#//at hey could be in the middle of a battle & he will stop fighting altogether to say it like he’s made a Wonderous discovery

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya having become adjusted to a significant other can and WILL drop I Love You’s at the most ransom times and even the most random of places

[gayvorestories]

Werewolf vore, digestion, male pred, multiple prey

With the full moon overhead, belly swaying like a pendulum, the werewolf wandered down the street towards home. He had found a deer within minutes of turning tonight, and with his belly filled nearly to bursting, the wolf in him was no longer fighting for control. On these rare chances without a struggle, every sense felt turned up to 11. His body felt powerful and agile, aside from the giant mass of meat and bone weighing down on his middle.

Just another street ov- oh what's that smell? he thought to himself. Someone was up late grilling. Feeling more distant from his body than he had just a moment earlier, he changed course. No, no no! We were almost home!

The wolf pulled them along towards the source of the amazing scent. He looked over a fence into someone's yard and saw it - a grill with eight burgers sitting on top. Compared to the size of the wolf, the fence was barely an obstacle - on an empty stomach. His belly snagged the top of one of the fence planks, pulling it off of the cheap frame to the ground with a thud.

They lept into the shadows as two men came over to investigate. Okay, as soon as they leave we're going home, he thought angrily. A feeling, like a word without the structure, entered his mind and he knew this was a losing battle: burgers.

The men took out flashlights and started to look around. Oh fuck, we can't be seen, he panicked. The wolf pulled them deeper into the shadows, but the men kept getting closer.

"Hey, what's that over there?"

The flashlight turned right onto their face and the wolf closed the gap. Wait, no, we can't leave a mess here, he thought in a frenzy as he felt the wolf think about tearing them apart and making a break for it. Instead he knocked one of them down, putting his paw over the man's chest, pinning him to the ground. The other man picked up a large branch and swung it, hitting the wolf right on the end of the nose.

Before he had a chance to argue, the wolf had opened their mouth wide and grabbed the man, pulling him chest deep into his now-salivating mouth. Wait, don't- he started to think, but it was too late, the wolf had thrown their head back and the man was halfway down their throat. He lifted his paw and picked up the other man, tossing him up and swallowing him effortlessly. His stomach stretched painfully and the wolf steered them towards home. Maybe they would have burgers another time.

The wolf let up control entirely and he ran home as quickly as he could on all fours, stomach scraping the ground a few times on the bumpier parts. Using his nose, he pulled the unlocked garage door open and back down again. A pile of blankets and a space heater waited for him in the corner, and he flopped down onto his side. He looked at his belly - about the size of the small chest freezer on the other side of the room - and realized he wolf had swallowed the men alive.

Oh fuck, I feel them moving, you didn't crush them with your teeth or when you stepped on that one? Bad wolf! Bad! God I hope they don't stay conscious long...

Handprints made themselves visible on the surface of his furry belly as one of the men punched and pushed and tried to fight his way out. They both shouted angrily, but the thick layer of fur and flesh muffled their screaming significantly. He tried closing his eyes to get a little sleep but the struggling and shouting continued.

After an hour, the struggling weakened on one side, and then stopped altogether. Poor guy, glad he finally passed out, he thought, but was immediately met with more frantic struggling than before as his friend struggled more fiercely than before. The screams were no longer angry, but terrified, and the flailing had become frantic grabbing and clawing and searching for an exit that didn't exist.

His stomach let out a loud groan as if it had woken up from a long nap. You might wanna pass out some time soon dude.

Hours passed and he wasn't sure what had gotten louder: the muffled screams or the wet gurgling of his stomach as it churned up the meat and bones. He thought for sure the guy would have stopped struggling and passed out hours ago, but based on how much louder the yelling had become and that the screaming had become begging, he was going to be one of the unfortunate ones this time and stay awake until his body gave out.

Glancing at the bottom of the garage door, he realized this was going to be a bigger problem for both of them soon: the gap in the seal revealed sunlight. He would start to change back soon. His stomach acid would become less potent and his stomach would lose a tremendous amount of its power, slowing his digestion down to a comparative crawl. You really did it this time, he thought grumpily.

Within a few minutes his body began to shift. His bones were the first to change, shortening and bringing his frame in, followed by a small reduction in muscle mass. The mass in his stomach remained the size size though - and his skin grew tighter and tighter as he shrank down to his regular size. As the fur fell away and his stomach grew as tight as a drum, he could make out some of the shapes inside him: the profile of a deer's head, the softened form of the man who had gone unconscious early on, and the struggling form of the one still struggling.

His stomach let out an unhappy groan at the sudden loss of strength and he mumbled out, "I know, I know...."

The man inside his stomach began moving around and begging, "please, is someone there? help me! please get help! he's digesting me alive!"

Chris let out a small sigh. "Sorry man, the wolf doesn't let me spit shit back up and now that I'm back to my normal self, the uh. The exit isn't quite the same size."

"What? What the fuck are you talking about, get help, please get help, the wolf... the... wait, no. No no no, please tell me you didn't change back."

"Sorry dude, I can't stop it. Pass out if you can, my stomach is gonna do what it's gonna do," Chris said as he used all of his strength to move into a sitting position. His stomach was nearly as big as the rest of him and his legs had to spread open wide to avoid being trapped under.

"Fuck! Fuck you man, fuck you!" he gave a hard kick that Chris actually felt this time, "I'm not your fucking food! Let me out! I'm a person, you can't do this!"

"Dude you're no-URRRP-not the first, second, or third one to end up in there. It's gonna happen. I can't do anything, you can't do anything, just st-"

"Fuck you!" the man interrupted as he shoved and punched the walls of Chris' stomach.

Chris felt that one in his ribs and let in a gasp. "Well fuck you too then, but you're mine now and even if I could let you out, I wouldn't."

Stupid fucking wolf eating everything that moves, he thought angrily as he opened up his post-feast bag. He pulled out his switch, a pair of headphones and drowned out his meals shouting.

A few hours later, the struggling had stopped. He took out his headphones and gave the outline in his belly a push. No response, and the other man's outline had gotten seriously less defined. He gave his stomach a gentle rub on the sides, "poor guys. I hate to do it to them but at the same time..."

His stomach let out a low grumble in response.

"Yeah, you're right," he said as he leaned back, "I love doing it to them."

[iam93percentstardust]

Hey, it’s my birthday this month too and I will try my luck here 💕 sending you love, luck and flowers by the way 💐🍀❤️

I‘m totally into heartbeats, so my prompt is just „Heartbeat“ for Stony - everything else is up to you ❤️ thank you ❤️

Happy birthday, nonnie! (I know I’m a little late, real life got in the way of filling this prompt during February) I hope you like your story!!

As always, this fic is also on ao3

It takes Steve almost three hours after receiving the serum to realize that the steady thumping sounds he’s hearing are the heartbeats of the people close to him.

He thinks he can be forgiven for taking a while to figure it out. He can hear so much more now than he ever could before—even before his hearing was shot all to hell after his scarlet fever—so his initial thought, after he notices them, is that the thumping sounds are something that everyone can hear, like rushing water or something else. But he decides pretty quickly that that doesn’t make any sense. Even if it weren’t for the fact that no one else seems to hear them, the fact that the thumping sounds fade in and out as people move closer and farther away from him is a pretty clear indicator that it’s not something normal.

It’s not until one of the thumping sounds speeds up when the nurse asks him to take his shirt off so she can draw his blood that he realizes he’s hearing her heartbeat.

It’s incredible. It’s terrifying. It’s—Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it. He wants to feel excited about it, knows that he probably should be thrilled about this shining example of how perfectly the serum worked. But the more he thinks about it, the more his own heart sinks. He hears heartbeats. There’s not a secret in the world that’s closed to him now.

“Steve?” Peggy asks him, voice high with concern. Clearly not the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

He forces himself to meet her eyes. Her heart skips a beat—Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up on it, muffled under clothes and skin and bone as it may be. He wonders if it would have skipped that beat if he’d still looked like himself. He smiles tightly at her.

“I’m fine.”

~

Bruce’s heart beats twice as fast as the average human’s. Steve wonders if that’s because of the Hulk, if keeping the Hulk contained requires so much energy that Bruce’s heart beats so much faster. He supports this hypothesis (wouldn’t Tony be so proud of him if he heard this?) with the fact that the Hulk’s heartbeat is the same rate as anyone else’s and the fact that Bruce always has snacks squirreled away on his person.

Natasha’s is always steady. Always. The only time Steve has ever heard her heartbeat unsteady was in the middle of a battle with Doombots when he’s fighting back-to-back with her. Clint had fallen off his perch and Tony had been just a half-second later than usual in catching him. He’d still caught him but in that moment, when it had looked like Clint would hit the ground hard, Natasha’s heart had skipped several beats.

Clint has an arrhythmia. It takes Steve a while to figure out. He hears the missed beats, but he originally thinks it’s because of an external stimulus—Natasha’s bared back in the decontamination showers, Tony gifting him a whole new quiver, an exciting race in Mario Kart—only there’s too much of a pattern to the missed beats and Clint never looks worried when it happens, so Steve asks JARVIS about it. He spends a week learning everything he can about arrhythmias so he knows what to do if something happens during a battle.

Thor’s heartbeat throws him off for a while until he realizes it’s not a heartbeat so much as it is heartbeats. Thor laughs jovially when he asks about it and informs him that Asgardians actually have three hearts.

He never hears Tony’s.

~

He learns how to filter out the heartbeats. How can he not? Even just a single heartbeat is enough to drive someone mad, but to have to listen to anyone’s who’s standing within a few feet of him? He has to learn to filter the heartbeats or else he’ll lose his sanity.

The USO girls are the best way to do this, though he’ll never admit that to them. He knows they already find him… off, knows that it terrifies them how easily he can lift that motorcycle with them on it and how precisely he has to aim his fake punches so that he doesn’t risk launching Johnny halfway across the audience when he punches Hitler. If they found out he could hear their heartbeats, well, he’d be lucky if half of them don’t quit on the spot.

But the girls, they just—they feel so much. Their hearts flutter when the soldiers smile at them. They beat extra fast when they dance. They slow down when they sleep on the long train rides from city to city. It’s the perfect way to figure out how to drown them out.

In the end, Steve figures that the best way to filter through them is to treat them the same way he would any other background noise. City noises haven’t bothered him in ages because he’s so used to them. He learned to get used to sleeping on trains. He can learn to work around the heartbeats too.

~

Steve knows Tony has a heart. He has to. He couldn’t just throw it out altogether in favor of solely using the arc reactor (though sometimes he thinks that Tony would if he could). He’s seen the cute little reminder Pepper once gave Tony sitting down there in the workshop in its place of pride next to DUM-E’s charging station.

Proof Tony Stark has a heart.

Tony has a heart. It’s big and it’s beautiful and it overflows in ways that Steve could never have dreamed of when he’d been growing up, no matter how much he’d wanted to help. He thinks of the articles Fury had given him in Tony’s file after he first woke up: Tony Stark Wants to Change the World. He thinks a better headline might have been: Tony Stark Is Changing the World.

They’re friends now, friends who go to the movies and ballgames midnight snacks with each other. Friends who always team up together on game night, a united front against the Super Spies and Thor and Bruce. Friends who hug and sometimes fall asleep cuddled up together on the couch, though Tony is always quick to offer him a smile in the morning and say, “No hard feelings?”

And Steve wants more, desperately, achingly.

But he gets to have this. He gets to have Tony’s forgiveness for his harsh words on the helicarrier and his obedience during their missions and his loyalty when it comes to everything else. And Steve—he’s greedy. A lifetime of growing up with nothing has made him want. But this is something that he knows better about.

He can���t force Tony’s heart to flutter when he looks at Steve. He can’t force it to quicken when they stand too close together. He can’t force Tony to love him.

And yet…

He can’t force himself to stop listening either.

~

The first time he thinks that this curse might actually be a gift is when he discovers Bucky is still alive. He’s creeping through the empty base, nearly everyone already evacuated, when he turns the corner and sees the scientist. Steve has never met the man before, never even seen him before, but he knows that this must be one of Hydra’s scientists.

He doesn’t have the right build for a soldier. Steve would know.

The scientist’s heartbeat trips as he stares at Steve for only a moment before he hurries away in the opposite direction. Steve almost gives chase after him—if anyone can tell him where Bucky is, it would be him. But even as his strides lengthen into a run, he thinks about how the scientist’s gaze had darted back into the room he’d just left. Isn’t it strange, he muses, that the scientist was still here when everyone else had fled?

That’s when he hears it: the stuttered, fragile heartbeat, nearly eclipsed by a voice Steve knows as well as his own brokenly reciting his identification.

Steve abruptly skids to a halt and turns. He dashes into the room to see Bucky strapped down to a table, eyes staring sightlessly ahead as he begins his recitation all over again. Bile rises in Steve’s throat at the sight of his best friend knocked down like this but he shoves the feeling back. Panic later, action now. If Hydra’s abandoning Bucky in the middle of their experiments, that can’t spell anything good for their escape from the base.

He starts working on the straps, keeping an ear out for distant (or perhaps not-so-distant) explosions. Bucky slowly turns to look at him. “Is it…?” he murmurs, voice as rough as gravel, and then trails off, too exhausted to continue.

“It’s me,” Steve assures him. “It’s Steve.”

Bucky blinks. “Steve?”

Steve glances hurriedly toward the door. They can’t linger here. “Come on,” he mutters, helping Bucky off the table. He drapes Bucky’s arm over his shoulders, silently offering him support.

“Steve,” Bucky says again. His brow wrinkles.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve admits.

“I thought you were taller,” Bucky informs him, and even through his worry, Steve has to bite back a grin. There’s the same old Bucky he knows and loves. They’re gonna be just fine.

~

The first time Steve hears Tony’s heartbeat, they’re fighting.

Steve doesn’t even remember how it got started, just that one moment, they were laughing and talking with each other, and the next, they’re screaming. They’re pressed practically chest to chest as they yell abuses at each other and when Tony accuses him of being unable to move on from the past, Steve sees red. He straightens up, all but looming over Tony.

There’s a weak, stuttered thump.

It so surprises Steve that he blinks and steps away. He’s never—Tony has a heartbeat, he has to, but Steve has never heard it before. In one wild moment, he’d even once thought that Tony’s heart actually no longer beat and he was surviving entirely on the arc reactor. And yet, what else can it be?

Tony doesn’t seem to notice Steve’s hesitation and he steps in close again, jabbing his finger into Steve’s chest. Steve hears it again, frail and rhythmless and nearly hidden beneath a soft whirr that he’d never noticed before.

The arc reactor.

He’d never heard Tony’s heart because of the arc reactor.

Now that he hears it, he doesn’t know how he’d missed it before. It’s so much. It’s loud, drowning out nearly everything else, or maybe that’s the blood rushing in his ears as it really, truly hits him for the first time that this piece of metal and light is all that’s keeping Tony alive.

“How do you stand it?” he whispers.

Tony steps away, caught off guard. Immediately, Steve misses hearing that sound, that reassurance that Tony’s heart still beats under the reactor, and he follows him.

“Stand what?” Tony asks uncertainly, gaze landing on everything but Steve standing a few inches away from him.

Steve lays his hand over the reactor, covering up its glow. Only—the very thought, that it could go dark and he would lose the thing that matters most to him in this time, terrifies him and he moves his hand away again, realizing only at the last second that his hand is now covering Tony’s heart instead.

“It’s so loud. It’s—I can’t hear you,” he tries to explain.

Tony inhales sharply. “You can hear—” He cuts off, raises his hand to cover Steve’s. Steve nods. “How did no one know that?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he admits. “It scared me.” He splays his fingers wide, fingertips brushing the side of the arc reactor and the curve of Tony’s side all at once. “It still scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he begins. Stops. Inhales deeply. Tries again. “Because Clint’s heart could skip more beats than it should and I would hear it but wouldn’t know what to do. Because Natasha could be unhappy and I would never know… Because you could die and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

“Steve—”

Terror makes him brave, who knew? “I can’t hear you unless I’m this close.” He forces himself to meet Tony’s eyes, warm and beautiful. “I always want to be this close, but I know I can’t have that.”

Tony’s lips part on a small gasp. He breathes in unsteadily, heart starting to race. Steve hears it but he doesn’t understand why. “All the words in the world,” Tony eventually says. “And I can’t find the ones I want when I need them.”

“Tony, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Tony murmurs and kisses him.

~

The last heartbeat Steve hears as he plummets toward the ocean is his own. Red Skull is gone, the remaining Hydra soldiers dead. Peggy’s voice is in his ear but he can barely hear her over his own galloping heartbeat. Figures. The only thing he wants to listen to as he dies is her but he’s still stuck with the heartbeats.

“I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance,” he tells her.

“Alright,” Peggy says. She sounds like she’s crying. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” he promises.

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

The ice is rushing up before him, an expanse of pale blue and white as far as he can see. Maybe, if he’s lucky, the rushing water will drown out the sound of his heart. He doubts it. Steve Rogers has never been lucky.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

He wants her voice to be the last thing he hears. He doesn’t want to listen to the sound of his dying heart.

He can’t have everything he wants.

~

As the bedroom door slides open, through his own exhaustion, Steve hears the gentle whirring of the arc reactor. He blinks his eyes open, taking in the dark room, lit up only by the lights of the city. Even those are dimmed; JARVIS must have the tinted windows darkened. Tony is asleep on his stomach, the arc reactor’s glow muted by his chest pressing it into the blankets.

Steve wearily strips out of his armor, dropping it in the laundry chute to be picked up by the tower bots in the morning. He takes a quick whiff of himself, hoping he doesn’t smell badly enough to need a shower when he’s this tired, and is rewarded with only the slightly stale smell of the Quinjet.

Reassured that he won’t wake his husband up with his rankness, he climbs into their bed, tucking himself under the blankets. Tony grumbles wordlessly, shifting closer to him in his sleep. Steve presses himself along the line of Tony’s body, tucking his head into the curve of Tony’s neck. Nearly silenced by the arc reactor, Tony’s heart beats steadily, still ticking even after all it’s been put through.

He smiles, presses a kiss to Tony’s pulse point, and lets his eyes drift closed.

[mettywiththenotes]

Izuku’s “All Might” Smile, Or Lack Thereof

I just wanna point out that this entire time, Izuku has kept saying that he wants to “be a hero that smiles when he saves people, just like All Might”, but the thing is Izuku hasn’t kept to that at all

He didn’t smile when he saved Kouta, or Eri, or Shouto. When he tries to smile as a hero, they all seem forced

Chapter 52 when he saved Iieda from Stain’s blade ^

Chapter 109 when the rescue exam started at the Provisional License exam ^

It could be argued that in these screencaps, he was a hero-in-training so he was learning to do it, he was practicing for the future, but it’s like ever since these moments, he’s just stopped trying to “smile like All Might would” altogether.

All Might had said to Izuku that he smiles “to stave off the overwhelming pressure and fear inside of himself”, which I think Izuku tried to start doing too at first, like his idol, but he just kind of... stopped at some point. And never really picked it up again.

In fact, really, the two times he actually smiled during a rescue is when he saved Bakugou in the sludge incident [chapter 1]

This is before he became a Hero, before he knew it was even a solid possibility, and he may be incredibly nervous but he’s still smiling and he’s still in the middle of an active rescue attempt so I think it counts.

[I know that this is a nervous smile much like the two above, but I think the difference is that in this one, there’s an air of reassurance to it.

Izuku’s smile with Stain’s battle seems like the “trying to be confident in the face of danger” type. It’s not really actively saving [getting the victim tf out of there] as much as fighting an enemy with a friend and backing him up so he doesn’t die

And the smile at the rescue exam seems like a “trying too hard” one

Whereas the Sludge Incident smile looks like Izuku is saying “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m not going to stand by and let this happen to you”. That’s what I think anyway]

And the second smile being at the Teachers Vs Students exam, when he actually punches All Might himself [chapter 65]

I think it’s also interesting to note that the times he smiled during the rescues are the times when he saves Bakugou specifically. Interesting to think about🤔

But apart from these two moments? Izuku hasn’t smiled during a rescue since, and even if he tries to, it looks forced. It’s sad, because Izuku really did have those dreams of being like All Might, being as strong and brave as him, and smiling just like he did. He really hung onto those dreams, and it breaks my heart that everything that has happened to him is taking such a great toll that those aspirations of his, even ones as small as smiling reassuringly like his idol, don’t even exist anymore [not in his current state anyway]

And that’s another thing; Izuku doesn’t smile when saving now, but his mask does for him.

That’s the thing I love about Izuku’s costume development at the moment. It took such a heartbreaking turn where his mouth guard was originally only a homage to All Might’s smile when worn, but now it’s like an outside persona for Izuku, where he’s wearing the “smile” when he isn’t physically able to even do that anymore, not like he used to

I think that’s kind of one of the reasons why he almost never wore his mouth guard before this arc; just to narratively say “hey this kid is doing okay now, but wait until shit hits the fan”. Hori’s been waiting for a moment to use the mouth guard like this lol

I just wanna point out briefly too that the only times Izuku smiled during a fight that were, for lack of a better word, cocky, were the TogaCamie battle in chapter 105

And the Kacchan Vs Deku 2 fight

Panel from chapter 119

I don’t even know how to describe the smile... cocky?? Determined?? Proud?? Idk but it’s definitely different to the other ones and I don’t think he’s smiled like this before or after these particular moments since

In conclusion, Izuku hasn’t upheld his original wish to smile like All Might, and I think it’s interesting but sad. If anything, the only part of that wish that came true is that his smile in this current arc is just an outward persona, but it doesn’t even reassure people like All Might’s used to.

