couch, Polly in his lap. Both of them were wearing their jackets. You observed the two of them, your heart feeling full and your mind willing away the tears that threatened to fall at the sight. 

“It fits her okay?” You ask, getting Harry’s attention.

“Like a glove,” He held the small dog up, showing her off. He stood from the couch stepping up to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yeah, you want to go grab Lloyd?” 

“We’re meeting him on location.” You give him a questioning look and he takes your hand, leading out of the dressing room and down the hall, carrying Polly with his free hand. 

You keep walking until you find yourself back in the stadium, Lloyd waiting on the stage for you. You look up at Harry who’s already looking at you. “On the stage?” 

“They’re tour jackets, it makes sense.” He shrugged. 

The photo shoot began the second Lloyd saw you approaching the stage. You take a variety of pictures, there’s a good mix of candids and posed shots, serious and silly. All in all, you spent about fifteen minutes taking photos, a crowd gathering once word got out what you were up to.

When you were finished, you took a look around and realized how right Harry truly was when he called you a family. But it wasn’t just the three of you, it was so much more. Harry had built this incredible family of people from different walks of life, all over the world. In that moment, you felt overwhelmed with love for your boyfriend, you leaned in closer to his side and let out a content sigh. 

“You okay?” He asked, looking down at you with a slight expression of worry. 

You nodded your head with a smile. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that right?”

“I do,” he said with an obnoxious grin. “But it's nice to hear every now and then.” He leaned down pressing his lips to yours in a lingering kiss. 

You were startled apart by Polly’s bark. You both looked down and laughed at her attempts to reach you from the floor. You leaned down, pulling her into your arms. “God, she’s even needier than you are.” You groaned.

“Heeeeyyyy.” He whined. “Apology kiss.” He closed his eyes and puckered his lips. You held Polly up to his face and she immediately started licking him. He opened his eyes with a grumpy expression. “That’s going to cost you much more than just an apology kiss.” 

“Oh, I know.” You smirked. “That’s why I did it.” You winked and gave him a playful tap on his rear before making your way back to his dressing room. 

[something-in-blue]

I found a few songs that perfectly describes the relationship between Flit/Sawyer and my Anit-Hero Elemental!MC Eike/Catalyst.

I have a whole thing dedicated to them I just need to write it down.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: We see a little of Bucky's perspective.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of past historic abuse and blood.

Bucky Barnes was born with dragon's blood running through his veins. His mother and father both from the purest dragon stock that still survived.

His American father had met his American - Russian mother whilst serving in the military, and they had known the moment they set eyes on each other that they were a match. Days of the Cold War surrounded them and Bucky's father, George, was concerned as to how his family would react bringing home a wife and mate that was part Russian but once his family and friends had met Winnie, and discovered that she was also from a strong dragon bloodline, hers even with a smidge of Russian royalty, there was nothing to worry about. George and Winnie had let this acceptance of themselves set the tone for how they accepted their children's presentations and that of their soulmates.

Nearly two weeks ago when Bucky had rushed into their home, his phone in his hand saying he'd found his soulmate, there had been a flurry of excitement. His nieces had squealed when they'd heard him mention you were a fairy.

"How are you gonna play this son?"

"Natalia will arrange something to introduce us, hopefully in the next couple of days."

"Don't come on too strong." His sister Becca had interrupted.

"Nobody asked you Becca." He grunted.

"I'm just saying....."

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!!!" He replied, raising his voice.

"This is exactly what I mean."

Bucky went towards her only to be stopped by Winnie's hand softly going to his chest.

"Sit down Yasha."

Bucky sat down with a huff and Becca pulled a face at him and stuck out her tongue.

"Rebecca Barnes-Smith may I remind you that you are not a child and you don't actually live here anymore, go home and make dinner for that very patient husband of yours." Winnie said, not even needing to turn to know her daughter was trying to provoke her eldest child.

"Now, as much as it pains me to say this, your sister does have a point." Winnie said, watching as Bucky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look son" George started "your mother and I know how much you want this. How much you want to get settled, be bonded, start a family, move upstate and all of that, but"

"But what?"

"But you're a dragon and we tend to be possessive of our things. Fairies are different to us. You come on too strong and she'll flit off, and I know how meddlesome sprites are. Don't let Natalia get too involved."

Bucky didn't listen and two days later he was walking into Natasha's Brownstone after you'd point blank refused to meet him or Steve.

Steve had taken your refusal a little too well for Bucky's liking, saying they should take this slow and let you come to them. Damn griffin, what did he know anyway? In Bucky's eyes, he'd given up way to easily as he'd left to go on an art finding trip for Tony and Pepper. But this also left Bucky almost unsupervised in his pursuit of you.

And it wasn't going well. You weren't talking to him or Nat. Steve on the other hand received a very short message that said you were fine and asking him to tell Bucky to back off.

Bucky hated being wrong and had continued in his chasing but it wasn't working and he'd tried plenty. Gifts, that you sent back. Messages, that you ignored.

But today something was off and Bucky was going to come to your apartment, not just watch you from the rooftop across the street, whether you liked it or not.

Steve had tried to talk him out of it, even going as far to ask Tony to talk to you instead. You'd briefly worked as an office temp for Stark Industries and Tony and Pepper had grown to know and like you whilst you covered for Pepper's assistant whilst she took an extended honeymoon. They'd also sensed you'd be a match for their friends but decided to not play with the fates and let things take their course. Unlike a certain Natasha Romanoff.

Bucky had contemplated waiting for Tony to speak to you but before he'd even had a proper chance to, he felt a need to get to you. That something was wrong.

As he ran up the stairs of you apartment, the smell of blood wafted up his nose and his dragon knew immediately that it was yours, and Stark was with you.

What the fuck was going on? He slowly opened the door, leaning in to see you curled up on the floor with Tony. The latter making eye contact and signalling for him to wait.

“That the asshole family had something to do with your lacking of wings and pointy ears.”

Fuck. Bucky hadn't even noticed. So caught up in his pursuit of you, in his possessiveness to have you, he'd not even noticed your hair always covering your ears and that none of the photos he'd seen of you, hundreds across your social media hadn't shown your wings.

“They won’t want me Tony. They won’t want me when they know.”

Bucky was torn between comforting you and flying off to confront your family. It'd probably only take one call to Romanoff to find them. Right now though, his dragon made the decision, he wanted to hold you, to clean the cuts on your legs and feet. The possessiveness wanted you out of Tony's lap.

“Doll?”

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday: Fragile Things

(This is the one where overuse of light eco at the point of death rewound Damas’s soul back three years. He still isn't sure whether he actually died and accidentally entered another timeline's body when that Damas would have died early, or if he just had an extremely detailed vision. Either way, he broke into Haven and kidnapped TPL Jak literally right in front of Errol and his patrol, and 100% forgot to explain this to his people. Including Jak.) This is long so I'm breaking it into two three posts because even with a read-more it'd be a lot of scrolling.

Two Months Before the Incident:

For the children of the North Quarter, the bridge was a popular place to play and congregate. Most people didn't mind their youngsters hanging around the area, as it was close enough to the tower to discourage general mischief. Footraces, dramatic games of make-believe, even impromptu Raids matches were held on the dusty landmark. It wasn't uncommon for a passing adult to stop and keep an eye on the children for a while, occasionally playing referee.

It was not common for that adult to be King Damas.

He leaned against the tower, and an entrance to the filtration levels that only a handful of Spargans had the code to. Nine children ranging from ten to fourteen in age were spread across the bridge in little groups. The smaller ones were playing a fairly unhinged version of Raids that had evolved to include someone's pet dogat. The older three were crouched closer to him, intent on learning a marble game Jak was trying to teach them. Kill-Grid, he called it, some fusion of checkers and an Arena trial. Damas hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet, himself, but he enjoyed watching Jak play.

One of the water staff exited the entrance and was taken aback to find him there. For a moment, the balding man looked around as if expecting trouble. When he realized that the king was merely taking his turn looking after the collective of children, he relaxed.

"One of these days someone is going to go right over the side of this thing," he sighed.