I also just wanted to ramble off about Izuku’s smiling development because idk I also think that’s kinda interesting?? Yeah

[smallblip]

If this hasn’t broken me, I will never break.

Levihan | Rated for rough sex (consensual) 

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503941

Love is for suckers. In this life and the next, love is for the foolish, the reckless, the damned.

So they don’t give meaning to this-

thing between them, in full bloom like a rose amidst a bed of thorns. They find one another after each battle, this thing between them drawing a different type of blood. Until it stops altogether, the tenderness between them too painful to contain in two organic bodies.

But until it stops, they called it comfort, they called it fucking to feel something, they called it defiance in a world that tramples upon anything remotely tender-

Now they’ll call it holing up in an inn on the outskirts of town on borrowed time.

Levi draws her close, and she feels like she's about to throw up. There are butterflies in her stomach and they're unrelenting. It’s been so long so he fumbles with her shirt-

the buttons are on the other side. It’s supposed to be easier for you!

Oh.

But she laughs when she struggles with his shirt too.

Her bolo tie comes off and something like relief spreads across her face.

Commander Hanji Zoë, they had said. She’s now commander and Levi abhors the look on her face. A look he recognises as a mix of fear and resignation.

So he kisses her in the empty hallways after the ceremony. He kisses her so forcefully that it comes as a surprise to himself.

“Levi-“ she says, breathless. And she looks like she’s about to cry.

“Shut up.” Levi says, closing the gap between them to kiss her again. If he kisses her she won’t be able to speak. Then he wouldn’t have to watch her shatter. He wouldn’t be left alone to pick up the pieces. Levi pushes her up against the wall, fingers grabbing at her collar, “shut up,” he says again for good measure.

“Run away with me...” Hanji says in a moment of bravery, in a fevered moment induced by the friction of two bodies. Levi is so close that she can still taste him. And she wants more of him. All of him. Until she’s filled to the brim. Until she ceases to exist. And Levi doesn’t need to be told twice. They leave a letter in her office- we’ll be back, she writes. Words she purposefully etched on paper to tether her to the ground.

And they find themselves in an inn on the outskirts of the next town where no one knows their names.

“What now?” she asks, although she already knows what’s going to happen. Levi’s lips are red and swollen from kissing and things can only go to hell from here.

Levi looks at her, fingers tracing from her chin to her cheek, his palm follows, and she leans into the touch. “I will love you now...” he whispers as he draws her into his arms. I will love you to the brim, until we are whole again, until you are full and swollen like a blueberry, Levi thinks, and after fumbling with her clothes he guides them both to bed.

He’s gentle at first. Gentle kisses layering atop gentle touches, tentative like the first time they fucked. Except this isn’t the first time, and Levi fears it might be the last, so he takes his time. He has his hands on either side of her head and he’s looking down at her with all the love in the world. But Hanji looks like she’s about to cry.

“What do you want?” he asks between kisses that travel from her forehead to the tip of her nose.

"I want you to ruin me...” she answers, already her nails are digging into his arms hard enough to bruise.

And Levi doesn’t need to be asked twice. He sinks his teeth into her shoulder, hand pressed tight over her mouth to muffle her screaming. The taste of rust and earth on the tip of his tongue as he kisses the damage. He leaves a trail of purple flowers from where her pulse is hot and heavy, down to her chest, down to her hips.

“Levi..." she says in between marking what’s hers, high above his collar so everyone will know. A fevered bravery induced by the friction of skin against skin, of running away and holing up in an inn where no one knows her name. "Ruin me...” she says again.

Levi retrieves the belt from his uniform to tie her wrists to the bed frame. He kisses her forehead in a final act of tenderness before he fucks her into the mattress so hard she sees bursts of white light. And Hanji thinks this is all the good that’s left in this world. To feel young and reckless again. To feel an irreverent snigger catch in her lungs when she sees their uniforms strewn on the floor. To see Levi put the standard issue belts to good use on her wrists. To see his shirt crumpled near the door, something he’ll definitely groan about later. To be Hanji Zoë again, just Hanji Zoë. To belong to one person alone. To be whole again- two faces, four arms, four legs, tangled atop threadbare sheets.

Her back arches off the bed so she can feel him deeper, until the warmth of his body spreads like fire through her ribs. Hanji has trouble keeping quiet. She’s always had trouble keeping quiet. So Levi wraps his hands around her neck, “shut up...” he manages between groans. He feels like he’s going insane, seeing the way her eyes roll to the back of her head. Yet she still manages to gasp out his name with whatever air she gathers through parted lips. "Please..." she whispers.

So he undoes the belt around her wrists and immediately she pulls him atop her. His chest is against hers now, and her arms are wrapped around his neck. They can no longer tell where one scattered heartbeat ends and where the other begins.

“What do you want, Hanji?” he asks, a whisper against her neck.

You... she breathes.

She’s only ever wanted him.

But there’s no time to think about hurt and affliction. Now is the time for pleasure. They rut against each other, proximity drawing him in as soon as he pulls out. There’s that familiar ecstasy again, and her eyes close in rapture. She feels like she’s dying.

Hanji is sated, like a cat lying in a sunbeam, the setting sun providing just enough warmth for her to doze off. She hears Levi’s breath settling, and she feels that familiar flutter in her belly. She closes her eyes and sees butterflies emerging from a thousand cocoons. It’s warm so they take to the skies with ease. She thinks of a story she had heard as a child- of two lovers, a shared grave, and the dance of two butterflies. She wonders what Levi would think about being a butterfly. To live three or four weeks, dance, fall in love, then die his lover’s embrace. To return to the ground together, food for the creatures that dwell in the mud.

Hanji traces her gaze over the ceiling. She wonders how it has come to this. How it always comes to this. Hanji had been good. When her hands stray between her hips in the showers she doesn’t think of Levi anymore. She doesn’t think of his body- sinewy and hard, yet soft and pliable under her touch. She doesn’t think of the way his nose furrows, the way his lips part, as he drains her of pleasure, of guilt, of anything that’s not him and his voice, gruff from saying her name. But every once in a while, she falters. They find each other again. And now an image will inevitably slip into her mind in the showers after they return home-

Bruises on skin, blooming like flowers; skilled fingers replacing hers; and a voice, hot and heavy by her ears- Hanji... She scrubs herself raw-

“Hanji...” she hears it again and it coaxes her back to reality. She hums. I’m here, she wants to say, I never left.

“Hey Levi... Did you know adult butterflies don’t excrete waste? They use up everything they eat as energy so there’s nothing left...” she says absentmindedly.

Levi makes a sound that’s somewhere between acknowledgement and disgust. “That would save a lot of time...” he says anyway.

“What would they do with all that extra time?” She muses. This is nice. It’s nicer than fighting the urge to close the space between them every time she sees him, nicer than fighting the urge to tell him how she feels. Regrettable really, that it has come to this. That she guards her thoughts against him only to know it’s futile. So she falters. If there’s anyone in this world that knows her- if there’s anyone in this world that she knows-

“I can think of a few things...” he says, placing his hand in the path of her wandering fingers. He laces their fingers together like a trap. I’ve got you now, I won’t let go this time, he wants to say, but there’s little point in empty promises. “Sorry about the bruises...” he says.

She chuckles dryly, “don’t apologise... I told you to...” she rolls onto her belly with a groan, everything will hurt in the morning. She props her head up on her hands and looks at him with all the love in the world. “Reminds me of the first time we fucked...”

Levi rolls his eyes at her poetic diction. Nevertheless, Levi remembers the first time they fucked. A complete mess of bones and nerves and soft skin pulled taut over muscles. They bump noses one too many times and Hanji had to stop them in the middle of kissing to laugh.

Sorry, she had said, it’s the butterflies.

Levi knew what she had meant. There’s an unkind sort of churning in his gut, betraying his nerves, his lack of experience with anything beyond a rushed job.

Now his eyes trail over her purpling skin, the angry red around her wrists. Levi scoffs, “this is nothing like the first time we fucked...”

“Really?” Hanji hums, “the feeling is the same...” her fingers ghost his lips. They’re really nice lips. She could kiss him for days. “Only you can make it alright, Levi...” she whispers. And he’s alone again, picking up the pieces.

He remembers the last time they had given meaning to this thing between them. I can’t do this anymore... she had told him.

I think about running away with you, Levi... All the damn time, she had said, and I can’t-

And now they’re holed up in an inn, near the edge of the world. Levi grunts, self-explanatory. The feeling is mutual. Only she can piece him back together. Levi shifts closer to press his face in her chest, and he breathes her in. It’s been too long and he’s afraid this memory will be all that’s left of them.

And Hanji feels small again, like a child in her mother’s arms, being told that boys are nothing but trouble. So she kisses a few girls, and then a few boys, and she figures she doesn’t want to kiss anyone else after kissing Levi.

Hanji chuckles, fingers scratching absentmindedly at Levi’s undercut, “what would my mother say?”

“She’ll just have to accept that her child has a thing for runts from the underground...”

More laughter and she kisses the top of his head. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to know the thug her child fell in love with is now Captain Levi of the Survey Corps...”

There’s an aching in his heart and he tries to ignore that this is ill-advised. That they will end up hurting again, inevitably so. But Levi falters. He thinks he can do this forever. “And if she isn’t?”

“Hmmm...” she dramatises, as if coaxing a child, “then I’ll just have to run away with him to an inn in the middle of nowhere...” She peppers more kisses on his face.

And Levi wants to stay in bed until his muscles atrophy. He wants to stay in bed until his skin fuses with the sheets and his mind floats between the ceiling and the beams holding the roof up above them. He thinks it would be nice if they could live like this for the rest of their lives, a pair of skeletons embracing in a room without a view.

But he knows this decision will haunt them for life; will haunt her forever. These four walls cannot hold them. Neither can the walls that cast a shadow they all live under. And maybe that’s the reason Levi loves her. Her eyes hold all the hope this cursed world has to offer. Of new discoveries, like the first time kisses mean something, like the first time she kisses him.

They are atop the walls and she’s telling him about her past, about the time she spent wandering this earth without him. And he remembers the story his mother told him about humans with four arms and four legs and two faces, so perfect and powerful that the gods feared them. So they split them down the middle, condemned to walk the earth in search of their other half.

He thinks about Hanji completing his sentences. He thinks about their jokes that nobody else can begin to understand.

They make such a good team that the others notice. Mike teases her about their chemistry. He asks her what’s her secret to getting through to him.

“Maybe not bashing his head in and dunking him in water?”

Mike chuckles, “I already apologised for that.”

“And you aren’t best friends by now? That’s curious...” she teases.

And now everyone they once knew are now ghosts in the atmosphere. But Hanji’s still here. 

You will know when you meet them Levi, you will know they have your heart. You might not feel it right away, but when you do-

“Say Levi, did you know butterflies can see colours we can’t see?” Hanji says breathlessly, before closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his. She thinks of blaming the vertigo, it’s not easy being up on the walls and feeling so small. But she doesn’t. And Levi’s world bursts into colour. She has her hand against his chest, over his heart, feeling each flutter, like a dance of feathered wings-

Of butterflies.

“Ah... I feel so full...” she says, lying back down on gravel and brick after they pull apart, head resting against an arm, “like a blueberry...” she continues. Levi scoffs. What a ridiculous notion. What a ridiculous person.

But he knew then, that with her he can conceive of a word so beautiful it shatters him into a million pieces. But they need her too, the others. And Levi doesn’t know how to be selfish.

And already she knows what he’s thinking of. Whether by some curse or by hallowed bond. She knows. They have to go home eventually. Hanji remembers the note she left, and she doesn't know how to lie. Sometimes she thinks if she tries hard enough, she will be able to remember when they had been one- four arms, four legs, two faces, so close she never has to live a day without hearing him breathe. But there’s still time. It’s safe here, no one knows their names. They are two butterflies dancing atop a shared grave.

So Hanji places her head on Levi’s chest, over his heart. There’s a thunder that stirs from within. She listens to the flight of wings- mirroring her own.

They never did give meaning to this-

thing between them. They called it comfort, they called it fucking to feel something, they called it defiance in a world that tramples upon anything remotely tender. They called it being whole again- an affliction that threatens the gods. They call it holing up in an inn on the outskirts of town on borrowed time.

Hanji calls it butterflies.

“We’ll leave when the bruises fade,” he says.

“Until then?”

“I will love you to the brim.”

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

Storyline Study: Order Mentor

When you joined your Order at level thirty and met your mentor at level forty, each of the three was instantly revealed to be a different person altogether from the other two.

Tybalt Leftpaw, Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers, was on his first-ever field mission. He was very blatantly calling for you in a sort of undercover way, and simultaneously panicking when you tried to mention the full name of the Order. Your supposed mentor was as new to this as you, had a (sometimes very human-teenager) sense of humor, and had a rather sad backstory balanced by his good nature. You knew he liked apples.

Sieran, Magister of the Durmand Priory, was full of reckless abandon, disregard for authority, boundless curiosity and a heart for the little things. She was confident in her role and her ability, and unhesitatingly took you into dangerous places for the sake of exploration and adventure while brushing off rebuke like a tree sheds sap - even when it was heartily deserved. You learned to be rather frightened for her.

Forgal Kernsson, Warmaster of the Vigil, was an archetypal gruff, stern old mentor whose every drop of praise spoke volumes. But he also carried a sort of wildness to him, that rough edge from growing up a hunter in the Shiverpeaks, coupled with every willingness to say it like it was if it was true. He could be surprised, he could observe calmly when something was new, he could snark like the rest of them and even say things he didn't mean from time to time.

They all fought the dragons - they each more or less took it seriously. But Tybalt was a partner and friend, you were keeping Sieran in check, not the other way around, and Forgal trained you mercilessly.

You all grew together - they had each changed for the better by the time they died. Tybalt had learned that he was worth something, Sieran had learned friendship was worth everything, and Forgal had learned... well. He'd found a student to be proud of, a partner to fight with, a friend to trust... a child to carry on his legacy. But I'm not sure, exactly, what Forgal learned - what the point of his story was.

Sieran was more-or-less well suited to her role in the story; she symbolized innocence and cheer and optimism and the beauty of the world - so you could recognize what was being lost by the dragon's onslaught. Tybalt's story was one extremely well-suited to his character; he taught you that working together was vital to survival, even when neither of you knew exactly what you were doing - a valuable lesson as the story progressed. Both of their stories fit well enough into the three-mission story sequence concluding in their death.

But Forgal was different. He was the mentor who dies partway through. He was the one who trained you and taught you all he could, who died imparting one last gem of wisdom. Or, he should have.

I am not attacking Forgal. I am attacking ArenaNet. We had too little time with Forgal for the story Anet was trying to tell with him. He was like Obi-Wan but without showing up again as a ghost, without the prequels, without being able to send Luke to Yoda - without, most significantly, being able to explain why he'd said Luke's father was dead.

We don't know Forgal. We don't understand him. We only know his family died to Icebrood... but why is he with the Vigil, specifically? Why is he a good friend of Almorra's - allowed to butt in and insult a diplomatic ambassador with barely a reprimand? Forgal is the character that tells me the Vigil has been around decades, not a mere five years. Was he in another military? Forgal was over a hundred years old. You don't join a military at that age and, five years later, are a highly self-disciplined warrior such as he was. Maybe he was Lionguard? Hear this: Forgal is actually older than Lion's Arch. If he'd survived, he would have been old enough to bear witness to all three incarnations of that city. But, apart from being able to recognize the Orrian Scout on sight, this is only a trivial piece of lore.

After he judged us worthy, we should have had long training sessions with him - sparring matches wherein he would easily fend off our blows while simultaneously teaching us about the world, all the wisdom he'd gathered, expounding just a bit on the history of the Elder Dragons (perhaps customized for player's race!) - and then we go off and have a real Vigil mission. Perhaps remove the racial sympathy 'choice' and have all five! A sparring match before each one, with a different lesson (the racial sympathy missions were awfully short anyway). And if you want to keep the idea implied by the term 'racial sympathy,' you could change the tone of some of them, make the player more reluctant and Forgal more impatient, have a middle-of-mission lecture on why it's important to work with everyone - this way you joining an Order feels less 'oh you've always been sympathetic to other races' and more 'wait who are these people.' But you know the real kicker? These training sessions would have made us actually feel like we were a treasured part of his life, the kid he never had, that he takes the effort to train us and takes the time to correct us when we're wrong, that he shares his history with us.

And then, at Claw Island, he would place a hand on our shoulder and tell us - hey - don't worry. You did good. You tell my tale and you take my lessons and put them to good use, you hear me? Listen to Trahearne over there - I've told you a bit about him - he's a good kid, he's smart and he knows what he's doing. And - partner? Partner, I need you to put me down if that blasted dragon raises me.

And we're in tears and Trahearne standing there also puts up a fight and tells him not to go, but Forgal goes anyway, roaring his defiance at the dragon - and his famous line, "you may win the battle, dragon, but you will never defeat our spirit!" And maybe he adds - "you may defeat me, but I will be avenged!" like some cartoon villain only you know - you know that means you.

That is the storyline Forgal deserved. (I selfishly also fixed it just a bit with regards to Trahearne, but...) I don't care if we add an extra ten or twenty levels to the game to account for the four extra racial sympathy story chapters.

And see, now you'll argue that that's biased in favor of Forgal, to do all that with him but not the other two - and that's part of the idea.

Forgal isn't like the other two. He shouldn't be compared to the other two. The storyline we have is good for the other two. Extending their stories would feel... false. Yes, there are supposed to be parallels between the three Orders, but... in that case, ArenaNet should have done something entirely different with Forgal.

How about this: Almorra assigns us to someone else for a mentor, but we show such epic promise she switches us to Laranthir. His storyline? It's right in his idle dialogue at the Vigil Keep - he's always sought love. This puts his storyline on par with Sieran and Tybalt. What about Forgal? He's a Lionguard that all three Order mentors know well. We do racial sympathy with Forgal plus our Order mentor (doing those with only one ally is kind of absurd anyway). This can help set-up and foreshadow the tactical significance of Claw Island, too - and hey, maybe Forgal can even survive that! Or maybe he doesn't survive it but our Order mentor does! (Yeah, that fits better, since Laranthir is important in HoT.) And then, once the Pact is formed, their stories end more naturally without regard for the Order parallels, which would keep the story unique - where your choice of Order still matters even when it doesn't anymore. Tybalt didn't have to die - in fact, it's kind of absurd that he did since his story was about finding his own heroism, and then he dies. He can die later, perhaps, after he's thoroughly proved himself. (And hey, throw in an encounter with his old warband! Bonus lore points!) And Sieran 0 maybe Sieran could go through a heartbreaking transformation in Orr, the land of the dead - you see something far more heartbreaking than her death as she loses her spirit, and you and Trahearne both resolve that even if you're super-busy with the Pact, you can still cleanse Orr together to save Sieran. (This makes cleansing Orr a personal thing for you as well as Trahearne!) And Laranthir - well, I don't know what he was doing originally. Maybe he stayed back at the Vigil Keep to manage things, but you still see him now and then and he gives good advice and (since his storyline was about falling in love or something) you get to tease him about whatever's going on in his life, and then later he shows up again in HoT.

I'm going to stop - I already just presented a rough outline of a whole rewrite of core PS, I'm not going to step into HoT territory. (But since his storyline was about falling in love - ? Anything could happen really. Maybe his love died in the crash (we don't actually know of any characters who died in the actual crash. Awful shame) and that's why he takes the lead against Mordremoth. That would give him a cool motive.)

Anet I want this now.

I only wanted to say how unfair Forgal's story was to him, and then I came up with this whole thing - ? Some of it included a few helpful fixes for the Trahearne hate - this isn't something I can write out into a whole fic since I have a main fic and while this is a significant AU it's not quite enough for a whole fic but also far too much for just a headcanon - maybe I'll invent a new Commander.

[dulce-pjm]

Hi! Could I request a Jin or namjoon arranged marriage! au with “One more kiss.” Thank you!!

of course!! let’s do it ;) took some creative liberties since i got multiple arranged marriage requests, hope that’s okay!! it's rather angsty

namjoon with au #1 - arranged marriage!au and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

rainy day promise

namjoon x reader! ft. bestie!hoseok

word count: 2.4k (i’m honestly so proud of myself for not making this a borderline oneshot)

genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage!au, (very very slight) historical!au and wartime!au

summary: when namjoon’s away, all you can do is worry. 

The rain has always made you sleepy. 

It reminds you of quiet nights by the fire, curled against his chest as he reads to you. It makes you feel him kissing your temple softly and whispering “Good night, love,” when he sees your eyes flutter closed and your breaths become heavier. The rain and his memory are too comforting, too tempting to resist drifting off into dreamland. 

“You alright, Y/N?” The question has you jolting in your seat, eyes flying from the drops cascading down the window to the man next to you, a warm smile gracing his sharp features. 

The meal in front of you has long gone tasteless and your date has noticed, picking up at how you’ve gone from merely playing with your food to not touching it altogether. 

“‘M fine,” you murmur, shoveling a few potatoes into your mouth despite the nausea rising in your stomach. Your eyes go wide when he grabs your wine glass, taking no time at all to fill it. 

“You’ll be better if you drink a little.” You feign glare at him but his smile remains stern. 

“I’m really alright, Hoseok.” You take a swig of the wine anyhow, letting the drink warm your cheeks and sting at the back of your throat. 