"And that's why they're never up here unsupervised," Damas agreed. Never taking his eyes from the children, he asked, "How are the new saline filters working out?"

Jeriko made a face. "All good but one. There's a crack in the seal we didn't notice at installation. We're going to have to take it out and use the old filter until it's fixed."

"Ah. I'll have the Trade guild remind its members to examine imports from Kras more closely." Damas rubbed his nose and shrugged. "Still, three out of four isn't bad."

"No indeed.”

They were silent for a while, and Jeriko noticed something. While Damas’s eyes periodically flitted across every little Spargan on the bridge, they always came back to one in particular. The skinny little thing he'd brought back after dropping off Sig for his infiltration mission. Jak, right? Or Jag? Jeriko could never quite tell, but the boy was almost always in the tower. Far more than any of his playmates would have been. Jeriko could almost swear the boy lived there.

"You knew him already, didn't you?"

He couldn't say what had possessed him to ask what so many whispered about already. A death-wish?

But Damas wasn't offended. There was a faraway quality to his gaze as he murmured, "Yes."

He folded his arms and sighed.

"He's thirteen, now. Thirteen! It doesn't seem real."

This was not what Jeriko had expected to hear. He turned to face his king in shock.

"Did you know him...before? In Haven?"

Did he leave a kid behind? He wouldn't do that, right?

Damas’s mind was far from the bridge. He answered honestly, but he did not think then how his answers would be interpreted.

"He's changed so much-! And yet for me, it seems only days since we were first separated."

Oh. Jeriko blanched. The coup. Jak had probably been a hostage to ensure that Damas cooperated. He would have been a newborn then! The poor kid! Jeriko didn't want to think about what kind of life he'd led before Damas went back for him. And now Haven had his other child, too? It was unthinkable.

"Does...does he remember?" Jeriko asked cautiously.

Damas shook his head. "No. I was a stranger to him."

His voice caught on the words.

"But it is...better this way. Better he is spared the horrors I remember. If I must rebuild our relationship from the beginning, I will gladly do so as long as he's safe."

Jak looked up then, meeting Damas’s gaze. He blinked at the intensity of it, then beamed and waved.

Damas smiled and waved back, but his eyes were still troubled.

And now, so were Jeriko's.

Five Days Before the Incident:

(The snippet where Jak jumpscares Damas by asking "Hey are you secretly my dad or something")

The Incident:

On the mainland, autumn had arrived. The air was cooling, and leaves were beginning to change color. On the desert island colloquially known as The Wastelands, fall meant temperatures dropping from 100° to 75°, and the air drying out. A relief for everyone except the people who harvested humidity to sell water. The cooling of the air meant that the sandstorm season had ended, and the rainy season would be upon them soon.

In the city of Spargus, that meant children anxiously awaiting the first major storm of the year. Once it had rained for more than fifteen minutes in a single span, the council would choose a day within the week to celebrate the Rainfall holiday on. Rainfall meant a four day break from school, and distribution of carefully conserved fruits and sweets, and the annual plays and mock battles held in the Arena to entertain the youngest Wastelanders. (And some of the older ones, not that they'd admit it.)

Jak had never heard of the holiday before being brought to the desert city. But it reminded him of Aurora Night in Sandover -- or more specifically, Rock Village. Uncle Erasmus had brought the tradition down into the coastal village when he settled there, long before Jak arrived.

He wondered where in the world Erasmus had ended up -- or maybe when. The calendars were all messed up now.

The holiday sounded like a lot of fun. There had never been more than three children in their little neighborhood in Sandover, and celebrations were subsequently quite small. But here there were more kids than Jak had ever seen in one place before. And even the older ones were excited about Rainfall!

Jak sat under an awning with a few other twelve and thirteen year olds, sorting spent ammunition casings to be recycled. It was normally a chore for very young children, but someone in Jak’s class had gotten them all on punishment.

The actions of one affected the whole.

That's the lesson the teacher was trying to impress on them: that one person breaking rules and taking risks in the ruins could put a whole team in danger.

Half the kids understood the lesson behind the group punishment. The other half -- including Jak -- thought it was just grown-ups being mean.

"Y'know what's the worst about this?" complained a girl to Jak’s left -- one of his regular playmates these days, "It wasn't even me this time! For once, I didn't sneak off, and I'm still getting baby chores!"

Jak snorted. "Lose-lose," he signed.

"You said it," Flick agreed.

She tossed another empty Scatter cartridge into a basket and nudged Jak's foot with her own.

"Hey, you think the big boss will give you a Rain Bead this year?"

"Huh?"

Jak tilted his head quizzically.

Flick took a moment to wind her braided hair back up out of her way, only to undo her work again by shrugging.

"Y'know, since you live...somewhere in the tower. Does he take care of you? Or do you live on the first floor?"

"I live with Damas? You knew that already?"

He wasn't that surprised that she'd forgotten. There were a lot of floors in the tower, and three of them had people living in them. And since people didn't like to talk about Damas’s other kid, the baby his friend in Haven was searching for, they tended to assume that Damas wasn't the one looking after Jak.

The only exceptions were the guards and the filtration staff. They gossiped worse than old Mrs. Perch! Inside the tower, it was an open secret that Jak had either been adopted by the king, or was a biological child that had been taken from him when he was exiled.

Jak pretended not to hear them gossiping when they saw him. It just made his head hurt.

Forget figuring out how that could work. Damas said he wanted to be Jak's dad on purpose! That was even better, right? Because it meant he wasn't obligated to look after Jak, he did it because he wanted to.

Jak watched a strand of bone beads bounce against Flick's braid -- off-white against bright teal -- and counted them silently.

Thirteen, one for every Rainfall Flick had experienced. She was looking forward to her fourteenth bead. Some Wastelanders had as many as twenty hanging from belts or hair! But only those with parents living in the city.

It wasn't a gift friends could give. Apparently it was reserved only for parents and guardians.

Jak didn't know if Damas would give him a rain bead, but he was hoping he would.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice the half filled blaster casing still contained until his hands tingled.

Oh, he hadn't meant to channel it out!

Jak pretended to light one of his fingers on fire and watched the eco hop from vein to fingertip like a perverse candle.

It wasn't enough for a full fireball, but that was for the best. The last time there was an eco imbalance, he'd nearly singed off Teacher Rustin's eyebrows.

"Aw cool!" Flick leaned over with a wide, crooked grin. "Man, I wish I could channel."

Feeling a bit whimsical, Jak used the fire to write words in the air before it ran out.

"That's what the shells are for, right? Even the playing field."

"Yeah," Flick sighed, "I guess that's true."

Then she started digging around for more blaster casings.

"Do it again."

"Guysss!" a younger boy whined from further down the line, "Quit! You're gonna get us in more trouble!"

Considering this was the youngster who had gotten them on group punishment in the first place, nobody paid him much attention.

"Here! How about this one?"

Flick tossed another shell to Jak.

"Nah. Empty."

The baskets were nearly full by the time they found more eco. Most of their classmates had finished their allotted baskets and been dismissed to carry on with their day by then. And according to Rustin, Jak could have left by now. But he hadn't channeled yellow eco in months! Now he wanted to find more!

"Ah-ha!"

Jak held up three shells triumphantly. Now this was enough for a fireball.

Rustin leapt to his feet.

"Noooooo you don't!" the young man shouted, "You get out of here with that eco!"

Cackling, Jak and Flick scooped up a handful of disorganized cartridges and shells and dashed out of the stall towards the beach.

Nobody minded if kids made a mess on the beach. Wasn't much to mess up. Flick turned a cartwheel -- showoff, Jak couldn't do that! -- and landed on her feet. Jak just did a somersault, as he always did back h- back in Sandover.

"Hey! I'll throw a sandball, and you blast it outta the air, okay?"

Flick ran to the surf and began packing wet sand into a sphere.

Jak drew the remnants of the yellow eco out of the spent casings. The stuff ran out quickly. You either channeled it out, or it got absorbed into your core.

The warmth gathered in his palm, sharpened his sight, and Jak waited.

Flick pulled back her arm and launched her projectile straight up.

Blam!