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” You don’t answer, suddenly finding your untouched peas very interesting. He’d be picking them off your plate if he was here. Hoseok places a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/N, there’s no sense in getting all worked up. He’ll be okay, always is.”

There’s a clang on the opposite side of the table when your uncle’s silverware hits the table. 

“What are you two talking about over there?” You briefly cringe, summoning a sheepish smile you’ve worked to perfect over the years. 

You both brush it off. Hoseok, ever personable, is able to change the subject before you can blink, chatting with your aunt about some upcoming play he’s directing. 

Hoseok is wealthy, like his father and grandfather before him. He’s kind and funny and better with people than you’ve ever been. He could provide you with a comfortable life, away from the war. That’s why your aunt and uncle chose him for you, why they orchestrated this arrangement underneath your nose. 

You hadn’t rejected him, not exactly. You’ve never been in any position to reject the courtship or engagement. But both you and Hoseok know your heart lies elsewhere. 

Your aunt grabs your hand, but her gaze lies on the man to your left. “I mean, really, Kim Seokjin! When word gets out, there’ll be rioting on the streets just to get into the show, I’m sure of it.” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, giving you sparing glances to keep track of your worrying mind. 

“I was just as surprised as you when he auditioned. It’s been an honor to work with him. I actually hope to—”

The dining hall door slams open. You whip your head towards the door along with the rest of the guests. The messenger is drenched, looking haggard with disheveled hair and rain still dripping down her face. 

“I— I’m sorry, sir—” Her teeth are chattering. “The merchants returned. There was—”

“Slow down, Hana,” your aunt says, always maternal. “It’s alright. Take your time.” She nods, taking a deep breath as a puddle of rainwater forms around her feet. 

“There was an injury. The carriage flipped while they were passing through the valley, because of all this rain.”

You’re on feet before you can think twice, heavy dining chair scraping against the hardwood as you push it backward. Hoseok shoots you a warning look that you don’t catch. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I’m not feeling well.”

Hoseok stands with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll escort you.” 

Your uncle shakes his head, scolding, “No, stay with us, Hoseok. It wouldn’t be proper.” You could laugh. Neither of you has ever been particularly proper with each other. 

You bid your aunt and uncle goodnight, ignoring a concerned stare from Hoseok. As soon as you’re out of sight, you dash towards the basement, towards the closet you always meet him in when he returns. You pray you’ll see him there and not surrounded by medics. 

The closet is placed discreetly, the door hidden by old barrels and shelves, bare walls and damp floors making this corner of this house largely unused and untouched. 

You knock thrice on the door, pause, and knock a fourth time. When the door doesn’t open, you repeat the code. 

No answer. Your heart drops into stomach as you stumble backwards, breathing spiraling out of control. 

“Hey, love.” A soft hand lands on the small of your back and you gasp, spinning to face him. He’s all smiles, lips stretched into his dimpled cheeks as he resists the urge to kiss you right here. “Miss me?”

You throw your arms around his middle, pressing your face into his chest as he digs his nose into your hair. 

You know how self-conscious he is about his intimidating aura. His sharp glances and sharper words often have most of the staff avoiding him like the plague, but to you, he’s all soft embraces and blushing cheeks. 

--

“How was the trip?” The two of you are perched on worn stools that wobble when you lean too far one way, arms wrapped around each other to keep them from moving too much. Your head is pressed against his shoulder while he traces patterns on the back of your hand that's resting on his thigh. 

“It was... amazing. Honestly.” 

“I’m glad.” And you are. But you can’t help but always worry. These trips are dangerous and take much too long. When war and battle beckon at your door, every day without him in your sight is another day of anxiety.

Namjoon is a servant of your uncle’s house. He’s a cartographer, having studied at the same university as Hoseok and yourself, earning admission through his merit alone. The first times you saw him, he was bent over old maps and worn books, the weak candlelight illuminating the texts in front of him and his face poorly. Under the ruse of taking nighttime strolls, you’d found yourself sneaking peeks at him more often, smiling softly at the dark tufts of hair he’d run his fingers through until it stood up on his head. 

You remember when Hoseok introduced you to him officially, tired of hearing you gush about him, and the three of you became a unit, joint at the hip wherever you went. 

You hadn’t realized how good those days were, not when you had them. When you and Namjoon were giggly and sweet and bashful and it took Hoseok fighting tooth and nail for either of you to confess your true feelings. He’d been delighted when you finally gave up on hiding it, nearly shrieking in joy when he saw Namjoon sneak a peck on your cheek in the corner stairwell.

Those days were golden and joyful, full of laughs and long nights doing schoolwork and attending fancy university parties only to sneak away with half the buffet. 

The days were good. Until they weren’t. 

Until your uncle and aunt and Hoseok’s parents informed you of their longstanding agreement: that the two of you be married. 

It’d been nothing but an absolute shock, but the both of you knew better than to say no, knew better than to risk their wrath. Hoseok would have been fine, though his parents certainly would have been unhappy. But if you rejected your uncle's wishes, an orphan with nothing but gratitude for their kindness in taking care of you, you couldn't be too sure they wouldn’t just relieve you of your position here, sending you to the streets. And you and Namjoon had neither the means nor the connections to fend for yourselves in the city, not in times like these.

When Hoseok got on one knee the next week in your dining room with Namjoon watching from the corner, newly hired by your uncle at your own suggestion, you said yes. Neither of you wanted it, but Namjoon insisted Hoseok go through with it, too caught up in his worry for your safety to think of himself.

It'd been difficult keeping the ruse, especially once your university days were over and there were much fewer places tucked away from your aunt and uncle's eyes and ears. It'd have been much more difficult without Hoseok, but he's always been the charmer out of you three, easily diverting attention and prying eyes when need be.

"I actually got you something."

Your eyes light up in surprise as you shift to face him. "You did? But you said—"

"I lied," he replies with a small smirk. "We always planned to stop by a few cities. I just wanted to see your face when I surprised you."

You giggle softly, lightly slapping at his arm. "You still lied.”

“For a good cause,” he jokes, pecking at your cheek before drawing a small box from his pocket. His cheeks flush slightly as he hands it to you. It reminds you of those first times you spoke to him, when you were both sputtering messes that could barely hold eye contact for longer than a moment. 

It’s small but heavy in your hands, the size somewhat indicative of its contents. It fits just so in your palm, and when you open it, tears spring into your eyes at the small ring nestled into the velvet cushion. It isn’t shiny or decorated with diamonds or worth half your university tuition like the ring Hoseok gave you. It’s humble and wooden, deep brown and adorned with intricately carved with roses and other patterns you don’t recognize. Your thumb runs over the grooves almost instinctively, as if trying to memorize the feeling as quickly as possible. You can almost see his face when he spotted it in some market or shop, see that lit up expression on his features when it reminds him of you. 

“Oh, Namjoon...” You swipe at your eyes quickly, but when you meet his gaze, there’s already a few stray tears cascading down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as you smile, lifting your hand to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “I know it’s not much. But I thought you might like it. It’s discreet, so I figured you could wear it around, if you wanted to.”

You chuckle softly and wonder what you’d done to deserve him. “It’s perfect.” You remove Hoseok’s engagement ring from your finger and quickly replace it with Namjoon’s. You already know you’ll be running your fingers over it again often, treating it like a tether to him when he isn’t here. It won’t sit on your ring finger, of course, but for now, you leave it there, admiring its simplicity. 

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pulling your hands into his. “I know everything’s uncertain right now. And I know that might not change for a while.” He runs his thumb across the ring, looking at it intently before lifting your whole hand and kissing it gently, plush lips ever soft against your skin. “But this is a promise. That one day I’ll sweep you off your feet and we won’t look back.”

You laugh loudly this time, maybe a bit too loudly, but you don’t care. “If I don’t sweep you off your feet first.”

He doesn’t ask the question hanging in the air, but your response is enough of an answer as you pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. You can taste the saltwater from both of your tears, the moment both incredibly joyful and bittersweet.

When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear while you run a thumb over his dimples, all affections. 

“It’s late,” he murmurs. “We should go.”

You sigh, hand dropping from his face. You wish you could drag him to your room, sweet talk him into playing with your hair or reading with you for a while, but you know he’s right. 

You rise with a nod, feet dragging behind you as you make for the closet door, listening outside for a moment on the off chance that someone’s up late and nearby. Namjoon stays in his seat, always leaving after you to decrease suspicion and allow you to get to bed first. When no sound meets you other than faint thunder, you crack open the door, stepping outside. 

But just as you start to close it behind you, Namjoon grabs the edge of the door with his hand, sticking his face out to meet your startled gaze. 

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” You search his face with concern, wondering if you should have said more earlier, if you’d hurt him somehow. 

“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently with a smile. “No, that’s not it.”

You furrow your brows at his antics, though you’ve always loved seeing his more silly side. “Then what do you want, Mister Kim?”

His eyes glint with mischief. “One more kiss, Mrs. Kim.” Your cheeks are flushed, but laugh as you grab his shoulders, pulling him close to you as you let him press his velvety lips onto yours, savoring the feeling until he’s with you again. 

“Love you,” you murmur, peppering a few more kisses on his chin and cheeks for good measure. 

“I love you too,” he whispers. “So much.” He starts to shut the door, but pauses, lips down turned slightly in a frown. “Oh— don’t forget to move the ring to a different finger.”

You nod. “I won’t.” It’s bittersweet as the door closes, a reminder that the bubble you two have created yourself only goes so far, that this isn’t quite as real as you want it to be. 

Namjoon saves the longer, more elegant speech and proposal for a future date, like its own unspoken promise. One day social status and money and survival won’t stop you. One day you’ll both be coming home from long days to love each other unabashedly, to embrace without fear or time constraints. 

You smile to yourself as the rain patters outside, your feet echoing behind you as you creep back to your room. 

You wish Namjoon were with you as you climb under the sheets, feeling a bit cold without him here. 

Yes, the rainfall makes you sleepy but as your head fills with thoughts of Namjoon and his promise, you grin stupidly to yourself, thinking you probably won’t get too much rest tonight. 

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 3 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Read Parts One and Two: Masterlist

Summary: The gang goes to a roller derby bout. Things evolve between you and Nandor. Guillermo is still jealous and Nadja adores you.

A/N: I hope the tone of this part holds up with the first two parts. There are some more serious parts here. Thank you SO FRICKIN MUCH to everyone who has commented and sent me asks. You guys are lovely and I appreciate you.

Warnings: Some mild smut at the end, Same as previous chapters--blood drinking, vampire/human relationship, power differential, reader is described as being short and a roller derby player

---

Guillermo sits with his hands folded in his lap and a fragile smile on his face.

“How am I...adjusting? I’m--it’s--fine. I’m fine.”

The camera crew sits with him for a long moment of pointed silence. Guillermo shrugs, shakes his head, denying unspoken comments until he finally breaks.

“He gave her the upstairs bedroom. But I’m...everything’s fine. I just have to keep paying my dues.”

He goes back to dusting the fancy room, muttering under his breath, “Just keep paying my dues…”

---

“Knock, knock!” Nandor sing-songs, rapping his knuckles on the door frame of your new bedroom. 

You look up from a stack of partially unpacked boxes. Guillermo helped you arrange everything. Breaking your lease without a penalty and getting all your stuff packed and moved over to the house. He did it all with nothing beyond terse civility despite your attempts at friendly conversation. You would really like to be friends with the only other human in the house but it doesn’t seem likely.

“Hey, Nandor,” you greet him with a hesitant smile. You’re still unsure of how you should behave. He doesn’t seem to expect you to be subservient like Guillermo. But something tells you not to push him either. He still hasn’t promised not to kill you in the end despite spending the last couple nights snuggling you like a human teddy bear inside his coffin.

He enters and perches on the edge of your new mattress, “Do you have everything you need? The bed seems...cozy.”

It’s really obvious to you that Nandor isn’t used to making small talk. At least not about human things. You wonder why he’s making the effort.

“Yeah, thanks. The room’s great. Are you sure I shouldn’t take Guillermo’s room and let him have this one? He’s been around a lot longer…” 

“What, the closet under the stairs? Absolutely not, it smells in there. Can’t have my food smelling bad, yuck!” he grimaces in distaste. 

You’ll have to find some other way of extending an olive branch to Guillermo…

“Hey, maybe you could...not call me food?” you suggest hopefully. 

Nandor sighs and mutters under his breath, “So sensitive…”

With a roll of your eyes you turn back to your boxes. Nandor watches you plop down on the floor and resume digging out your things. After a moment, he comes over, kneeling behind you and practically engulfing you in his giant cape. His arms wrap around your middle. You can feel his long fingers through your shirt as they spread out over your stomach. He presses his face into the back of your neck and inhales your scent. The embrace should be unnerving and terrifying but you find altogether different sensations stirring in your lower belly. 

“Why, my mortal?,” his whisper raises goosebumps along the nape of your neck. “Does it upset you to be reminded of how intoxicatingly delicious you are to me? Shall I pretend that your blood pulsing beneath the thin surface of your skin does not call to me?”

His lips are tracing over your skin now and you can just feel the sharp brush of his fangs. Your eyes drift closed and you lean back into his chest, entirely overwhelmed by his magnetism. 

“Um...Nandor…” you whisper.

“Yes, my little human? What do you want?”

“You…” the word falls unbidden from your lips and you immediately wish you could swallow it back down.

His chest rumbles with a laugh that vibrates through you.

“You want me, mortal?”

You force yourself to clear your thoughts, scooting forward and breaking the embrace as you reply, “You...you have to wait until next week to feed from me again. Remember?”

He reaches out and ghosts his fingertips along the twin puncture wounds on your throat.

“It will be worth the wait.”

---

You jog down the curved stairway dressed for tonight’s bout with your gear bag slung over your shoulder. Nadja, Laszlo and Nandor are assembled in the front hallway getting ready to go out hunting and assigning last-minute chores for Guillermo.

“My mauve, brocade gown needs washing, Gizmo. I had a real squirter last night…”

“And don’t neglect the dusting in our crypt, old chap…”

“Guillermo, remember to pick up the candlesticks when you go out--oh! Hello, my human,” Nandor pauses when he sees you at the base of the stairs and you feel heat creep up your neck under his stare. Your mind flashes back to an hour ago when he’d held you in his arms and you’d felt the touch of his lips on your skin, so close to a kiss. 

“Do you need anything from the store? Guillermo is going out,” he asks.

Guillermo smiles at you but it’s more of a display of teeth and you rush to shake your head, “Oh, no thank you. I’m heading out myself. My team has a bout tonight--”

Nadja squeals in delight and claps her hands, “You are doing a battle tonight, darling human? Oh, Laszlo let’s go watch the puny human fight. It will be such fun!”

You shake your head in amusement but Nadja’s enthusiasm is infectious even if you worry she’ll be disappointed once she sees what roller derby actually is…

Laszlo’s eyes trail down your body, taking in your black and purple sleeveless jersey and the black capri leggings hugging your hips and thighs.

“Do all the challengers dress in such a fashion?” he questions with a lecherous smirk. Nandor hisses and flicks him in the temple. “Ouch!”

You have to laugh.

“Actually, some of them wear booty shorts…”

---

“Look!” Nandor turns to the camera gleefully holding up a t-shirt with the name “Smashley Glowers” stamped in block letters on the back. “We can purchase a shirt with my human’s alias written upon it!”

He turns back to the attendant behind the merch table, “How much for this garment, peasant?”

“Uh--he’s just joking, heh,” Guillermo steps in waving his credit card. “I’ve got it, master.”

“Thank you, Guillermo,” Nandor says, pulling the t-shirt over his embroidered tunic with a wide smile. 

The vampires and Familiar make their way to the bleachers beside the track. Your league plays in an ice hockey rink during the summer months. The track is carefully taped off on the floor and players glide around doing warm up drills: knee-taps, sprints, spins, plow stops and backwards toe stops. Then they turn around and do it all over again in the opposite direction. The crowd buzzes with energy and all four vampires feel it roll over them in a seductive wave.

Nandor turns to Nadja and Laszlo and whispers, “We probably shouldn’t kill any of these humans. I don’t think the mortal would like it…”

Laszlo looks put out but Nadja just nods absently as her eyes track the skaters.

“Yes, fine,” she says. “We can pick something up on the way home…”

Colin Robinson stands with a smug smile, “Lucky for me I have no such limit on my feeding habits. I’m gonna go mansplain the rules to that referee. Catch you later.”

“Look at our human, Nandor! She is very adept at the roller shoes,” Nadja gushes.

Nandor side-eyes her with a muttered correction, “My human… Yes, she is a fierce combatant.”

Soon enough an announcer’s voice comes over the sound system introducing each team. As your name is called Nandor and Nadja stand to cheer and even Colin Robinson lets out a tepid “whoop” from across the room where he’s started feeding off the merch attendant. 

The bout gets rolling and you take your place with the other blockers, forming a line of defense that will hopefully be impenetrable. Or at least give your jammer enough time to make it through the pack and start scoring points. 

The other team’s jammer approaches, juking to the outside of the track but you anticipate the play and hop to the left, meeting her on the inside and throwing your hip to check her out of bounds. Distantly you can hear a familiar accented female voice rise over the crowd.

“DID YOU SEE THAT!? GOOD JOB, HUMAN!”

The game flies by in a rush of adrenaline and joy and before you know it you’re slapping hands with the other team and skating over to join your spectators. 

Nadja runs up to meet you, pinching your cheeks in her enthusiasm, “Smashley--a gruesome name for a brutal warrior woman. You were very impressive!”

“Thanks, Nadja,” you smile, feeling your chest lift with pride. “We lost, but I’m glad you liked it.”

Laszlo joins you with his characteristic smarm, “An excellent diversion, mortal. Tell me, are any of these women available for...private lessons?”

You narrow your eyes and look to Nadja to gauge if he’s joking or not. Nadja only shakes her head in exasperation. 

“Remember what Nandor said, my love,” she croons. “No eating the mortal’s friends.”

Well, that’s...thoughtful, you guess.

Nandor glides in to join you with Guillermo on his heels. When you see the shirt he’s wearing your face lights up with a broad smile.

“You got my shirt?!”

Nandor preens, looking pleased with himself.

“Of course, mortal. I had to show my support for my champion in the ritual combat. Plus it looks really cool.”

You laugh and shift your weight on your skates, looking at him smiling down at you as butterflies wiggle in your stomach. What even is this? You have a crush on your vampire captor?

Nandor’s eyes take in the sheen of sweat across your forehead and your lips parted with the exertion of your work out. The warmth of your stirred blood pours off of you and he bares his fangs hungrily. 

---

“It’s going to be a long week,” Nandor says into the camera later that night. “I drained three humans tonight and I’m still thinking about how sweet her blood would be after the passion of roller derrr-by battle.”

---

But the week does pass and as dawn approaches one morning, Nandor drifts into your room and stands in the doorway silently regarding you for a long, unnerving moment.

“Prepare yourself, human,” he commands, his voice low with authority. “For tonight I will feed from you after I awake from my slumber.”

As you watch him glide back to his crypt, a lump of anxiety forms in your stomach that doesn’t go away all day.

---

“The master wishes to see you,” Guillermo says from the doorway of the library where you’ve been quietly falling apart for the last hour awaiting Nandor’s summons.

You take a breath and square your shoulders before standing.

“Thanks, Guillermo,” you murmur as you pass him, laying your hand on his shoulder with a squeeze. Guillermo doesn’t reply but his face isn’t unkind.

Nandor is waiting for you in his crypt, casually draped over an Edwardian style couch beneath a brilliantly illuminated painting of himself as a human Ottoman warlord.

“It’s time, mortal,” he announces, beckoning for you to join him on the couch.

Though you’ve known this was coming and it’s part of the bizarre deal you struck with him, you still feel awash with trepidation.

“In here?” you ask with a doubtful look at the fine surroundings.

He shrugs, “You have somewhere else in mind?”

“I sort of...set things up in my bedroom…”

You lead him to your room, casting an apologetic glance to the camera crew as you shut the door behind you. Nandor smiles when he observes your preparations. The bed is covered in bath towels and there’s a tidy pile of bandages, surgical pads, Neosporin and tape on your nightstand. You hover awkwardly by the door as he looks over your supplies.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Nandor grins and takes a seat on your bed, patting the spot beside him. When you don’t immediately move to join him he frowns, “You’re afraid.”

“Yes,” you admit, your voice breaking on the word. 

“The fearsome Smashley Glowers is afraid of little old Nandor the Relentless?” he teases and your lips curve in a small smile.

With a deep breath for courage you cross the room and sit next to him on the bed.

“I’m not afraid of you, Nandor…” you explain.

“Oh…” he frowns, clearly disappointed and you roll your eyes at him.

“Just...that you might forget--” you stop and breathe through a tremor of fear, “--forget to stop.”

He shakes his head at your words even as you watch his eyes glaze over in blood lust. He draws his fingers through your hair, baring your neck to his voracious gaze.

“Just a taste,” he hisses, baring his fangs and wrapping an arm around your back to draw you in closer. 

“A sip!” you insist, but he’s already leaning down to your throat.

Nandor’s hands hold you in place, one pressing on the small of your back, the other cradling your head. His gorgeous hair brushes against your jaw as he bends to meet your throat. You shut your eyes, breathing shallowly in anticipation of the pain and dizziness. It’s somehow worse now that you know exactly what to expect. His lips are just as soft and gentle, the sting of his fangs is just as acute, but now it’s not just an anonymous, terrifying creature of the night holding you and drinking you. It’s Nandor. A man who has held you in his sleep and kissed your forehead. A man who has cheered you on at roller derby and made you feel like a person and not...food. His chest rumbles against you as he moans in satisfaction.