The fireball struck it dead-on. Sand rained down on them both.

Laughing, Jak brushed it out of his hair and shoved the fully empty casings into his pocket. Sorting through the random assortment they'd grabbed, he was disappointed to find no red residue in any of them. Oh well. There was a hint of blue, though.

Jak curved his right hand down into his left palm.

"Again!"

"You got it, partner!" Flick ran back to make another sandball, missing Jak's wince.

He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he wasn't her partner. It was Jak and Daxter, not Jak and Flick. Damas’s friend would find Daxter, Damas said so! He was so sure of it! Damas was always telling him that he would see Daxter again, that he couldn't give up.

Flick was his friend -- she'd probably be Daxter's friend, too -- but Daxter was the one who'd been through enough with him to be a partner.

"Okay! Ready for launch?"

Flick waved an arm.

"Readyyyyy- go!"

This time, Jak didn't shoot a fireball. This time he'd gotten a fingerful of blue eco.

Just that little bit was enough to propel him four feet up in a single leap to slap a hand against the sandball, smashing it.

"Yoooo!" Flick crowed, "That was awesome!"

Then an idea struck her. Jak recognized that little shimmer. When the girl's brown eyes looked almost gold for a moment, that was cause for concern. That meant somebody's parents were going to get called by the end of this.

Unfortunately, it also meant something really fun was about to happen. Choices, choices.

"Wait here." Without waiting for an answer, Flick turned and pelted up the beach, sending up little sprays of sand in her wake.

Jak tucked the Vulcan cartridge into his pocket with the other casings and shrugged. The weather was nice, he didn't mind waiting. The water was just beginning to cool, the perfect temperature for swimming. Jak struggled with his boots -- laces, he hated laces! It took weeks for Damas to teach him to tie his own stupid shoes! -- and kicked them off with a grumble before diving in.

The salt stung his eyes, but Jak had grown accustomed to that years ago. He pushed past the cloudy grit of the shallows and down past the breakers, to where the water was clear, and clean, and blue.

There was coral here. Not as dense as the reef in Rock Village, but there were more fish around it. Parrotfish nibbling at odd ends, wrasse darting in and out and hiding in the sand, funny little things shaped like flat ribbons that bumbled along. Jak loved to watch them all.

Sometimes, if he looked hard enough, he could find pieces of orbs under the coral. There were some whole ones, too, but prying them out would require breaking the coral, and Jak still remembered Samos's hour long lecture about coral being an animal of some kind. Jak didn't want to hurt an animal that wasn't hurting him just for the sake of something shiny. The shards of orbs he dredged up were enough -- the adults certainly seemed to think so. Apparently there were so many broken orbs around the desert that shards had become the most common form of currency. Jak wondered what could be powerful enough to smash an orb.

It wasn't until he came up for air that he realized Flick had been calling him. He wasn't sure when she'd gotten back. Time seemed to disappear when he was underwater. In no particular hurry, Jak swam a leisurely circuit before making his way back to shore. Flick had a bag over her shoulder that she was clinging to with a clear impatience. What was she up to?

"C'mon! Hurry! Before my mom figures out I took these!"

Well that was both promising and ominous at the same time.

Jak shook off seawater like a crocadog. (He saw them swimming beyond the reef sometimes. He badly wanted to touch one, but it Wasn't Allowed, apparently.)

Flick squealed and jumped out of the way.

"Ja-aak! Quit!"

He did not.

Once he'd wrung out his scarf -- and flicked the water off his fingers and onto his friend -- Jak leaned over with a questioning grunt.

Flick's eyes sparkled with mischief.

When she pulled back the flap, shiny yellow and blue plastic caught the sunlight.

Bullets. Unspent bullets.

Flick was fourteen; she was allowed to have Scattergun cartridges -- Jak still had to wait a year to be allowed to hold a gun -- but Blaster and Vulcan rounds? Absolutely not. The lure of the forbidden pulled at Jak, and he only hesitated for a moment.

The last time he'd given in to that call, his best friend got turned into an ottsel. But, they'd also uncovered Gol and Maia's plot.