“So, so sweet, my mortal,” he mumbles against your bloodied throat, adjusting his arms so that your body is pressed more tightly against him. 

He bites into you again and the pressure on your raw wound draws a mewl of pain from your lips. He relaxes his hold, withdrawing from your neck with a few long strokes of his tongue. 

“Are you alright, my human?” he asks. 

You blink back at him, idly taking in the stain of your blood on his lips and beard.

“I’m...good,” you whisper.

He’s still holding you in his arms and his eyes are so big and bright and stunningly fathomless. Your neck stings and you’re lightheaded and his lips are painted with your blood but all you want is to find out what it would be like to kiss Nandor the Relentless.

So you do.

You reach up and push your fingers through his impossibly soft hair, twining your fingers at the base of his neck and pulling him down to collide your mouth with his. Nandor is entirely unphased. He takes charge of the kiss at once, cupping your face in his large hands and lapping his tongue against your lips. You taste the salt-coppery tang of your own blood as he licks into your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours with a low growl of delight. You’ve been fixating on his hair for the last week and now that you’ve touched it you can’t stop carding your fingers through his locks, letting your nails graze against his scalp as you do so. Nandor’s hands are not so focused. They roam over you, brushing along the pulse of your neck, skimming your shoulders, your spine, cupping your backside and squeezing obscenely, earning a surprised squeak from you. Kissing Nandor the Relentless, you find, is very, very nice. 

As the kiss goes on, you squirm up into Nandor’s lap with a mischievous grin against his lips. You can feel his hardened length against your thigh and you shift against him experimentally, delighting in the gasp that falls from his lips at the friction. No, you don’t have a lot of practical experience. As Laszlo so charmingly pointed out on your first night in the house, you’re a virgin. But you’re no dummy. And you think about what it would be to have your first time be with a vampire...

Nandor breaks the kiss with a wide smile. He pushes you gently off his lap with a wag of his finger.

“Now, now, little one,” he admonishes with a laugh. “We wouldn’t want to spoil your flavor.”

---

A/N: Damnit, Nandor.

Tags:

@festering-queen @glitterportrait

[starryknight09]

One last good-bye

Febuwhump Day 15: “Run. Don’t look back”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Run.  Don’t look back.” Rhodey pushed him forward.  Peter stumbled, looking at the man in shock.

“Go!” Rhodey yelled.  This time Peter listened.  He knew he’d be useless in this fight.  And Rhodey could fly.  Peter couldn’t.  Sure, he could swing, but only when there was something to stick to, which didn’t exist in the middle of this rocky wasteland.

He took off, sprinting as fast as he could in the direction of the Quinjet, not looking back.  They’d wandered far enough away that the Quinjet was out of sight, so he hoped he was going in the right direction.

“Helping Dr. Strange will be fun, you thought.” He mumbled to himself as he ran.  “Yeah right.”

He could hear the repulsors firing from the War Machine armor but the sound was barely audible over the stampede of all those things running at them.  He wanted to glance back to make sure Rhodey was ok, but he knew he couldn’t chance it.  He didn’t need his super hearing to hear the creatures gaining on him.  Rhodey could take care of himself.  He was a big boy.  A louder bang sounded in between repulsor blasts.  Rhodey must be pulling out the bigger fire power.

Run. He thought to himself.  Don’t turn around.  Don’t turn around.

Why had they ever agreed to help Dr. Strange in the first place?  This was way beyond his pay grade.  Some other evil wizard was messing around with bad sorcery and now Peter was running from weird spooky undead creatures.

“Karen.” He gasped.  “Any luck with the comms?”

“I’m sorry Peter.  Something is still jamming my communication abilities.”  Damn.

They never should’ve split up.  Whose bright idea had that been anyway?  Right.  Sam’s.  Peter hadn’t known him before, but it seemed like the whole being Captain America thing had kind of gone to his head.

“The enemy creatures are gaining on you.” Karen warned.

“I’m aware!” He tried to run faster but he didn’t think it worked.  He knew it’d be bad news bears if any of these things bit him.  Dr. Strange had been clear enough about that.  His only consolation was that he was in the Ironspider suit, so if bullets couldn’t pierce it, he was pretty sure these ugly things teeth couldn’t.  But he wasn’t absolutely 100 percent sure.  Besides, the suit wouldn’t save him if was overrun by these things.  The sheer number of them would crush him.  Not a great way to go.

They were getting so close he could smell them and the pungent smell of rotting flesh and garbage made him want to gag.  

Must run faster.  Must run faster.

Finally, the Quinjet came into view.  Oh thank god.

“I recommend you increase your velocity.  At this current pace you will not reach the Quinjet before you’re overrun.” Karen informed him.

Shit.

“Help!” He screamed, hoping another group had returned to the Quinjet and would hear him.  “A little help!”

A growl sounded behind him.  Way too close.  He turned around.  And immediately regretted it.  Man, they were as ugly as they were stinky, and he only had about a thirty foot lead on them.

This was not good.  This was so not good.

In the split second he glanced backward, he tripped.  He flew through the air before crashing to the ground and rolling across the rock laden dirt terrain.

I’m going to die.  This is how Spiderman goes?  Really?  He thought as he tumbled.

The instant he stopped, he rocketed back to his feet and started running again, even though he knew it was pointless.  Those things were right behind him.  He didn’t want to turn around and look.  He didn’t want to know when death would be coming.

But then from one second to the next, he had an idea.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.  Sure, he didn’t have firepower and he couldn’t fight these things hand to hand, but he still had his webs.  Just because they couldn’t swing him anywhere didn’t mean they were useless.  He spun back around, trying not panic at the fact that the creatures were only like ten feet away as he shot his webs out across the entire line of them, sticking them together.

They fell and that caused their comrades behind them to trip over them and fall as well like a line of dominos.  It wasn’t a definitive solution, but it’d bought him some time.  The Quinjet was getting closer, and now he could see people running down the ramp toward him.  Sam and Bucky.  Wanda and Clint.  Scott and Professor Hulk.  Dr. Strange.

He wasn’t going to die after all!

And then the other wizard guy showed up.

Ok.  Maybe he’d spoke too soon…

Dr. Strange glided through the air to meet the other wizard guy in a collision of colors.  Peter thought his gold sparkle transporting rings looked cool, but whatever spell he’d just cast put them to shame.  Multicolored glitter sparkles fell from the sky like rain, landing on his skin but not hurting him.  They rested there for a few seconds before fading away.  A moment later he realized the noise behind him had greatly decreased.  He risked a quick glance backward and gaped.  Any creature touched by the glitter stuff started gradually fading away until they disappeared altogether.

It took him another few strides to realize he didn’t need to run anymore.  Nothing was chasing him.  Dr. Strange had eradicated the entire undead creature herd with one spell.  Wow.  There was definitely something to be said about the magic or mystical arts or whatever the man called it.

“Kid?  You ok?” Sam asked, reaching him a few seconds after he’d stopped.  The man clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down.

“Yeah.” He answered as he tried to catch his breath.  “I’m good.  So…now what do we do?”

Sam glanced up at Strange fighting the other wizard guy, the two of them periodically clashing in the air as they both fired colorful spells.  If it’d been dark out Peter could’ve almost made believe he was watching fireworks.

“Hell if I know.” Sam admitted.  “I draw the line at street magicians.  This wizard shit is beyond me.”

Peter huffed out a laugh.

“Hey, where’s Rhodey?” He hadn’t seen the man since he’d ran and hoped he was ok.  He couldn’t imagine the man hadn’t gotten away with the War Machine armor.  He took a few steps back in the direction he’d came, searching the horizon.

“Don’t worry.  He’s right there.  See?” Sam pointed up in the sky where Rhodey was flying toward them.

Right.  He didn’t know how he’d missed him.  His heart rate slowed.  Mr. Stark’s best friend was fine.  Peter hadn’t been able to save his mentor, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his family, not if he could help it.  And Rhodey was definitely part of Mr. Stark’s family.

“Watch out!” Sam yelled, but the warning came too late.  He’d been so focused on Rhodey he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the wizards battling.  His spidey sense flared in warning, but too late.  He tried to dive out of the way, but the range of the spell’s blast heading toward him was too large to evade.  The globe of red light enveloped him, and everything went black.

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he sat up before he was even fully awake, the adrenaline from the battle still churning through him.  He’d been hit.  Where was he hit?  He ran his hands over the front of his body and looked down at it, but he didn’t see any blood.  And nothing hurt.  But…wait.  What?  Why wasn’t he wearing his Spiderman suit?

“Ok.  What the hell.” He mumbled to himself, holding his hands up in front of his face as if they could tell him.  But they were bare.  And he had on jeans ith one of his science pun t-shirts, which was the outfit he’d been wearing before he’d put on the Ironspider suit earlier.  Weird.  Last he’d checked he’d left his clothes in the Quinjet.  Maybe someone had changed him out of his suit and into his clothes?  He frowned.  That made no sense.  

Where was the Quinjet anyway?  Everything was a lot quieter.  He glanced around, taking in his new surroundings, and his face slackened in shock.  Because he definitely wasn’t in the barren rocky wasteland where they’d been fighting that wizard.  In fact, his surroundings didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before.  Was he even on Earth?

“Oh shit.  Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” He muttered.

The ground he sat on looked like water, but its surface was solid.  He slapped his palms down and watched as ripples expanded outward from them, like what would happen if you dropped a stone into water.  But he wasn’t wet or sinking.  Ok.  This was officially freaky weird.

“Where am I?” He whispered and stood, doing a full circle to try to orient himself.  It didn’t help.  Everything looked the same.  The weird blackish blue ground he stood on stretched out as far as the eye could see.  No other pieces of landscape pierced it.  The line of the horizon was only perceptible because the blue of the air was just a shade lighter than the ground.  The whole aesthetic was dizzying and kind of trippy.

And then he looked up.

“Holy shit.” His heart leapt into his throat.  The sky was a dark expanse of stars and galaxies.  And he could see a few large planets that looked almost close enough to touch.  It was terrifyingly beautiful.  He reached out and tried to poke at one of the closer ones, a red giant with rings.  It was too far away to actually touch, but the spot where his finger poked made the air ripple out in the same way it had on the ground, like the atmosphere was composed of gelatin that jiggled when touched.

“What the hell...” He definitely wasn’t on Earth.  What kind of spell had he been hit with?  Had he been transported somewhere?  Banished?  Was it reversible?

“Underoos.” Came a voice from behind him.

Peter stiffened.  He hadn’t heard that voice in months.  The last time had been on a rubble strewn battlefield, fighting for his life, and the life of the entire universe.  Terror gripped him.  He was afraid to turn around, and at the same time, he’d never wanted to do anything more in his whole life.  He turned.  And there he was.  Mr. Stark.  Standing there without a care in the world, hands in his pockets with sunglasses on and a characteristic grin on his face.

“Mr. Stark.” He whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

“Hey kid.” The man’s eyes softened as he took him in.

Peter just stared, brain unable to comprehend that this could possibly be real.  He didn’t know what to say.  He’d imagined so many times what he’d say if he ever saw Mr. Stark again, but now he could barely make his mouth move to form words.

“But—  How—” He stammered, not even sure what he was trying to ask, and then a thought struck him and his eyes widened as he asked, “Am I dead?”

“No.” Mr. Stark reassured him then clarified, “Well, not technically.”

“What does that mean?  Not technically dead?  So, am I not technically alive either?” His tone got higher pitched even as he tried not to panic.  He knew there were more important things to talk to Mr. Stark about, but he couldn’t think about anything else until he knew what was happening to him.

“You’re in the in between.” Mr. Stark explained.

He frowned.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The man said, face showing his disapproval.  And Peter couldn’t help the small smile that cracked across his face.  He’d missed those looks from Mr. Stark.

“Then how do I go back?” He asked.

Mr. Stark shook his head.  “There’s nothing you can do.  We just have to wait.”

Not the most comforting answer.  “But if I’m in the uh in between, how are you here?”

“It’s too complicated to explain, but let’s just say I’m here to keep you company.” Mr. Stark smiled again.

And Peter finally let himself enjoy the fact that he was standing there with Mr. Stark.  Something he’d wished for more than anything.  He wasn’t going to waste it even if his own fate was uncertain.  In the next second, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around the man.  He was substantial.  Whole.  Mr. Stark wrapped his arms around him and hugged him right back.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t know how that was even possible, just like he didn’t know how he could hug his mentor since supposedly neither of them had bodies right now, but it was happening all the same.  

“I missed you.” Peter whispered into the man’s neck.

Mr. Stark brought a hand up to the back of his head and tangled it in his hair.  “I missed you too kid.”

Peter didn’t know how long they stood there hugging.  Not that it mattered.  Time didn’t exist in this place.  He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

And Tony didn’t say anything.  And he didn’t pull away.  He just kept holding him.  For as long as Peter wanted.

Peter tried to soak it all in and memorize every detail of the moment.  The smell of Mr. Stark’s aftershave, the scratch of his beard, the warmth of his embrace, how absolutely protected and safe he felt.  He tucked away every sensation and feeling so when he needed to in the future, he could close his eyes and recall it.  Because he knew he’d never get another chance at this.  

“It’s not fair.” The words came out before he’d even decided to say them.

“I know.” Tony agreed.

“I wish you could come back with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Do you…do you regret it?” He whispered his question.  One of the things he’d always wondered.

“No.” Tony answered without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because there was no other way.”

That was true enough.  Dr. Strange had told Peter something similar.  If Mr. Stark hadn’t snapped, they would’ve lost and everyone would’ve died.

“But do you regret inventing time travel?  You could’ve lived a full life with Pepper and Morgan.” Peter had always felt like he’d been partially responsible for taking that away from him.  The way everyone had told the story, he’d been the catalyst for Mr. Stark inventing time travel.  And now he got to have this time with Mr. Stark when Morgan or Pepper never would, and that made him feel even more guilty.

“No I couldn’t have.” The man said pulling away so he could cup Peter’s face in his hands.  “Because I didn’t have you.”

The tears in Peter’s eyes slid silently down his cheeks.  “I wish you wouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t.  I had to.  No regrets.” Tony smiled at him and Peter marveled at how it could be so soft and so sad at the same time.  “I love you kid.”

“I love you too.” He said back and fell forward back into a hug.  After another long minute or so, Peter gathered enough self control to pull away again.  He couldn’t stay glued to the man forever.  No matter how much he may want to right now.

As Mr. Stark let him go, he kept his hands resting on Peter’s shoulders, and Peter remembered another thing he wished he’d gotten the chance to say when Mr. Stark had been alive.  The man had done so much for him. Had become something of a father figure to him.  And he’d never verbalized his appreciation in any way.

“I uh I never thanked you.” He said.

“You never had to.”

“Still, I want to.  Thank you.  For everything.”

“You’re welcome Pete.” Mr. Stark smiled.  “But no thanks are necessary.”

“Is there anything I can—"

“I don’t think we have much time left.” Mr. Stark interrupted with a frown.

“Oh.” A short burst of panic hit him.  He didn’t want to leave Mr. Stark.  “What-what if I want to stay?”

“No.” Mr. Stark answered firmly.  “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not your time yet.”

“So I can’t choose to stay?” He asked, but even as he did, he knew he never would.  He couldn’t do that to everyone he loved at home no matter how much he missed Mr. Stark.

“No.  That’s not how it works.  And you wouldn’t really want to stay anyway.” Mr. Stark said in his typical all-knowing fashion.

“I know.” He said sadly and then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Shoot.”

“What’s it like here?”

Tony gave him a peaceful smile, eyes twinkling as he answered, “Wonderful.”

It didn’t fix anything, but it was a small consolation at least.  A weird feeling started somewhere near his belly and spread, like a buzzing, tugging sensation.

“Time to go Pete.” Mr. Stark said, his smile turning sad.

“Mr. Stark.” He whined and leaned forward to give him one last hug.  He hated the feeling of being torn away from him.  Hated how similar this whole thing felt to getting dusted on Titan.

“I know.” Mr. Stark shushed as Peter clung to him.  “But it’s ok buddy.  It’s going to be ok.”

Peter gripped him tighter, but he could tell it was a battle he was going to lose.

“Bye kid.  I love you and I’m so proud of you.” Mr. Stark whispered.

“I love you too.” He said frantically, worried any second he’d be torn away and unable to finish what he wanted to say.  “And I miss you so much.”

He tried to hold on, but in the next moment, he was finally ripped away.

“No.” He protested desperately.  “Tony!”

“Tony!” The man’s name was still on his lips as his eyes snapped open.

“Hey, you’re ok.” Rhodey said from where he was crouched down next to him.

“I…I…what?”

“That wizard guy hit you with a spell, but Strange finally figured out how to reverse it.” Rhodey explained.

Peter blinked and looked around, recognizing his surroundings.  He was lying on a couch in the Sanctum.  It all came back to him.  The fight.  The other wizard guy.  Getting hit by the red spell.  Mr. Stark.

“I saw Mr. Stark.” He blurted out and Rhodey’s eyes widened.  

“I did.  I saw him.” He insisted, worried the man wouldn’t believe him.

Rhodey looked up at someone behind Peter’s head.  Peter craned backward and noticed Dr. Strange standing there, a neutral expression on his face.

“It’s possible.” Dr. Strange said.  “The spell sent him somewhere where he was neither alive nor dead.”

“Mr. Stark called it the in between.”

Dr. Strange nodded and Rhodey looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Interesting that Stark was able to cross over into that place.” Dr. Strange said.  “You must have a strong connection with him for that to have been possible.”

Peter nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he remembered all that they had said.

Rhodey kept staring at him, his mouth open like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t figure out what.  If it’d been him, Peter knew what he’d want to know, so he answered the man’s wordless question.  

“He’s ok.”  Peter said with a small smile.  “He’s happy.”

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch9)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: Hey! So sorry for the delay, once again!! 

I've learned I really can't make any promises based on how fast I'll get these out XD But I have actually already started on the next chapter--in fact it's one I've been excited about for a long time, so I started on it a while ago--so that's a good sign at least, haha.

I'm very VERY excited to share this one with you!! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!! 

I hope you guys like it!! As always, it's your comments, and interest, that keep me writing!! <3

@toms-wife Okay if I tag you??

If anyone else wants to be tagged on future chapters don’t hesitate to let me know!!

Chapter 9: On the Topic of Souls, and Other Such Oddities 

Snape marched towards the Headmaster’s office, his cloak swishing about his heels. It was the next morning after everything had happed, and he couldn’t say the little sleep he got left him feeling refreshed. Numerous meetings, and even more numerous questions have a way of making one altogether restless.

And, in the end…an innocent girl was dead. It isn’t easy to sleep after such news, even barring the politics of it all.

When he entered he got the feeling that Dumbledore had just been speaking with the portraits, as words trailed off, and Dumbledore, standing in the middle of the room, turned to him like he had been about to make a very good point. The portraits too looked down at him in—if he wasn’t mistaken—an annoyed way.

“Ah, Severus. Welcome. We were merely discussing if lemon drops or chocolate frogs are better. Theodore moved that chocolate frogs are more pleasingly sweet, but I think the best sweets have a bit of tang to them. Would you like to weigh in?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. The glare the portrait gave showed there was more than a small chance the matter they were discussing was something weightier than that.

When Snape didn’t comment, Dumbledore moved on;

“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Snape reluctantly swept around and sat in it.

Dumbledore walked over to a side table with a strange contraption on it, which quickly revealed itself to be a sort of odd teapot, as he proceeded to pour the steaming liquid within it into a teacup. He retained his calm, pleasant demeanor, but Snape could tell the previous day weighed on him too: there was a slight shake to his motions, and his eyes held a heaviness that his smile couldn’t mask.

“Sir…would it not be better to do this another time?”

Dumbledore gave a knowing smile. “You’re not suggesting that I am getting old, are you?”

“No, merely that such news takes a toll on all of us.”

“Many things take a toll, Severus.” He gestured to the tea to ask if he wanted a cup, Snape gave a small nod. “It is if we decide to let that toll keep us from crossing the bridge that matters.”

The headmaster brought the two cups over and he took his place on the opposite side of the desk.

Snape paused before speaking. “I assume you have brought me here to discuss the sentence of the boy with the unspeakable name.” He took a sip of tea.

“You know what they say about assuming, Severus.” He lowered his glasses. “But in this case you are correct. And it’s not so unspeakable, in fact, I encourage you to call him by it.”

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Before I endeavor to divulge my carefully-laid plans,” Dumbledore spoke, putting a handful of sugar into his tea. “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter: what do you think we ought to do with the young Tom Riddle?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“It’s the only kind of speaking I endorse.”

“I think we should dispose of him as soon as possible. He’s too dangerous, too clever. It’s inevitable that he’ll get his memory back even if we attempt to do everything in our power to shield him from it—perhaps before we so much as try.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” One of the portraits burst out and a few others nodded in agreement.

“Keeping him alive is like keeping a ticking time bomb as a pet,” Snape continued, “thinking a little love is enough to keep it from exploding. He’s nothing more than a liability.”

Snape’s dark eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who had been listening pleasantly, with his hands folded on the desk.

“But…”—Snape drew the kind of long breath one takes when they know they’ve lost the fight before it starts, and exhaled—“something tells me you disagree.”

Dumbledore smiled. “It seems you know me too well.”

“Sir…need I remind you of your meeting with him as a child? You once told me you wished you’d been more careful, more cautious, more discerning when dealing with him in the past.”