And it wasn't like there was any dark eco here. He definitely had no chance of turning Flick into an ottsel.

Jak took adventure's bait, hook line and sinker.

Prying open the bullets to get the eco out was difficult. It took several minutes, and the sun was beating down uncomfortably on their shoulders when they finally cracked the seal on a Vulcan round. But it was so worth it. The rush of blue eco, shooting through his body, made Jak feel almost like he was back on Sentinel Beach. He whooped and took off down the strand, laughing.

Go go go go go! cried the eco in his blood, Faster! Higher! Further!

He'd made it halfway up the side of the cliff before he felt the eco beginning to wear off. Making the most of every last spark, Jak kicked off the rock wall and into a backflip, landing on his feet.

The nice thing about blue eco was that he was never out of breath after using it.

Jak turned to find Flick, much further down the beach. He waved his arms with a theatrical, "TA-DA!"

Flick whooped and waved her own arms. She waited until Jak had jogged back to her before pulling out a Blaster bullet.

"Now let's do fire!"

They spent close to half an hour playing with the elements of motion and range and fire. It was so strange to Jak that this was such a foreign concept to children in Spargus. There were no open vents here, no clusters of raw eco oozing from the rocks and the sea and the earth itself. Was it because it was a desert?

"Hey Jak," Flick said when they had begun to wind down, "How come you can channel more than one eco?"

Jak looked away from the sun, which was beginning to sink, with a startled grunt.

Oh. Right. The sages only ever channeled just one. He supposed monks were like sages in training, so they probably only channeled one eco, too.

"I don't know. I just do." Jak shrugged. "I can't turn it off. It just happens."

Flick laid back on the sand with her hands behind her head. "Huh. Well, that's kind of cool though."

They were quiet for a few seconds, but the calm wouldn't last.

Flick abruptly sat up and shifted to look at Jak. He blinked back at her upside-down visage and wondered why he suddenly had a bad feeling.

Was this what it was like to be Daxter?

"Have you ever channeled more than one eco?" Flick asked, "at the same time?"

A year ago, Jak would have said that was impossible. Picking up green turned off the effects of blue. Yellow turned off red. He just couldn't hold onto two at once.

Or so he'd thought.

But then came the last battle against the Acherons.

"Actually..."

Now Jak sat up, frowning.

"Actually, yeah! Only once, but it was like-"

He made a few meaningless gestures, trying to convey a sensation he couldn't describe.

"It was all four! And- and they mixed or something into- to- white eco or something!" Jak's hands were exaggerated into a shout. "It was like mega powerful!"

"Nuh-uh!" Flick challenged, but she was smiling. "There's no way. You did not homebrew light eco."

"Wasn't me, it was four sages!" Jak explained. "Maybe that's why I could do it?"

"Well can you only do it with all four, or does it work with three? Or even just two?"

The wheels were turning in Flick's head.

"What if you wanted speed and firepower, but not super strength?"

"Blue and yellow! Maybe!"

Jak didn't know that it wouldn't work.

And even if it didn't, at worst one would just cancel out the other.

"Might not do anything, but who knows!"

"We'll know.”

Next>

[sweetmascherari]

The Second Coming of A.Z. Fell

CW/TW: Mild Violence. Mention of blood.

Summary

Now that Aziraphale has spent some time back in Heaven, he's realized that he needs to make a change. Unfortunately, things don't go how he hoped, so the next step is to find the one person that he trusts to help him.

Inspired by artwork by Gleafer

Excerpt:

This wasn’t right. He was there to make a difference. He was there to make things better - for everyone. Even when he would bring up the notion of “The Second Coming” to the Metatron, all his answers would ever be were “In due time, Aziraphale. In due time.” It turned the angel’s stomach, all this ‘wait and see’ mentality that seemed to flit around his Office. Fine. If that’s how things were going to run. Fine. He would simply take matters into his own hands. He was there to make things better. He could make his own way. He was a rather developed self-starter. And his ideas were hardly ever poor.

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Thank you, WatsonsStressBall for being such a lovely beta! And @goodomensafterdark for letting me wander around and write on the walls (mostly) unsupervised..