“Thank you, but my memory has not proven faulty just yet.”

“If that’s true then I also don’t need to remind you of the things I’ve seen him do first hand. Actions that do not make me partial to the idea of keeping him alive.”

“Quite the contrary, it is for that exact reason that I am trusting with this situation.” He paused, looking at him over his half moon spectacles and saying meaningfully. “You and no one else.”

“‘Trusting me with this situation’?” He drummed his fingers on the armrest.

“Is that not what you would call telling you all this?”

Snape said nothing, taking another sip of tea. That was true too, he was sure, though this was one of those moments in which he could tell Dumbledore meant something more than just that.

Dumbledore stood, walking over to the window as if he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to enjoy some sunlight.

“That boy is not Voldemort,” he murmured, taking a sip of tea.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Respectfully, Sir, I beg to disagree.”

“That boy is merely a young Tom Riddle: a teenager who looks like who Voldemort once was when he was young, and who has some of the personality of Tom riddle, and who, if given the right parameters, could become Voldemort. But he is not Voldemort now.”

“All he needs to become the Dark Lord again is to get his memory back, something which I do not think will prove altogether difficult.”

“Perhaps. But there is something else. After giving it careful consideration I find that my theory is sound.”

“What theory would this be?”

He paused, gathering his words. “It is my understanding that a door, once opened, can be walked through in either direction.”

Snape remained silent, waiting for him to tie the statement to their situation.

“What if I told you that our dear Ginny Weasley may not be dead?”

“I would say that is something we’d all like to hear, but that it would be wiser not to put your faith into fairy tales.”

“As I expected.” He turned, smiling. “However,” he began taking careful steps towards Snape, looking at his feet, “it is my personal inclination that the method by which he returned to the land of the living had a fatal flaw.”

“Which is?”

He looked up at him and stopped, saying meaningfully, “It required a young girl’s life.

“You see,” Dumbledore continued, “he will have assumed, of course, that her soul was destroyed in the process of bringing him back to life—her life merely energy to use up. But what if, as it were, he assumed wrongly? In my experience, human souls are far more resilient than that. What if, much like she poured herself into the diary, her soul was simply”—He took an extra teacup off the table—“poured into a new vessel:”—he poured the tea from his cup into the empty one—“The form of Tom Riddle himself.”

Pondering this for a moment, Snape looked away. As he did, Dumbledore returned to his seat once more.

Snape wanted to dismiss the theory right away, and intended to. However, the more Dumbledore explained it, and the more he thought about it…it wasn’t baseless. However—

“You are assuming a rather large amount with little to go on. We can’t base our decisions on a theory, especially one so far-fetched as the idea that the simple method of revival was enough for the soul of a young girl to persist.”

Far-fetched, perhaps…but then he thought of what he saw when he read the boy’s mind yesterday. The wall in his head. How there seemed to be something trapped behind it. Something alive.

“No, but we can let theories inform our decisions. If there is that chance, do you not think it worth exploring?”

“Are you proposing we let the young Dark Lord live on the very small chance we can salvage her soul from the brink? Or else that her presence within his soul will cause him to …what? Grow a heart? Forgive me but that sounds like a hopeless endeavor. Lamentable as the situation may be, we can’t sacrifice all of wizardkind for the soul of one little girl.”

Dumbledore sighed, and there was a heaviness to it. “No. I am afraid that it is unlikely the poor Ginny would be able to return to her original state. I am unsure if her soul is even fully intact. Or, further still, she may not be entirely aware of her current predicament herself either. When speaking of souls, it’s difficult to discern where consciousness resides. It would be unwise, however, to dismiss any of these options entirely either. Rather I am proposing that the presence of her soul is a variable with unprecedented possible outcomes.”

“This is the Dark Lord we’re talking about. I don’t think one little girl’s presence—be it within his soul itself—is going to make much difference.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You of all people should know it is unwise underestimate the influence of one little girl.”

Snape’s eyes widened, unable to keep himself from reacting to that. He turned his head away.

“The Dark Lord is incapable of love, of human emotion,” Snape muttered softly.

“Perhaps. However, personally I like to refrain from making such bold statements about even the cruelest of men. But, even so, it is for precise reasons such as those why I believe the simple presence of someone who is capable of love, of human emotion, within his soul, could make all the difference. As long as there is more holy water than plain, the whole vat becomes holy.”

Snape sighed, looking away. “It is a gargantuan risk for something that is nothing more than an educated hypothesis. What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I will face the consequences.”

“Then we all will face the consequences. Those consequences could easily be the destruction of all of either wizard or muggle-kind—or both. What would you do then?”

Dumbledore sighed. “You seem to be rather caught up in that.”

“I’m more surprised to find that you’re not. Unless there is some way to guarantee he won’t repeat his past sins, then I cannot entertain the thought of keeping him alive.”

“I think we may be able to work something out.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t some misguided journey to erase your past sins, is it?”

“No.” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “It’s a misguided journey to try to erase his.”

“Think for a moment! If you are wrong, is there any reason you have to keep the Dark Lord alive, if not for the thought that perhaps Ginny Weasley yet lives within his soul? Any at all?”

“Oh yes, several in fact.”

Another eyebrow raise.

Dumbledore leaned forward on his desk. “I think you are underestimating the gravity of the opportunity we have been given. An opportunity which I do not believe will present itself again. We have been handed a young Tom Riddle—without memory, no less. Tom Riddle, who has yet to commit the crimes of his previous self.”

“Tom Riddle, who already exhibited little to no regard for others’ well-being! He felt no compassion upon seeing a corpse!” Anger reached his voice, he was very close to slamming his fist on the table.

“Yet he has hurt no one.”

“He’s only been around for a day.”

“A day which Voldemort could have easily spent hurting and killing as many people as he wished.”

Snape looked away. “One amnesic day does not determine the capacity of a life.”

“No, you are correct about that. But…try to imagine for a moment. Do you understand what kind of asset it would be if we were able to get a young Tom Riddle to come over to our side? If we could save him from becoming who he once was…it could save us all.”

“You’ve made this mistake before.”

“I’ve made this decision before. My mistake was in the fact that I did not realize just how much evil such a young boy was capable of. I know now what that boy could become—and already has once—and that it will take much more than a watchful eye to save him from the darkness lurking in his own heart.”

“Do you realize just how easy it would be for him to fall back into that darkness?”

“Which is why I want to keep him alive. To try to prevent him from making the mistakes of his past self. The key difference here, is that there is a chance he has light in him now, in the form of Ginny. If that’s true, we need only water that seed.”

“You don’t know that there’s light in him!” Snape stood abruptly sweeping around resting his hands the back of his chair.” At best that’s an informed hunch! Are you really willing to base such an important decision on that?! The only way to guarantee he won’t make the mistakes of his past self is to prevent him from making any decisions at all!

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Snape blinked. “Is that all this is to you? A bit of fun?” He spat.

“Of course not.” His smile dropped at last, along with his eyes to the desk. “A young girl’s life has been lost. I’d prefer not to lose another.”

“Even if that other life is the life of the Dark Lord?”

“It is not the life of the Dark Lord.” He traced his finger along the rim of his teacup. “It is the life of the young Tom Riddle, who is entirely unaware of the crimes of his previous self—or anything much at all. He has shown no immediate inclinations to harm others, even if he is a bit insensitive. Forgive me, but I do not think it right to simply dispose of him.

“There is another thought that gives me unease as well.” Dumbledore seemed unsure he wanted to say it aloud. He folded his hands and looked at down. “If it turns out that my theory is correct, and Ginny isn’t dead after all…if we decide to dispose of him now, we, and not he, will be the ones who killed her.” The words were altogether too soft.

Snape ran his hand through his hair. “So what do you propose we do with him? Keeping the young Dark Lord alive, and a secret, will be much more difficult than simply killing him.”

“Oh I’m not denying that. If all goes according to plan, there are a number of portraits and other such lingering spirits we will have to inform of the situation.” He eyed the portraits, which folded their arms, harrumphed and looked away.

“And you’re actually proposing that we teach him magic? To the point where, when he does remember who he is, he’ll have the means at his disposal to destroy us all?”

“If we don’t teach him magic, if and when he regains his memory, do you not think he would seek out those means on his own anyways? At least this way we’re teaching him in a controlled environment, where we know where he is, and how much he knows at any given time—not to mention we can decide how much caution to exercise in the smaller details of the situation.”

“Even so…we can’t place a sixteen-year old who knows nothing of magic in first year classes.”

“Nor am I proposing that we do so. I intend to have someone teach—or remind, rather; I think he will be quick to pick it back up—of the basics over the summer. It may not be an easy task to get permission from the ministry to allow a boy under seventeen to do magic over the summer, but I think I may be able to come up with something. Either that, or we may be able to hope they assume the one doing the magic is the wizard who already lives in the house.”

“You’ve told me he has a penchant for flattery that caused many teachers to let their guard down around him. I don’t think I have to tell you why I don’t think it wise to have just any wizard teach the young Dark Lord.”

“I fear you underestimate me, Severus. You really think I would choose just any wizard teach to him? In fact—if you’ll permit my saying—he’ll have a teacher who is rather stern, and won’t find himself so easily swayed by flattery.”

“And who is the lucky contestant?”

Dumbledore gave him a look strangely similar to the smirk of a mischievous schoolboy, running his fingers along his wand.

“I did tell you I was trusting you with the situation, did I not?”

Snape’s eyes widened. He took a step back as if he’d been physically hit.

“No.”

“You asked me if I was proposing that we teach him magic,” Dumbledore elaborated, “and, for the summer at least…Actually I’m proposing that you teach him magic.”

Snape rarely found himself struck dumb but in that moment he was at a loss for both words and actions. For a moment he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t been placed under a powerful confundus charm.

“During the school year, of course, he’ll learn here.” Dumbledore continued. “That is, if aforementioned summer goes smoothly.”

Snape blinked, shook his head, as if trying to remove a wrackspurt. The only thing he could ask was:

“Why me?”

Dumbledore frowned. “I thought I’d made that rather obvious. Because—as you so well proved over the past few moments—no matter how kind, how flattering, how clever, he appears, you will always keep in mind who and what he is. And, if he shows any signs of becoming his past self—or future self, as it were—you will not hesitate to do what is necessary.”

“Is there a reason you can’t do this, Sir?”

“Oh, I’m an old sap, Severus. For all we know I might grow attached to the boy.”

“And you want me to…what?” He spat. “Invite him cordially to stay in my home,” He held out a hand and bowed, “feed him, coddle him, tell him what a good little boy he is,”—he clapped his hands—“all the while teaching him all sorts of dangerous spells?!”

“No. I will inform him of the situation. Then after that I am suggesting you take him to your house—you don’t have to be too terribly cheerful about it, merely as amicable as you are able—feed him, provide him a place to stay over the summer. I’m not suggesting you coddle him—though kindness is a virtue—rather give him both praise and criticism, and each in moderation. That you teach him the basics of magic, and the spells you think would be useful, but not terribly dangerous. I trust your judgment there wholeheartedly.”

Snape stared at a speck of dirt on the ground as if that could tether him to this moment, breath weighing heavy on his chest, his mind splintering into fractals of thoughts. How could Dumbledore possibly expect this of him?

“I feel like I’m forgetting something…” Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. “Oh!” He held up a finger. “Yes. Harry will be staying with you as well.”

Snape jerked his head to look at him, and this time couldn’t hold back:

“WHAT?!”

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit—the poor boy has been through a lot, he won’t be fond of the idea—but I think it’s important that he and the young Tom Riddle become…Well let’s put it this way, I don’t think Harry giving him hateful glares in the hallways at school will help the situation. Currently both he and you seem to have more than enough of those to spare.”

“Oh yes, and forcing us all to live together will certainly solve that problem!”

“While it’s true that living with someone can indeed increase one’s distaste…I do find that living with someone forces you to build a bond of some sort with them, and sympathize with them, in ways you would never have otherwise.”

“You’re asking the three people in this school who have the greatest distaste for each other to spend three months in a confined space!” He spat. “Not only do I think the boy would likely kill one of us before the summer is over, I’d be surprised if we don’t all end up killing each other halfway through June!”

“Or…perhaps the three of you will come to a new understanding about each other.” Dumbledore was as calm as ever. Snape wanted to wipe that smug look of his face.

“I don’t see than happening any time soon.”

“You might be surprised.”

Snape leaned against a pillar, running his hand over his face. He knew from the beginning that he wasn’t going to win this argument, but this was more than a loss, it felt like a slap in the face.

“Don’t you understand?” Dumbledore resumed his previous argument. “Tom Riddle never had a single friend—even at this age his ‘friends’ were all merely supporters and worshippers. If he and the boy destined to destroy him—who will most certainly neither blindly worship nor support him—were to become something even remotely close to friends it could make all the difference. And I think Harry is the only one who can truly change him.”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t make friends. Even without memory I don’t believe he’ll have any inclinations to form attachments—especially not to someone like Potter. He himself said he feels hatred at the sound of Potter’s name.”

“Need I remind you once more this is not the Dark Lord we’re speaking of? Memoryless, and with the presence of Ginny inside him—who already has an affinity for Harry—I think there is at least some chance his opinions on Harry, as well as concepts such as friendship itself may change. He did mention that he hates the sound of Harry’s name, as well as mine, yes. However, when I asked him if it made him sad that he had no friends, for a brief second he said yes.”

“He corrected himself immediately afterwards.”

“In all my years teaching the boy, I never saw a single moment’s hesitation, especially on a question like that.”

Snape let out a breath.

“Doesn’t Potter need to stay with his aunt and uncle?” Snape rubbed his temple, feeling defeated, voice breathy, “His mother’s protection—”

“Oh he will stay with his aunt and uncle at first, still. However, I was discussing it with the portraits, and considering the strange situation, I find the rules may be a little different, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, have him live with the Dark Lord! That will keep him very safe!” Snape sighed, slumping in his chair once again, holding his head in his hand.

“It is not one of my safest ideas, I’ll admit. But you’ll be there, of course. And you haven’t given me reason to doubt that you’re up to the task of protecting him, should the need arise.”

“You expect too much of me. There is only so much I can do.”

“It is true you can only be so many places at once. But if I did not think you were capable of accomplishing such a task, I would not ask in the first place.”

“This is lunacy,” he breathed into his hand.

“I hope I haven’t fallen prey to madness just yet. But I will not rule out the possibility.”

Dumbledore paused, standing back up and walking around the desk. “I understand if you need more time to mull it over. I often find after jarring news a walk and a good bottle of mead do wonders.”

“I only have one guest room, Sir,” Snape muttered.

“Harry can sleep on the couch.” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “He’s very small, I’m sure you’ll barely notice him.”

Snape glared at him through his fingers. “…I think I’ll notice him.”

“You haven’t answered my most pressing concern. What’s to say the boy won’t get up and kill us both in our sleep?”

“…That doesn’t sound much like Harry at all.”

“The other one.”

“We will need to discuss what protections we should put in place, certainly. But you and I are both very smart, very skilled wizards. It would be disappointing if, putting our heads together, we are unable to come up with something.”

There was a long moment of silence. Snape put his hand in his hair, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and had gone wrong before…or at least just how much annoyance such a living situation would provide, even if there was no real danger. No matter how much chaos may occur over the school years, his summers at least had always been quiet.

His next words were soft, but thick with emotion. “I don’t think it wise for him to live with me, Sir. I don’t think I could ever feel any kindness towards the man who killed her.”

“But,” Dumbledore’s voice was as gentle as a moth’s wing beat, no annoyance or exasperation in his tone at the fact that he had to keep repeating himself, “he is not the man that killed her. Not yet. And you have the unique chance of saving him from becoming that man.”

“Not a chance that could save her.”

“No, you’re right, that chance has long since passed. But you can save hundreds of other men and women just as kind as her.”

“No one is as kind as her.”

Dumbledore knelt down beside him, putting his hand on his arm, a certain twinkle in his eyes. “If you give it a chance…I think you may just find that Harry is.”

[seyaryminamoto]

Matching Heartbeats: Sokkla Saturdays 2020

Day 9: Sokkla is painful for Zuko

On FF.net//On AO3

A beam of light fell upon the woman. It didn't seem out of place, yet that spotlight appeared to say she was… alone. She projected a massive shadow… so strong it might consume her completely. She glanced at the darkness that poured from inside her warily, fearfully, perhaps knowing it could overwhelm and consume her.

But then that bright light changed, shifting not in nature, but in form. And where her darkness touched him, his features became clear. Where his light touched her, she became real. And once their lips joined, it was as though all the darkness and light in the world had stopped battling, but instead had accepted their true meaning and duty: to work together, to be tied to one another for infinity, to shed light and cast shadows on equal measure, always at a perfect, matching rhythm…

Light and shadow that enabled the onlooker to finally understand what he was looking at… or rather, who he was looking at.

A loud gasp, a yelp, and then he sat up with a start. His chest was heaving, his heart racing, beads of sweat clinging to his body. What he'd just witnessed… it couldn't be. It seemed so unlikely, so uncanny, but he had seen it with his own eyes…

"What… what's wrong?"

The female voice beside him called for him, reaching for his bare arm. She always liked sleeping with the covers rolled down to her naked waist, for the Fire Nation's heat bothered her at nights. Surely by now, her violet eyes had opened as she sought to unravel whatever had startled him so badly… but in such a dark room, it was impossible to tell if she could see him yet.

"Hey…" she called again, cupping his cheek: he was still breathing loudly, heavily, and still refusing to talk. "A bad dream?"

"B-bad…? I guess it wasn't bad…" he admitted, swallowing hard.

"Then what is it?" she asked, sitting up fully beside him: she hugged him, her breasts pressing against his arm. He wanted nothing but to return to what they had been doing earlier that night, before falling asleep in each other's arms… but he couldn't. Not when he was so shaken up. "Come on, love… you can tell me anything."

"You might think I'm crazy," he said. "I… I don't know. You'll probably think I am, actually… d-don't worry, Suki, really…"

"How can I not worry when you wake up in the middle of the night like that?" she asked, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, trailing up to his neck. "What is it? You can tell me…"

"Y-you're sure…?"

"Of course," Suki said, and he could nearly hear the smile in her very face. He released a breath slowly.

"W-well, I… saw two people, in my dream. Two people who were… well, connected! Drawn together, it was some strange metaphor on darkness and light? And I thought it was beautiful, but then I realized I knew who they were and… and that's when I woke up."

"Then… you knew those two people?" Suki asked, caressing his hair gently.

"Yeah. I did," he said, breathing out slowly. "And they… were kissing."

"Was it us?" she asked, amused.

"Uh… that's where you'll think I'm crazy."

"Uh-oh. Dreaming about another girl, were you?"

"No, I wasn't! Suki, it was… it was Azula and Sokka."

All her teasing behavior ended abruptly then, and she pulled away from him to no doubt give him the most skeptical stare of all time, even if imperceptible in the dark room.

"You… were dreaming about your sister kissing your best friend, Zuko?"

Zuko groaned and dropped on the bed again, and Suki just sat in place in the darkness, all her interest in soothing her lover's concerns with her body suddenly frozen cold: that wasn't at all what she had expected to hear.

"I don't usually think about my sister kissing people! I mean, objectively? The idea of anyone kissing my sister is gross," Zuko groaned, covering his face with his hands. "And I'm sure the idea of anyone kissing me makes her sick too, so we're even!"

"Well, I don't know. She never seemed to mind Mai much, did she?" Suki reasoned. "And she hasn't given us a hard time or said anything about finding us disgusting, her teasing is usually… not quite about that? So… I guess you're the weird one. Must be your dream was your subconscious mind, betraying that you need to stop being so childish and accept your sister can have relationships of her own. Right?"

"U-uh… huh," Zuko frowned, his hands slipping down his face as he pondered her words. "Then… I should accept this? I guess I am unfair, aren't I…? I've been with you for two years as it is, so… maybe you're right. Maybe… maybe that's what my dream was telling me. But maybe it was also telling me something else."

"Like… what?" Suki asked, blinking blankly.

"That… the one Azula should be with is Sokka," Zuko said. Suki's jaw dropped.

"Z-Zuko…? Is it really up to you to decide that?" she asked. "I mean, it's good if you're going to accept that your sister can have relationships without making a fuss about it, she's a grown-up now, after all, and she should make her own choices… but that's part of it too, you know? Maybe she'll choose someone other than Sokka…?"

"Well, why should she?" Zuko sat up again, casting his room's lantern aglow with a quick flick of his hand. Suki's confusion was apparent underneath the new light, more so when Zuko stared at her intensely. "See this? Light! That's what he will be, for her! And she has a darkness that he can temper with his light, while her darkness gives him shape and focus! So…! It's actually the best match of all time! Suki, you see it too, right?! Don't you?!"

"Zuko… it's literally three in the morning," she pointed out. He swallowed hard. "Don't you think all the Fire Lord pressures are getting to you…?"

"No! This is…! I'm absolutely serious here, Suki! I… I wouldn't have dreamt this for no reason," Zuko determined, with certainty. Suki sighed. "Visions are real! Aang would tell you so, too!"

"Sokka once told me Aang dreamt your father wouldn't fight him because Aang wasn't wearing any pants," Suki said, looking at Zuko skeptically. Zuko swallowed hard.

"Okay but that's not the kind of dream I meant…"

"The next time, he was going to give Aang a math test. And then? He was riding a flying hippocow while telling him he had slept in on the day of the invasion," Suki continued, with a sarcastic grin. Zuko's cheeks heated up more with every new retelling of Aang's dreams. "My point is, Zuko, sometimes… dreams are just dreams! And it's not up to you to decide what Sokka or Azula should do in their love lives, okay? They're their own people, they make their own decisions. Okay?"

"Fine…" Zuko pouted. Suki laughed and kissed his cheek.

"I do love it when you get passionate about things, but… you need perspective sometimes, sweetheart," she laughed, pulling him down on the mattress again and cuddling against him.

Yet Zuko's mind and heart couldn't seem to stop racing. Even as Suki embraced him, and he turned off the lantern with another flicker of his hand, he knew what he'd seen was no chance, no mere coincidence: his sister had a soulmate, and after all the mistakes he had made in their relationship so far, he refused to make another one now. He would help her find love… and then, hopefully, Azula would find the happiness she deserved. This was the right thing for a good older brother to do, and Suki would understand by the time his new venture bore the right fruit…

...

Breakfast wasn't a particularly formal occasion in the Fire Nation Palace ever since Zuko had taken the throne. People would come and go to the dining room at whatever time they could afford to, depending on what their duties required them to do. Of course, if you were too late, the food would likely be cold, or you could end up skipping breakfast altogether and wind up eating lunch instead… the cold part was never a problem for Zuko, as he could warm his own food if need be, and he made a point to join Suki whenever she had a late breakfast due to her shifts, in case she wanted a hotter meal than she'd gotten. It was funny sometimes, Zuko had to admit, that he'd made such a fuss when Iroh had warmed up his tea in Ba Sing Se… but nowadays he was doing the same thing with many meals, and for more people than just himself.

Suki wouldn't be joining him today – she'd had an early start that morning, eaten her own meal in a rush and headed out to patrol the Palace. And while people were likely to come and go through the morning, Zuko intended to take the day as easy as he could… namely so he could wait for two very important people to stop by at the dining room.

Sokka was the first to arrive, yawning loudly as he entered the room with his usual nonchalance. After being a lanky Water Tribe boy when they had been fighting together in the war, he had even surpassed Zuko in height, and sported muscular arms with which he could likely crush someone's neck if he tried. It was, perhaps, a dark thought to be had about his friend, Zuko had to admit, but it seemed to him Azula would definitely appreciate a lover as physically strong as Sokka had become across the last years.

"Oh, you're still here, Zuko? Thought you'd be lording over your subjects by now," Sokka said, taking his seat by an available breakfast set and smiling with mischievous glee. "Woah, looks like a feast today! So much breakfast meat!"

"Thought you'd appreciate that," Zuko said, smiling. "I wanted to switch up our menus a little? If that's alright by everyone. I suppose the only risk with giving you more meat during meals is that you'll decide you want to stay in the Fire Nation for good, right?"

"And what's so wrong with that?" Sokka retaliated, grinning. "You said I'm a pretty good ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe, right?"

"You have been," Zuko nodded. "So consider this, uh… a gesture of appreciation?"

"You're weirdly generous all of sudden," Sokka said, raising his eyebrows. "Got to wonder if you have an ulterior motive, buddy…"

"W-what?! Why would I have an ulterior motive?!" Zuko exclaimed, unnecessarily loudly. Sokka inched away from the table, eyeing his friend warily.

"Umm… no reason?" he said, awkwardly. "I was just messing around?"

"Oh. Uh, sorry," Zuko smiled too. Sokka blinked blankly as he started eating, still glancing at Zuko with unease. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little on edge? It was a strange night…"

"Is that so…?" Sokka smiled awkwardly. Zuko flinched.

"I-I don't mean because of, well, Suki? Though… sorry. I know I shouldn't talk about this…"

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying about it, Zuko?" Sokka smiled. "It's been like… what, seven years since she and I called it quits? And it was a mutual decision too. I'm happy you two are happy together, though I do think you should make it official eventually, you know…?"

"You know it's not easy, not even for a Fire Lord," Zuko sighed, but Sokka's change of subject brought an idea to mind. "Though… I guess I shouldn't involve myself in your love life, but you haven't really been with anyone since Suki? Or have you?"

"Uh…" Sokka's eyes shifted at Zuko before returning to his meal. "Nope. No one."

"Don't you think, maybe… you should try dating someone?" Zuko asked, with an awkward smile. "It could be good for you…"

"Dating someone?" Sokka repeated, with a light grin. "Yeah, well… I'm not sure I need to date anyone right now, but thanks, Zuko. Though you really don't have to worry about my love life when yours is so complicated, pal."

"Mine's not complicated, what's complicated is being Fire Lord," Zuko sighed. "B-but anyways, Sokka…"

"Yeah, must suck being Fire Lord," Sokka nodded. "So much to think about, so many problems to solve, and even then, you're trying to help me. You're way too nice this morning, Zuko, but you probably shouldn't be? I'm fine as I am, buddy, I promise."

"But…"

His protests would go interrupted when a new arrival stepped across the dining room… or stumbled across it, actually. Both Sokka and Zuko glanced quickly towards the archway, and Sokka even jumped to his feet, upon glimpsing Azula clasping the wall as she awkwardly made her way to the table.

"Azula?!" Zuko exclaimed, staring at her in astonishment. Sokka had raised a hand as though to help her, but upon noticing his gesture, the Princess raised her own as though to stop him: instead, Sokka wound up sliding his fingers through his hair, eyeing her worriedly. "What… what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I… shouldn't have taken up Mai and Ty Lee's invitation for a night of drinks in town…" Azula explained, stepping closer to the table. "I don't even remember… half of what happened? Don't ever drink enough to black out if you can avoid it, Zuzu…"

"You need help…?" Sokka offered, and Azula smiled.

"Gallant, but no. I'll make it to the table on my own, thank you very much…" she said, supporting herself on the many chairs around the table until she finally found a seat before which still stood a full breakfast waiting to be eaten. "Ugh, I'm not quite hungry, but… I know I should eat."

Sokka only sat down again after Azula did the same safely, groaning still as she tried to ignore the lingering pain. Zuko eyed her warily, as she sat only one chair away from him, holding her head up with a hand.

"Was it… fun, at least?" Zuko asked, with a small voice.

"I wish I knew," Azula smiled. "Might be I met my heart's true desire last night and I just forgot completely."

"No way!" Zuko laughed off, and Azula raised her eyebrows at his reaction at first, until she frowned again over the headache. "I mean, you wouldn't forget something that important, would you?"

"You underestimate the amount of alcohol I drank," Azula said, bluntly. Sokka could only laugh across the table. "What's so funny to you, Upstanding Ambassador?"

"I'm just wondering if you're blocking it all because you did something embarrassing. Like… I don't know, danced on a pub's tables? Or sang the whole repertoire of one of the Ember Island Players' musical theater plays…?"

"Ugh! No way I did anything that stupid!" Azula said. "I… hope."

"Fine, fine," Sokka laughed. "Though, you know? I think I know of a hangover remedy. I can ask the kitchen staff to fix you one, if you need it."

"Hmm… if the food doesn't fix this, I'll appreciate that," Azula said. Sokka grinned.

"No prob!"

Such a simple, friendly exchange… and yet they weren't simply teasing each other: Azula was willing to accept Sokka's help. She seldom was ready to accept anyone's assistance, but while she had changed over the years, this was unexpected… in the best of ways.

Only, Zuko's excitement over the matter had to be quite obvious, for he suddenly realized Sokka was staring at him… judgmentally, it seemed. Zuko froze, swallowing hard before returning to his own meal. Oh, Sokka would think he was going mad, wouldn't he…? But he wasn't. He knew what he was doing, and he'd get it done: his sister would be happy, and no longer lonely, and Sokka himself would appreciate it greatly once Zuko's deed was done.

"Eh… I'll go get your order in already, just in case," Sokka told Azula, smiling awkwardly before rising from the table.

He shot Zuko another strange stare as he made his way to the kitchens, while Zuko tapped his food with his chopsticks as a scolded child might. But once Sokka was gone…

"You, uh, really think you might have met someone last night?" Zuko asked.

"Didn't you hear I don't remember anything?" Azula said. "And why are you taking so long finishing your food? Need someone else to fill in your shoes while you waste your valuable time in the dining room, Fire Lord?"

"I decided today would be a lighter day for me, that's all," Zuko said, raising his hands defensively. "And I'm just saying… I'd be fine with it if you do meet someone, Azula. If you ever find someone who makes you happy…"

"And how would that be any of your business…?" Azula asked, rubbing her brow before casting Zuko a quick glare from the corner of her eyes. "This better not mean you're planning to marry me off to some foolish noble you need to get along with…"

"No! Never! I'd never do something so awful to you!" Zuko exclaimed. Azula huffed.

"I should hope so. I've said I won't be a threat for your rule anymore, but if you try something like that, I absolutely won't keep my promise," she said, sipping her morning tea.

"That's not my point, I'm just saying…" Zuko said, gritting his teeth. "That I haven't been very supportive of you for years, so I thought I'd change that, if I could…"

"Pfft, I'm perfectly used to our rhythm and relationship as it is. I don't need a doting, protective older brother… and I don't need to date anyone either, if that's what you were about to say next," Azula smiled dryly. "You have enough to worry about as it is, Zuzu. I'll live my life, you live yours."

Zuko scowled, watching bitterly as Azula continued eating without a care in the world… and his outrage only increased further once Sokka returned, setting the hangover cure by her tea.

"Hmm, thought you'd be gone already, Zuko," Sokka said, eyeing Zuko's plates. "You're almost finished eating, right?"

"Right," Zuko huffed, shooting a quick glare at Azula. "Well? Won't you drink your hangover cure?"

"I… guess," Azula mumbled. "Thank you for bringing it, Sokka."

"Don't mention it," Sokka grinned, returning to his seat "Though… it tastes like hell. Just so you know."

"Ugh… fascinating," Azula said, bringing the drink to her lips and grimacing noticeably once she tasted it. "Oh, hell, are you trying to kill me, savage?!"

"Not at all! I tell you, it works!" Sokka laughed.

"It's disgusting!" Azula roared, setting it down again and focusing on the food instead.

Zuko huffed, eating quickly as he pondered the situation some more. Both Azula and Sokka were adamant that they didn't need a relationship, didn't need his meddling, and that he had much bigger problems to worry about. Well… maybe they were right, but his dream wasn't wrong, he was sure of it. And clearly, going by all their arguing, they were still completely unaware of the fact that they were a perfect match. Yet… Sokka's willingness to help Azula was a good starting sign. While Zuko guessed it'd take a long time before they finally saw things his way, maybe he should focus on the positives and not lose hope: Sokka wasn't in a relationship, neither was Azula, and as much as they bickered, they likely were fond of each other on some level… for Azula wouldn't even acknowledge his existence if she didn't like him at all. So, there was still hope, if just a sliver of it. He could do this. He absolutely could do this…

It took him a few hours to come up with a solid plan, one that would once again show Azula how reliable Sokka was. The first stage of the plan was to ask all servants and Kyoshi Warriors to stay clear off the roofed, open corridor that led to the communications tower in the Palace for about thirty minutes, around noon. Once that was done, he snuck there, picked up one of the wall's lanterns, and shattered its oil compartment: he dropped the damaged lamp on the floor, watching with approval as the liquid spread across the corridor, all the way to the corner that led to the tower. Perfect.

After that, he hid in nearby bushes, watching quietly, knowing they'd arrive sooner than later: Sokka always had the routine to ship off his mail, whether to Republic City or to the South Pole, at these hours. As for Azula, Zuko sent her a message with a servant, asking her to give him a hand by sending some documents he allegedly didn't have time to ship off to the outer islands himself. It was a childish plan, he supposed, but it was bound to work anyways…

Sokka appeared first, and Zuko smirked: the pool of oil had spread across an intersection of two corridors, and there was no way either of them would be able to cross the halls that led to the communications tower if they didn't walk by that very intersection. He had known Sokka would come from the one where he had dropped the lantern, and Azula was set to arrive through the other corridor any second now…

The acrid smell of the oil brought Sokka out of his ruminations and papers: he raised his head to find the shattered lantern, and the pool of oil, right before his eyes.

"Woah… that's a weird accident," he said out loud, before stepping carefully towards the pool of oil.

He appeared to want to pick up the lantern, perhaps to inspect if it was damaged beyond repair or if he might have a chance to patch it up. And then… footsteps. A new set of them, down the other hall. Zuko's smirk widened as he glimpsed his sister's silhouette: she was as focused on her papers as Sokka had been, but the lantern wasn't within her line of sight, and with any luck the scent wouldn't reach her until she was too close to slow down, and then…

Then Sokka would have to jump out, wrapping his arms around her, ensuring she wouldn't slip and fall on the floor. And once he rescued her from what could have been a terribly dangerous fall, Azula would finally understand just how reliable Sokka was… she would fall in love with him before she even knew it! It was perfect!

She was so close now, a couple more steps… Sokka was already reacting, his eyes wide as he realized those footsteps meant someone might slip and fall over the oil…

"STOP!"

Zuko froze. Azula did, too, with a start.

Sokka gritted his teeth as he traversed the oil pool carefully, ensuring to step on as little of it as possible, before glancing over the corner to discover the person he had just saved from a bad slip over the oil was none other than Azula. She raised her eyebrows questioningly once their eyes met, and he smiled awkwardly, running a hand over his hair, before pointing at the pool of oil at his feet.

"This lantern broke for some reason? There's oil all over the place," he said.

"Oh… I see," Azula took a step back, eyeing the zone of disaster with confusion. "No wonder I thought it smelled like oil. Can you call someone to clean this up? I was supposed to send some mail…"

"I'm supposed to send some too, but this mess could be dangerous for anyone who walks around here," Sokka admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I'll go send mine after you're done, I'll take care of this…"

"I can send yours for you, if you want," Azula suggested, stretching a hand towards Sokka. He blinked blankly before grinning.

"That'd be a lot of help! Thanks, Azula!" he said, handing her his letters by stretching over the pool of oil until Azula could take the documents in her hands. "I'll go get someone to clean up right away, then."

"No problem. Try to be quick about it," Azula said, making a point to avoid the oil… and restarting her way to the communications tower indeed.

Leaving a frustrated Zuko to fume within the bushes he'd been hiding in. Great. Just… great. The one time he didn't want them to communicate like rational people to resolve their problems was the one time they decided to do it. Leave it to those two to sabotage his every enterprise, whether consciously or not…

Oh, but he wasn't done. He wasn't anywhere near done. Azula and Sokka were in for a surprise or many, depending on how many of his plans they forced him to enact.

...

"You called, Zuko?" Sokka's voice drifted from the door of Zuko's office at sundown. Zuko turned with a bright grin, perhaps too bright, for Sokka gave him that awkward stare again. "Uh… Zuko? You okay, buddy?"

"I was hoping you'd come. I have… a favor to ask you," he said, beaming as he picked up a package that had been resting on his desk. Sokka raised his eyebrows, puzzled. "It's for Azula."

"For… Azula? You bought her a gift?" Sokka asked.

"Well… yeah, but I don't want her to know it's from me," Zuko said. "I want you to give it to her? But, remember, no telling her it's from me. I… am just trying to do what you always told me, you know? Make efforts to repair the burned bridges and whatever figures of speech you used…?"

"I guess I did say that, but… what's the point of buying her a gift and not telling her it's from you?" Sokka asked. "How's that going to help?"

"If I'm not eager to take credit, she'll think my efforts are more genuine," Zuko said, with his practiced response, the one he'd decided on giving Sokka as he pondered how this encounter would unfold. "I think you two are getting along pretty well lately, right? So…"

"Are we?" Sokka asked, with an awkward smile. "I thought the incident with the hangover cure at breakfast yesterday would make her hate me forever? Is it your sister's fine with people who get her to drink things she hates?"

"No, but I meant…" Zuko started, but he held back: he couldn't reveal he had seen the lantern incident, the report he'd received about it merely stated Sokka had dealt with the matter, and Azula wasn't mentioned at all. As far as Sokka was concerned, he wouldn't have known they met at all, unless he had been there, too… "I meant you two could sit together and have breakfast anyway. It's good progress."

"Uh-huh…" Sokka said, skeptical again. Zuko snarled.

"Just give her the gift! And don't tell her I sent it!" he said, pushing the luxurious box into Sokka's arms.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," Sokka sighed.

Zuko waited shortly before following Sokka across the Palace's corridors yet again. He moved stealthily, cautiously, hiding behind every statue that could conceal him, waiting patiently whenever Sokka got distracted, or whenever he glanced back, as though aware that someone was chasing after him. Finally, though, he reached Azula's room and knocked the door…

In a matter of five seconds or so, the door swung open. Zuko bit his thumb, watching them impatiently as Azula appeared to stare at Sokka with utmost confusion.

"Hey! Uh, someone sent you this," he said, simply, biting his lip. Zuko grimaced, hoping that'd be enough for Azula to mistake Sokka for being the one responsible for the gesture…

"Someone? What sort of prank is this?" Azula asked, skeptical, raising her hand to brush her bangs from her face elegantly.

"It's… hopefully, not a prank? To be honest, I should've checked the inside myself…" Sokka admitted, tugging the bindings of the box loose. Azula raised an eyebrow, watching him cautiously. "It's probably nothing that bad, but I can't be sure…"

"Are you unfamiliar with the sender? Took up a job delivering packages on the side? Here I thought being an ambassador paid well…"

"It does," Sokka smiled. "I'm just doing someone a favor, that's all…"

"Someone?" Azula repeated, skeptical.

Oh, it was working. It was absolutely working, she'd see the gift and assume it was Sokka's. Everything would go exactly as planned this time, Zuko was sure of it…!

"Alright… step back, in case there's some weird explosive?" Sokka smiled at Azula. She scoffed.

"I can control an explosion with my bending if need be. Just do it," she said. Sokka shrugged and obeyed.

He raised the lid of the gift's box only to find a silken dress with blue colors and white highlights. Azula raised an eyebrow, and Sokka's jaw dropped: it looked like a Water Tribe-themed dress, for sure. And the only Water Tribe person in the Palace, at the moment, was standing right next to Azula. Surely, all the suspicion would fall to him…

"Woah," Sokka said, scratching his head. "That's… fancy. Way fancier than any of my tribe's clothes…"

"Is that so?" Azula asked. Zuko nearly jumped in glee: she didn't believe him! She didn't! Had he succeeded this time, for sure…? "Well… to be honest, assuming you sent this would imply you have great taste in clothes, so…"

"Hey! I DO have great taste in clothes, mind you, and… wait, that sounds like you like it? A blue outfit, Princess? You're sure? People might start thinking you like my culture of savages, eh, eh?"

"No one would assume that, the color may be similar to your tribe's traditional colors, but the cut, and the design, are completely Fire Nation," Azula explained, unfolding the dress gently. "So, the question is… who has the means to commission a dress as fancy as this one, and request one of the most uncommon dye colors in the Fire Nation for it?"

"Eeeeh…" said Sokka, with an awkward smile.

"Not you, that's who," Azula said, sighing and shaking her head. "Whatever. Thank you for bringing it anyway."

"Not a problem," Sokka grinned, offering her a thumbs up after he handed the box to the Princess. "See you around!"

Azula nodded, and Sokka walked away. And Zuko was left crouching by the statue he'd been hiding behind, snarling yet again: why did it have to be so difficult? If he didn't know better, he'd assume they were making fun of him by playing dumb to this extent… ugh, it was infuriating.

But again, he wasn't done: something would work eventually. There was no way the two smartest people he knew would be this thickheaded and this resistant to the obvious, blatant, clear fact that they were MEANT for each other…

...

Another council meeting should be another opportunity to make the Fire Nation a better place, if Zuko was asked… but that's not how reality worked. Instead, it was merely another chance for his lords and military heads to continue antagonizing each other, constantly attempting to prove they were the most talented, the most loyal, the most impressive of his subjects. Getting anything done was, actually, as good as impossible.

Azula eyed him warily once the meeting was adjourned, waiting for him to climb off the throne, looking more drained than ever.

"Are they really getting to you that badly?" she asked. Zuko sighed and shrugged.

"I guess?" he said. "It's a drag. I thought we could make things better, you know? That a new era would begin with my rule, and it has, but… I could do so much more if I didn't have to go through so many protocols for even the smallest project."

"I suppose, but that's the way it works," Azula shrugged. "You need to learn how to slither through the cracks to achieve whatever you're setting out to do, Zuko. Most political challenges can't be handled through straightforward means, you understand…"

"I know, but it sucks," he groaned. "I… guess I just need to relax."

"What? Not getting it on enough with Suki lately?" Azula teased him. "Don't tell me you've already bored her…"

"N-no! That's not…! You shouldn't even ask that sort of stuff!" Zuko exclaimed, blushing. "Though… well, Suki's pretty busy most the time organizing patrols and working to keep the Palace safe. And ever since we got together, well…"

"You deliberately spend less time together in public so you won't alarm the wrong people about your relationship, I know," Azula recited, nodding. "You just want to see more of her, then?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm not that unreasonable, I know it can't always happen," Zuko sighed. "When I said I needed to relax, I meant more like… the royal spa?"

"Ah… sure," Azula said, nodding. "I guess you could visit it more often."

"You go a lot, right?" Zuko said. "In the mornings? Or do you go in the evenings? I just want to make sure I don't go at the same time as you, could be awkward and all…"

"So considerate," Azula said, raising an eyebrow. "I tend to go at ten in the morning, and I stay for around an hour, if you really must know."

"Cool. I'll go at eleven, not ten. Eleven, not ten. Eleven, not ten…" Zuko started, stepping towards the throne room's archway. Azula scoffed as she watched him leave.

"Keep saying that, and you'll end up mixing up the times!" Azula growled.

"I wouldn't do that! It's not at ten, but at eleven!" Zuko said, nodding. "See? I got it! Totally got it!"

Azula's judgmental glare followed Zuko, he could tell… but he could also tell she wouldn't see the mischievous smirk on his face as he left the premises, knowing exactly where he'd go next.

Sokka was training with a sword in the palace grounds when Zuko came across him. He smiled and waved at the Fire Lord, who grinned innocently right back at him.

"Say, Sokka… have you been to the royal spa lately?" Zuko asked him, once Sokka lowered his sword.

"Oh, hello, Zuko! Nice to see you too!" Sokka teased him. Zuko rolled his eyes.

"I just haven't been going often lately, is all," he continued. Sokka huffed. "It's a little weird, getting into that habit, but I think it'll help. I haven't been feeling like myself lately…"

"Yeah… you're a bit off," Sokka admitted, smiling awkwardly. "I don't really use it much, myself, but why do you ask?"

"Just thought it might be a little less awkward if I go with someone I can chat with?" Zuko said, smiling weakly.

"Really? But you've never been all that talkative" Sokka chuckled: Zuko's stomach, of course, sank. "Oh well, I guess that's why you don't like the spa, because you have no one to talk with while the procedures are being done? I suppose I can help, then, but… why me and not Suki?"

"Suki is probably busy at the only hour of the day I can afford to do this" Zuko said "I'd much rather go with her too, you know? But what can I do…? Besides, the staff members might suspect, and then everyone will know…"

"Zuko, I'm pretty sure most people already know about you two," Sokka smirked. Zuko flinched.

"Well, but it isn't official! Just rumors!" he pouted. "And I'm not ready to go public yet, neither is she. So… you know, I'd rather keep suspicions to a minimum."

"Whatever you say, whatever you say…" Sokka sighed. "What time do you want me to be there, then?"

"At ten?" Zuko smiled, again with a hint of mischief he couldn't quite contain. And it grew stronger when Sokka merely nodded positively.

"Alright. Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, let's see how it goes for one day, right?" Zuko said, casually. "Keep up the good work."

"Sure! Thanks!" Sokka grinned.

Oh, at this point he'd do better not to have high hopes, but he crossed his fingers and begged the universe inwardly to allow this one to bear some kind of fruit. If only they stopped resisting so much, damn it all… this was for their own good! It was worse than trying to get a toddler to swallow medicine, really…

On the next morning, his hiding place was the outside the Palace building itself: he stood in the gardens, surveilling the spa from a large window that allowed a perfect view of the spa's doors. He stood in place, ten minutes in advance, waiting patiently, clad in an inconspicuous black robe with a hood that should conceal his identity and hide him in a shroud of darkness, even if his sister or friend noticed he was around… he bit his lip, waiting still, knowing they'd both arrive eventually – Azula hated being late to any appointments, and Sokka wasn't the type to reject any chances to laze around and be pampered.

If all went well, they'd enter the spa together. Perhaps they'd bond… perhaps they'd do more than that, an idea that, despite Zuko's resolve to accept his sister's love life was none of his concern, was slightly unnerving to consider. All things considered, though, the two of them were too smart, and fully aware of how dangerous it could be to take a relationship too far while unprepared. They knew self-restraint, of course they did. They would, at most, go as far as to kiss… and then they'd decide on how to progress with their relationship in a responsible manner, until they eventually chose to marry, and by the time the wedding happened, everyone would be laughing as they shared the story of how their relationship began because Zuko, oh, silly Zuko, had given Sokka the wrong time for a spa visit, and Sokka had attended it with Azula instead…

Busy imagining such a joyous occasion, Zuko was snapped out of his daydream suddenly when a shadow crossed his line of sight: he shrank instinctively, but then glanced through the window once more… it was Azula. Good. If she went in now, Sokka would follow, neither knowing the other was inside, and then…!

Azula had reached for the doorknob but stopped cold suddenly… glancing at her left. Zuko grimaced. That couldn't be good.

With difficulty, he pushed the window open lightly, just enough to hear any conversations within that hallway, not enough to make noticeable noise, while watching as Azula toyed with a strand of her hair…

"… You're here? Why?"

"Uh… because Zuko told me he wanted to meet up with me for a visit to the spa? He told me to come at ten…"

"Ugh, the Dum-Dum mixed up the time, exactly what I told him he'd do! I warned him if he kept being foolish he'd end up coming here at the same time I did and… ugh, what would you do if you had a brother as forgetful as mine, Sokka?"

"Probably take advantage of that forgetfulness and prank him until he lost his mind?"

"That… isn't half bad an idea, actually. Good thinking."

"Anyway, I'm thinking Zuko just told me ten but meant eleven? You can go ahead, I'll wait for him out here."

"Thank you. Whenever he shows up, please kick him in the shin for me."

"Sure thing!"

Zuko huffed: this was impossible. They were impossible! What the hell was that?! They'd just respectfully chosen to go separately to the spa?! What was wrong with them?!

Oh, it was the last straw. He couldn't take it anymore. He was too young for all this stress, his hair would turn white, his heart was going to fail him… he couldn't stand it. He felt humiliated, despite no one had mocked him directly, but it seriously appeared as though those two knew exactly what they were doing to him. And he was definitely not amused.

"Screw it. Screw them, this is just…!" he rambled, shutting the window quietly again as he snarled. "They don't deserve each other! That's the truth! They want to die alone, fine, they can just go ahead and do that! I'm tired of trying to do right by anyone, it's a complete waste of…!"

"Zuko?"

He nearly screamed upon hearing someone addressing him directly. He didn't manage to hold back a light yelp, and a jump… as he turned to look at Suki. Who stood behind him, her Kyoshi Warrior uniform as impeccable as ever, her unyielding scowl judging Zuko as harshly as could be.

"U-uh, I… I can explain," he said.

"Right! You certainly should explain why you're sneaking around your own palace, dressed in a black hood as though you were a criminal, breaking into the place!" Suki smiled sardonically, crossing her arms over her chest. "For a minute there I seriously thought I should fling my katana at you. Be grateful I reconsidered and decided to figure out who you were, first."

"Sorry! I didn't meant to… ugh, Suki, it's just…" Zuko said, tense. "You know what it is."

"Uh, no, I certainly don't," she said, dryly.

"Well, you were there! You know, when I had that dream?" Zuko said. Suki's face was a mask of confusion until realization sank in. "Y-you know, the one about…?"

"About Sokka and Azula?" Suki finished, and her confusion was only further enhanced… while paired with not a moderate amount of outrage. "Zuko… have you lost your mind?!"

"I… hey! I'm fine, I'm not crazy, I'm just…!"

"Tell me, right now, that you didn't spend the last three days being so scarce, so distracted, disregarding your duties, simply because you were coming up with every strategy you could think of to matchmake those two without their awareness."

Zuko opened his mouth, and then closed it. Suki released a breath, covering her face with her hands as Zuko started chortling awkwardly.

"I-it's not that bad, is it?! I mean…! They get along enough that if they just give each other a chance, they'll see…!"

"Zuko: it's THEIR lives!" Suki exclaimed, stepping up to him and grabbing his shoulders. "You can't just try to manipulate people into doing whatever you want them to! That's not you, that never was you! For crying out loud, Zuko, just… be reasonable, can you? Whatever you saw in your dream doesn't give you the right to interfere in two people's lives this way!"

"But I'm not doing it to hurt them!" Zuko exclaimed, acutely aware that he sounded like a child throwing a tantrum. "Look, I just…! I want Sokka and Azula to be happy the way I am with you! I never imagined I'd care this much, but it turns out I do! And I know I sound and look like I'm losing my mind, but I just really think this could make their lives so much better! My sister has been through so much, Sokka appears to have outright given up on love because it never works for him… isn't it a good idea to help them regain hope through each other?"

"It's not a bad idea, no. But it's not up to you to decide this, Zuko," Suki sighed, taking his face in her hands. "And all this sneaking around… it's not going to help."

"I know. I know…" Zuko sighed, lowering his gaze.

Yes, the sneaking around probably was only hurting his cause further. But maybe that was the extent of the problem… maybe he just had to stop beating around the bush, and tell the pair of fools the truth, blunt and honest. If he did, surely they'd understand… hopefully, they'd test the waters of a relationship together, and that was all he really needed and wanted from them. Everything else was secondary.

"You need something else to focus on other than work, I bet," Suki sighed. "And that's why you're so hung up on this. We'll find you another hobby, Zuko, a less troublesome one than matchmaking…"

"Fine, but… I'll tell them both the truth," Zuko said, startling Suki.

"You'll… what?"

"Tell them, outright. I know they'll be the ones to decide what to do, I get it, they might say I'm crazy and that they never want to be with each other…" Zuko sighed. "But even then, I think I should tell them what I think, let them know I'm okay with it… if that makes sense."

"Well, I suppose it is better than sneaking around," Suki sighed, shaking her head. "You be careful though, Zuko. Make it clear you're not forcing anything on them, and that you just want to help. And if they reject that help, you'll put this aside, and go on with your life. Are we clear?"

"We're clear," he said. Suki sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"I know you mean no harm. I hope they'll know it too. Just… you're too good for your own good sometimes, Zuko," Suki said, caressing his cheek. Zuko sighed, wrapping his arms around her body and dropping his head on her shoulder. "Though… well, I know I started it, but we probably shouldn't be doing this in broad daylight, should we…?"

"Meh," Zuko said, tightening his hold around her. "Just a little longer…"

She helped him ground himself, that was a certainty. With Suki's comforting presence he could come back to his senses, perhaps, and understand he'd gone too far… and that he needed to stay in his lane from now on. It was the best thing to do, the best way to proceed…

But first, he'd tell them the truth. And he knew the chance to do so would arrive within an hour.

...

"Ah, if it isn't the fancy Fire Lord, the guy who gives me the wrong time for our big spa visit!" Sokka announced, as Zuko entered the spa's corridor, five minutes before Azula's hour was up. "I nearly went in there with Azula instead, you know? She's still inside, but I think we can go after she's…"

"Sokka. We need to talk."

Sokka blinked blankly, his hand still gesturing at the spa's door. Those words were quite ominous, Zuko supposed, but perhaps if Sokka expected something too awful, he'd be much more receptive to the idea of being set up with Azula for a date, at the very least…

"What, exactly, do we need to talk about?" Sokka asked, with a slowly widening awkward grin. "I mean, you said you wanted someone to talk with while you were in the spa, but I didn't think you needed to talk while we're outside it, too…"

"Enough rambling," Zuko said, dismissively. Sokka pouted, hands on his hips. "I have something serious to talk to you about, Sokka. At least, it means a lot to me, and I hope it'll mean something to you too, once I'm done."

"Well, you're not being ominous at all," Sokka said, rolling his eyes. "Is this why you've been acting so weird lately?"

"Yeah. You could say that," Zuko admitted, breathing in. "Look, you… you're one of my best friends. And while I guess you could be satisfied with life as you are living it now, I also think there's a chance you're not satisfied at all, and you just don't want to burden the rest of us with the truth…"

"Uh… I'm not? I mean, thanks for the concern, Zuko, but I'm actually fine…?" Sokka said, eyeing his friend warily.

"Look, I'll just… come out and say it," Zuko said, breathing deeply. "I… had a vision. You were in it. With… someone."

"With someone?" Sokka repeated. "What kind of vision? Are you getting spirit-y visions these days too, kind of like Aang used to? Or is this sort of thing common for you…?"

"I don't know, I don't know, maybe I'm just losing it, maybe dreams are just meant to be dreams but this one spoke so clearly about things that I…! That I never even thought about," Zuko said, looking at Sokka almost pleadingly. "And I think it opened my eyes to the truth that… that there's someone out there who might just be everything you'd needed, Sokka. And if that's how it is, then I… I want to encourage you to go for it, I give you my… my blessing? As weird as it sounds."

"Dude… what the hell is going on here?" Sokka asked, inching away from Zuko warily. "You said you'd come out and say it, well, nothing you've said so far makes sense. Are you telling me I should date, or heck, even MARRY, someone… just because you saw them with me in a vision?"

"Well… yes!" Zuko exclaimed, with full conviction. Sokka's eyes narrowed.

"And… who, exactly, are you talking about?" he said, allowing himself a weak, sarcastic smile as he waited for Zuko's answer "Who's this person I should be with?"

Zuko breathed deeply, wishing he weren't so nervous upon uttering those syllables… but he was strong enough to do it. He hadn't come this far in life by being a coward: he'd absolutely do it.

"I'm talking about… about Azula," Zuko finished.

Sokka froze, his eyes widening in amusing, slow motion. It was as though realization was dawning on him, regarding each and every one of Zuko's actions as of late, and Zuko felt like a fool, but he didn't care. No, if this meant his sister would find peace and happiness, he'd endure whatever Sokka dared throw at –…

Sokka covered his mouth with a hand, and snorted. Zuko's eyebrow twitched.

"Did you just…?"

Another hand, and another chortle. Zuko's outrage was on the rise.

"Sokka?! Are you… are you LAUGHING?!"

There was no containing the Water Tribesman anymore: he dropped his hands and laughed so hard the entire Palace was likely hearing him. He doubled over, hugging his stomach, tears springing in the corners of his eyes…

"Y-you just said…!" he managed to utter, with a threat of a voice before he was overtaken with laughter again. "Oh…! Oh, no, I'm not gonna…! I can't…! I'm… AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

With a strange posture, with his legs awkwardly twisted together, Sokka started jumping away, no doubt suggesting the laughter was strong enough to trigger certain, impulsive, bodily reactions that excessive amusement could sometimes result in. Zuko watched him shrink in the corridor, listening to the ongoing laughs, and shaking his head in outrage.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?! I TAKE IT BACK! YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS! YOU DON'T DESERVE HER! SCREW YOU, SOKKA!" he shouted, impulsively, angry enough that fire danced in his tight fists. Oh, how dared he laugh…? And laugh that loudly, too! Curses, he hoped to get a similar dream soon, of Azula with just about ANYONE else, and then he'd set up those two instead, and Sokka would learn, the bastard…

"And what the hell is the matter with you?"

Zuko froze: he had forgotten, completely, that he was standing at the spa's entrance… and that his sister was merely five minutes away from stepping out of it. Perhaps his outburst had even compelled her to leave sooner, and while her hair was shiny and her skin was bright and clear, her countenance betrayed she was most displeased by Zuko's loud shouting. Zuko swallowed hard, turning towards his sister apologetically.

"I… I'm sorry. Oh, hell, I really am sorry," Zuko growled, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. Azula crooked an eyebrow.

"You're sorry…? Is this a multipurpose apology?" she asked. Zuko flinched and stared at her in chagrin.

"Why would it be a…?"

"Well, you see, I'm still waiting for a lot of apologies from you," Azula confessed, raising her eyebrows. "All the times you tattled on me as children, that time you ate my dessert and claimed it wasn't you, that time you locked me in an asylum, too…"

"H-hey, that's not…! No! I am apologizing for a specific thing here!"

"Ah! Then you truly aren't sorry for any of those things, to this day? Shame on you, Zuzu," Azula said, shaking her head dismissively. Zuko growled.

"I'm sorry because I was doing something I hoped would help you in the long run, but clearly I was wrong!" Zuko huffed. "That bastard… laughing like that? Who the hell told him he had any right to laugh at this?! I actually had to wrap my head around this idea, and to put aside my natural older-brother instincts of disgust at the thought of my sister with anyone, and he just LAUGHS?!"

"Uh… what did you just say?" Azula said, with an awkward smile… not too different from Sokka's own, earlier. "You wrapped your head around the idea that… I could be with someone?"

"I did!" Zuko exclaimed. "And then he just… threw it back in my face! Like an idiot!"

"He? Who's… he? The person you're trying to set me up with?" Azula asked, and her discomfort only seemed to increase. "Or is it just someone you were sharing your marvelous ideas with…?"

"Well… both," Zuko admitted, almost pouting now. "But I'm sorry. He's not worthy of you. Someone who hears about this and laughs like that is just… Ack! I should kick him out of the palace in your behalf…"

"I still have no idea who you're talking about," Azula reminded him. Zuko breathed deeply and huffed to release the air, averting his gaze from Azula's own:

"It's Sokka."

Azula fell silent. Zuko glanced at her quickly, wondering if she'd be disheartened, disappointed that that fool would be so dismissive of her potential as his love inte–…

She covered her mouth with both hands, and snorted.

"What…? WHAT?!" Zuko shouted, and just as before, Azula nearly lost her balance as she was overtaken by the strongest laughter spree he had ever heard from her. "OH, YOU KNOW WHAT?! YOU KNOW WHAT, YOU TWO ASSHOLES, I'M DONE! I'M DONE! SUKI WAS RIGHT, I SHOULD'VE NEVER TRIED TO HELP! YOU'RE JUST AS BAD AS HIM! I'M SO DONE WITH THIS! I'M NOT GETTING INVOLVED WITH YOUR PERSONAL LIFE EVER AGAIN, AZULA!"

He stormed off… and her laughter only seemed more intense as he left. Oh, he was seething. He was absolutely seething: what on earth was so funny?! What was wrong with those two?! He couldn't stand it. He had done his best by them, and they had laughed and thrown all his efforts in his face… how could they do this to him? He had been nothing but kind to Sokka, especially after he broke up with Suki, and even more so once Zuko was drawn to her, years later… he had been as generous with Azula as he could be, learning to be more patient, to offer her more opportunities to help run things in the Fire Nation, to find a purpose…!

And yet the pair of bastards had just laughed at him and all his efforts. The worst part was that their damn reactions had been as good as copies of each other: they were, in the end, completely perfect for one another. There was no sense in feeling bad for Azula, not when she had thought the idea of being with Sokka was just as laughable as, apparently, Sokka thought being with her was. So, they truly were as bad as the other… they truly were. It should further confirm they were perfect soulmates! But no, they'd rather just forsake all their chances at finding love… and truthfully? He was done caring. He was absolutely done. They could do whatever they wanted. He wouldn't even THINK about this nonsense anymore…

Or so he intended to convince himself of, but by nighttime, he laid in bed, arms crossed over his chest, still fuming as he went over the morning's events in his head. Suki sighed as she slipped into bed, reaching to massage Zuko's chest gently.

"You do realize you're as good as self-destructing over this, while those two are completely unaffected by what happened?" Suki asked. Zuko huffed and shook his head.

"They'll be affected enough when they die alone. Pair of idiots," he said. "So much for trying to be a good brother for Azula… or a good friend for Sokka. Is it too much to ask that they'd just take the possibility seriously? And I mean, even if they hate the idea, they could just… respectfully say "No, Zuko, I don't think it's a good idea", and that's it! Problem solved! But noooo, they just laughed like the mere image of them together was the most hilarious joke in the history of the world…!"

"I don't really know why they'd laugh that much, Zuko, but dear… I mean it. You need to stop thinking about this," Suki said, cupping his face, her fingers gently touching his scar. "We're all adults here, there's no reason why any of us ought to make choices for anyone else. I'm sorry they were so stupidly rude but…"

"Ugh. It's their loss," Zuko growled, wrapping his arms around his lover and pressing his face to her shoulder. "I just wanted to help, but…"

"Not everyone wants help," Suki reminded him, caressing his hair. "But you do want some, right?"

"What do you mean…?" Zuko mumbled quietly, glancing up at Suki to find her smiling slyly at him.

"I think I have an idea or two on what to do to get this nonsense off your mind…" she whispered, leaning closer, her hand sliding lower than his chest…

And she was right about that idea, for sure: Zuko smiled for what felt like the first time in the entire week, taking her into his arms…

...

Sweat trailed between the heated bodies that swayed, thrusted, shifted together. Their rhythm only accelerated, despite her body was already weakened by a previous release… but her lover was not only generous, but resilient. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, thrusting harder as he leaned over her, nibbling on her neck, kissing her cheek whenever he eased up, embracing her from behind while relentlessly driving and plowing forward. She held herself upright with difficulty, her elbows trembling, same as her spread legs…

"I'm close… I'm close…!"

"Come for me, then… Just for me…"

Words spoken with a throaty growl sent her very soul reeling: the hand that had been fondling one of her breasts now snuck lower, finding her clit and prodding it mercilessly: cries of blissful desperation tumbled from her lips, and there was no holding on, no endurance that could withstand the rushing onslaught of pleasure. And yet she knew he wasn't done: no, he didn't like finishing this way. She shuddered and nearly collapsed, but he held her closely anyway, groaning as her walls squeezed him delightfully.

"That's it… that's my girl…"

Anyone else saying those words would have been outrageous, but not him. He tore down all her defenses, all her dignity and decorum, and she damn near thanked him for it: it was blissful to let go of all pretenses, to bare herself fully to someone, for she knew he was doing the same with her, too. As soon as this had started between them, the whole world had started taking a different shape… as though they were seeing it with clear eyes, for the very first time. As though each of their matching heartbeats resounded together, dismissing every hint of fog that sought to hinder their hearts until they had found their true selves upon finding each other…

He withdrew, but not completely: only enough to turn her around, so she could lie upon his bed's many disorderly sheets, cushions and pillows. She looked luxuriously beautiful amidst them all, her hair an unkempt mess that guaranteed she'd need another royal hair-combing on the next morning, as it ever did…

"Azula…" he whispered, setting her down carefully: only his tip lingered inside her, as his face hovered inches from her own.

Her weak arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a long kiss, in which they exchanged long, throaty groans, and their tongues caressed and toyed together as much as they pleased. Wordlessly, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, forcing him to enter her fully again… this time, facing her. He'd definitely finish now, the way he always liked to.

"Make love to me, Sokka…" Azula said, her voice weak between so many heartfelt kisses. "I'm yours… I'm yours…"

He groaned in response and thrusted: she whimpered and moaned, and he thrusted again and again, regaining his lost rhythm in her, following suit with her rolling hips. They joined their bodies powerfully, delighted by the synched thrills that coursed under their skin…

So powerful he was, so strong with that physique worthy of a god, that he knew exactly how to hold back, how to last longer, as long as he could until she came undone around him at least one more time… and she was close to doing so, so overcome by pleasure she couldn't help but show him her most honest façade, with no lies, no deceit, no masks to hide away who she truly was… or what he truly meant for her.

Just so, he showed her his deepest self, the devoted protector, the man who only thought of others ahead of himself. The one who couldn't ever seem to think of his own pleasure, for he was that set on providing as much of it as he could to her. So many underestimated him, failing to see just how strong, how soulful he could be… but not her. She knew him, saw him for who he was, and loved him just as much as he loved her.

And so every kiss they shared was a blissful height, just as every chance to link their bodies, every caress they exchanged, brought their hearts further together, blending the limits and boundaries that existed between them, as though they were becoming but one soul, one being…

His release was impending: he let her catch her breath for mere seconds before trapping her lips again, thrusting as frantically as she did, both their bodies as good as melting together once a resounding, potent climax tore through their systems, nearly powerful enough to break their kiss… only nearly. He held on, wanting to feel her, every inch of her, and she clung to him just as well, her nails raking his back, her pelvis meeting his own with the power of their desperate thrusts.

They didn't slow down their kisses, not even when their rolling hips finally eased to a halt. Their exciting bliss lingered, as good as blinding them to anything else in the world… to the mess they'd made of the fancy bed – the servants had given both of them the stink-eye for that often, as they switched between meeting in his or her room. There was no doubt in either of their minds that the evidence of their transgressions was too obvious for the maids' eyes: they knew what the two of them they were doing… and even then, they had kept their silence, fortunately.

Or, at least, they had thought it was a fortunate thing until today. Perhaps the events of that morning had a hand in the wild tryst they'd just indulged in… but even now, a sudden burst of laughter crossed Azula's face, and Sokka didn't even need to ask what was so funny: he simply joined her too, kissing her brow softly as he indulged in the beautiful, blissful sound of her voice.

"I… I can't believe we were hiding all along… thinking he'd make such a fuss if he knew, and instead…" Azula started, before a strong spree of laughter overtook her anew.

"It's not entirely his fault that he was so clueless. You just made a very convincing hungover Princess that other morning, who would've thought you could barely walk for a much more exciting reason…?" Sokka teased her, kissing her deeply, taking advantage of her ongoing laughter to taste her smiles fully, and respond to them with his own. "I'm sorry you had to drink that mess of a hangover cure unnecessarily, though. I really thought he'd have left before I returned with it…"

"Well, you owe me seven more rounds of this before I can forgive you for that," Azula declared, haughtily. Sokka snorted.

"I thought we had agreed the fee for my terrible crime was ten orgasms, not ten rounds…" he said, nibbling on her lower lip. Azula snickered.

"Absolutely not. Ten rounds, full rounds. No half-assing it, my handsome stud," she said, slapping his asscheek lightly, and yet the spanking sound seemed to resound across his room.

Sokka laughed, kissing her again, repeatedly, a thousand times if he could. Oh, he'd give her ten rounds… and then ten more. And then a million, and even more than that… his ever-growing love for her overwhelmed him, and he was decidedly addicted to showing how much he cherished her physically. If only he could stay in bed with her for a whole week… no, even that wouldn't be enough. For a lifetime, at best… and even then, he'd want her again, on the next one, and on the next. Their very souls were bonded together, and that was how he wanted them to remain, for good…

"It's just so funny because… the maids always know," Azula interrupted his spree of kisses and train of thought, dragging her hands lavishly over his back.

"Most of the servants figured us out forever ago," Sokka confirmed, laughing. "And Toph… she knows too. I told you she started messing with me by mentioning you suggestively ever since that day at Air Temple Island…"

"Heh. And somehow your sister still hasn't unraveled the truth," Azula smirked. "I bet Toph outright told her about us and she decided it was impossible."

"Yeah, sounds like both of them," Sokka acknowledged, grinning. "But apparently our code worked perfectly, right? The hair thing… seems Zuko never even noticed it's our special warning for every suspicious situation, right?"

"He'd never be sharp enough to understand our superior intellects, are you really surprised?" Azula smirked, still basking in the sensual strength of his muscular back. "The question is, though… how, exactly, are we going to break this to Zuko now…?"

"Yeah, well…" Sokka said, chortling again, laughing as he pressed his brow to hers. "I seriously thought he'd want to kill me. I never imagined he'd… say he'd even give us his blessing?"

"He told you that?" Azula laughed. Sokka smiled and shrugged.

"Your brother's a bit silly, but I guess he does mean well. And… your question still stands," Sokka said, raising his eyebrows. "How will we tell him we've been going at it like rabaroos for about…"

"Five years?" Azula finished, closing her eyes with a proud smile. Sokka snorted and laughed against her chest. "I don't know how he never suspected it, frankly. You literally congratulated him and Suki, didn't even look like it bothered you at all once they told us…"

"Yeah…" Sokka smiled. "Because it didn't. As soon as I got close to you, I knew where I belonged. And it's right here, with you."

"Hmm, not necessarily here," Azula teased him. "You were looking into whatever excuse you could to spend time in the Fire Nation once we got started… and when Zuko asked me to be his representative in Republic City, you just happened to move there too. And now, oh, how shocking, you became ambassador for the Water Tribe in the Fire Nation exactly a week after I was brought back home… so, well, it can be anywhere, as long as we're together."

"Exactly," Sokka grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her upper breast. "You're my home. I'll chase after you wherever you may go."

"Sounds good to me, because you're mine too," she whispered, slipping her fingers through his smooth, loose hair. "Though that still doesn't answer how we'll ever tell him the truth."

"Hmm. How about we tell him we thought things over and realized he was right, and…"

"And let him believe he set us up successfully? Oh, but that's too considerate towards him…" Azula smirked. Sokka laughed against her chest again, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Letting him think he discovered we're soulmates when we first realized and acted upon it five years ago is just no fun."

"I guess," Sokka chuckled. "He was just so outraged…"

"Well, if he wants us together so badly, he should be thrilled once he finds out that we are," Azula smiled. Sokka grinned mischievously at her. "Regardless of how he finds out. Or what we say to explain…"

"We should just upfront announce our wedding," Sokka decided. Azula snorted and laughed yet again. "Oh, you think it's funny? C'mon, don't play coy now, you said you'd marry me…"

"I'm just imagining his face if we show up at breakfast tomorrow and blatantly announce we're engaged," Azula laughed, tightening her embrace around her also-laughing lover. "Though it's probably not a great idea, he'll assume we're making fun of him again…"

"He always assumes that. Your brother is hopeless," Sokka smiled. "Well, you know what? I think… we just have to stop hiding. As in…"

"Oh, I don't think I'm ready to have sex in a public place, but if you really think that's a good idea…"

"No!" Sokka laughed, shaking his head and kissing her lips. Azula snickered, letting him tickle her in retaliation for her teasing. "I mean… let's just stop avoiding each other or acting as aloof and distant as we usually do during the day. We'll just… walk out of here together in the morning, no sneaking around. Lots of hand-holding, and public displays of affection…"

"And not quite in his face, we would be doing it casually, so people start talking, and rumors reach him…"Azula smiled slowly.

"And then when he sees us being stupidly, embarrassingly romantic, he'll either be smart enough to know we've been at this forever and that we only laughed yesterday because the irony of the situation was overwhelming…" Sokka chuckled. "Or he'll be silly enough to think we got together over our shared laughter at his ideas, and assume he's the entire reason our relationship began."

"Hmm… that is a good idea," Azula said, smirking. "Then, when our wedding arrives, we can talk about how long we've truly been together in our vows… and then he'll lose his shit in the middle of the temple."

"See? Perfect. We always have the best ideas, Azula," Sokka chuckled, kissing her again.

"That's what happens when two ridiculously smart people are as compatible as we are," Azula whispered, trailing her fingers over his cheek. "Ah… I guess a new life begins now, huh? If we'll finally be out in the open about our relationship…"

"Ready for it?" Sokka asked. "I know there will be some backlash, but…"

"But if I'm the trailblazing, controversial royal who marries a foreigner first, it might help Zuko, when his time comes," Azula said, smiling a little. "Putting up with whatever judgment the people may make of us should help everyone prepare for… well, what should come one day, as long as those two stay together."

"Which means, we're even doing them a favor. Perfect," Sokka grinned. "Ah, I can't wait for tomorrow now… pretending I'm single is a pain when all I want to do is scream to the world that I love you."

"I'm glad you feel like doing that…" Azula said, caressing his arm as she pulled him higher on the bed. "Though, well, I can't promise I'll join you in screaming that way. It sounds, eh, a little embarrassing…"

"Just a little?" Sokka asked, prodding her nose with his own playfully. "That's fine by me, if it's really just a little. I'll assume it's the shouting that embarrasses you, and not saying you love me"

"Indeed," Azula grinned, resting her head against his. "Tomorrow, then…?"

"Yeah… we'll see things through by tomorrow," Sokka said, taking her hand in his, to press his lips to her knuckles. "May the world know a Princess has conquered me completely."

"And may the world know a mighty warrior has conquered me," Azula grinned. "I don't really know how big a change this will be… but I think I'm ready for it."

"So am I," Sokka said, leaning close to kiss her softly.

Whether or not their truth would sit well with Zuko once he understood it in full remained to be seen – knowing Azula's overdramatic brother, he'd probably take everything the wrong way, or at least, he would until he saw irrefutable proof that they were happy together… that they had been, for a long time. That they would still be happy, no matter if their families, or friends, or the whole world, weren't ready to accept their love yet. For their bond was theirs, and only the two of them could decide its beginning or end… though, as things stood, the latter was simply unlikely to happen at all.

For in every kiss, in every breath, in every heartbeat they shared, their love was renewed, strengthened, cemented into their hearts and souls. And on the eve of the day that would certainly bring many changes to their lives, it was doubtless that they would continue to spend a lifetime falling in love with each other, drawn together without restraint, finding belonging and peace in each other's light and darkness, weaknesses and strengths, calms and storms alike. And as much as their relationship had already blossomed across five years, it seemed to the two blissful lovers that their journey was only just beginning…

...

Zuko smiled brightly as he made his way to his office, after receiving the petitioners of the day and dismissing them with either accepted or rejected requests, depending on how reasonable they might have been. Whether they were unpleasant or not, however, his mood appeared to be impervious to anything right now, all be it the result of the most successful distraction he could have hoped for, on the previous night. He wasn't usually so cheerful, anyone would confirm as much, but Suki certainly had ways to make a brightly happy man out of him, like no one else did…

Though as lost as he was in his own thoughts, delighted by remembering the events from the previous night, he caught the voices of whispering servants just before stepping into a corridor near the gardens.

"… Are you serious? They're really doing that in broad daylight?"

"Why do you think it happened? They always keep their mischief for nighttime, what do you think changed this time?

"Beats me, but I saw what I saw, if you don't believe me you can go watch them yourself…"

"Excuse me?"

The two gossiping servants squealed and squirmed away from him by sheer instinct: the male one appeared to have been the one to witness whatever they were discussing, so Zuko glanced at him.

"Where, exactly, are you saying you saw… whatever you saw?" he asked, with an awkward grin.

"J-just… over there? By the cherry trees you planted last year, Lord Zuko," said the man, swallowing hard as he pointed in the right direction. Zuko smiled and nodded.

"Thank you."

He turned smoothly… and then stormed off at haste. How happy he'd been, his mood completely soothed, his heart rejoicing in the love of his life… and now this. That pair was up to no good again, it had to be them, they had to be doing some sort of wicked scheme together to mock him after he tried to pair them up…!

He stormed through the corridors until the cherry trees in question were in sight. There were a few more onlookers within those corridors, one who sported the familiar Kyoshi Warrior uniform, and beautiful auburn hair. Zuko snuck up to her quickly, placing a hand on the small of her back despite he probably shouldn't have…

"What's going on?" Zuko asked her, unwilling to glance at the trees just yet.

"What's with that face?" Suki asked, teasingly. "And here I thought this was exactly what you wanted…"

Her words gave him pause, and he glanced impulsively at the cherry tree…

To find Sokka and Azula were underneath its shade, sitting comfortably on the ground: Sokka's legs were spread open, enabling Azula to rest against his body, curled against him with a blissful grin on her face. And when petals fell upon her frame, Sokka would fish them out – and she returned the favor too, all between quiet laughter.

"W-what… what is…?" Zuko gasped, his eyes impossibly wide. Suki, beside him, giggled.

"I guess some dreams do come true, Zuko," she said, though she had to loop an arm around his waist quickly when it looked like he might outright lose his balance. "Zuko?"

"Th-those two…" he said, blinking repeatedly, then rubbing his eyes, as though to ensure it wasn't just a dream…

And of course, he couldn't even pretend it was anymore, not when Azula pushed herself a little higher to kiss Sokka fully, boldly, with such shameless abandon it was clear she wanted the whole world to see it. And yet… the intimacy, the way they held each other, suggested that this was no prank, no attempt to make fun of Zuko for his failed attempts to match them on the previous day. No… there was no way they'd smile at each other so earnestly if they weren't serious. He had never seen such a genuine, honest expression on his sister's face… or such a heartfelt, tender one on Sokka's. They only seemed to stop kissing to gaze at each other, and then they merely took to kissing anew, whispering words softly to each other, as though no one else was welcome to intrude… despite, as it was, most everyone in the Palace was either hearing about this or already rushing to see it with their own eyes, much as Zuko had.

"Zuko…?" Suki called him, smiling. "You okay?"

"It… it's fine. I'm fine. I… I was right," he chuckled. "Those two… they do belong together."

"I'm sorry you had to suffer so much to make sure it happened, though," Suki smiled awkwardly. "I still think it would be less rude not to intrude in people's personal lives, but… it didn't turn out so badly, did it?"

Oh, but perhaps it wasn't Zuko's doing, he had to acknowledge as much: the way they acted… it suggested a familiarity, a comfort that wasn't normal in blooming relationships. The way they had laughed the previous day… Zuko had assumed they were ridiculing him. But what if that wasn't it? What if the source of their laughter was actually that their relationship had been happening already, without his awareness, and they were relishing in such an ironic situation?

It was a possibility, most definitely. A rather blissful possibility, in his honest opinion. He'd have to ask them for more details later, he guessed… but as he watched them embracing lovingly, he knew that the most important part had happened already: his sister and his best friend had forged a unique bond, through which they had found true belonging, and genuine happiness. And he could only smile proudly for it, for this was exactly the blissful way of life he had known they could find in each other.

...

Alas, it is done! I thought I'd close my stories with a more humorous oneshot this time, rather than a wildly ambitious one. I honestly hadn't planned on going as crazy as I did with this event... but I regret nothing x'D Writing all these prompts was a blast. I'm grateful to everyone who has been supporting and enjoying my oneshots! I won't deny it, a lot of them warranted being more than oneshots, but because of a certain other fanfiction pursuit that takes over my entire existence, I'd never had the chance to flesh out ideas like Evil Ursa AU, or Azula joins the Gaang AU, or, of course, Aang breaks out of the iceberg many years earlier and saves the world with the parents of the traditional Team Avatar instead. This event presented many opportunities for me to finally put those ideas to good use, and I really think I'm satisfied with the work I did, which is easier said than done for a writer.

Thank you again for all the support, and special thanks to everyone who had a hand in making these Sokkla Saturdays a complete success. I'm beyond proud to have been worked alongside all of you, and I hope I continue to do so for many years to come! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this iteration of Sokkla Saturdays 2020!

[cake-writes]

Six (5/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Angst, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Fluff, Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Part Four / Master List

Put me down, you dick.

Yeah, he deserved that.

You’re a real asshole, Barnes, you know that?

Bucky absolutely did know that, and yes, he deserved that, too. He deserved each and every insult you flung his way. He internalized them, naturally, but he just couldn’t sit by and watch you kill yourself. He wouldn’t, not when you scared the hell out of him like that, when he found you all alone in the middle of the woods, unconscious and unresponsive. Although it may not have been the first time he’d seen you that way, it was the second time he thought the worst – and he panicked.

Your skin felt so cold to the touch, too cold, too clammy. He could just barely hear your shallow breaths if he listened closely enough – but he somehow kept his own steady and even despite the panic. Somehow managed to calm himself, ground himself, with gentle pats to your cheek and soft, whispered words.

Come on, pretty girl, wake up for me.

Pretty. Gorgeous. Inside and out, he’d come to realize. Platonic admiration.

At first, anyway.

He’d long since shoved the idea out of his head because you weren’t well, and neither was he. Didn’t stop the words from slipping out sometimes, though. Didn’t stop the fleeting thoughts every now and then, either.

Pretty girl. Sweetheart. Wake up for me.

No matter how sweetly Bucky tried to rouse you, however, you just wouldn’t wake, and it was all his fault. Again. He hadn’t had your six. Again.

He’d gotten on your case for months about the very thing that you couldn’t handle – drove you to starve yourself, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d made some stupid, offhand comment about your weight. It was a joke meant to lighten the mood, but in all actuality his carelessness had contributed to your downward spiral, or maybe he’d just caused it outright.

Malnourished. Dark circles, chapped lips. Half-dead, barely breathing.

His fault. All his fault.

You scared the absolute hell out of him, and rightfully so.

His fault. Always.

For all his worth, however, Bucky couldn’t quite keep his emotions in check – not during such a long, tiring, emotionally exhausting day, and as a result, he lashed out. Of course he did. He lost his temper, and he shouldn’t have. Not this time.

It certainly had something to do with the therapy session he’d attended early in the morning, the one that set him on edge for the entire day. His therapist had dredged up a hell of a lot of memories that he didn’t want to think about. Not today. Not ever. Memories about the war had been playing on a loop inside his head for hours – dark, grim, bloody memories where he’d seen at least half the men in his platoon meet their untimely deaths. Friends of his, left without a proper burial. And Italy – Italy was worse. Italy was where he’d been forced to sit by and watch even more die.

Just like now. Just like this.

Here you were, killing yourself, and all he could do was watch.

He couldn’t let that happen, and not just because he felt guilty. No, you were broken, too. Broken just like him. Two jagged pieces of glass – easily shattered, a total mess – and Bucky had found some solace in that, some comradery. If he didn’t know better, he would have called you a friend, but it wasn’t like he’d ever confided his secrets to you. Only the opposite. You’d confided in him. You’d trusted him.

Not anymore, you didn’t.

The first jab would have been when he brushed you off first thing. You’d trusted him last night, but he’d been too caught up in his own head this morning to know how to act, how to treat you – and then he found you like that, unconscious, and that ended up like this. Small fists pounding against his back, and each weak blow felt like a dagger. Death by a thousand cuts. One for each of his mistakes.

Then the barrage began to slow, before it stopped altogether, and he knew you’d given up.

Bucky, please. Don’t do this to me.

His stomach lurched at the beautifully broken syllables of his name. Quiet. Scared. Bucky.

You’d only just started calling him that recently. For months, the two of you had well and truly hated each other. You’d always driven him up a fucking wall; still did sometimes, if he was being honest and although things had become somewhat amicable, he’d never been able to open up to you. Not really. Not like how you did with him.

Why was he so afraid to trust you?

The minutes passed in insufferable silence, save for the rustle of wind in the trees and the sharp crunch of autumn leaves under every footstep. Your body sagged against him, lifeless and unmoving. You’d stopped fighting, stopped arguing, stopped caring.

That was what made him realize that he’d only won the battle, not the war. Quiet contemplation. Temporary surrender. He could take you in, but you wouldn’t comply.

When Bucky spotted the compound in the distance, he hesitated, because he knew.

Why the hell was he so afraid to trust you?

You’d done nothing but be honest with him the entire time he’d known you. You’d never lied to him, never tried to act like your disorder was anything other than it was – had you? You did try to hide it, of course you did, and he couldn’t fault you for that. He hid his problems, too. Even from you.

But relationships were a two-way street, and something had to give.

As he set you back down on your feet, his fingertips dug into your shoulders, gentle but firm. He used his grip to hold you steady because he was afraid to let go – afraid to trust you, trust that you’d be alright. He didn’t feel confident about it at all, but he let you go.

“What, aren’t you condemning me to hell?” you spat, like pure acid, but your voice sounded weak from crying. It bothered him more than it should have, and the dried tears on your cheeks made him feel even worse.

His fault.

“You’re just gonna fight some more if I take you in.” A statement, not a question. Level and even. “No sense in forcing you into treatment if you don’t care.”

At that, he caught a spark of recognition in your eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by righteous indignation and a frown. The moment his hands dropped back to his sides, he might have expected you to immediately turn heel and leave, maybe even run, but you didn’t. Instead, you just crossed your arms.

“No shit, Barnes. What tipped you off?”

Not ‘Bucky’ anymore.

He had to trust you. He had to give.

“It’s just…” This time he sounded a little more unsure, not at all like his calm, controlled demeanour whilst carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “If someone forced me into therapy a year ago, I don’t think I would have gone along with it.”

The implication was clear: you wouldn’t either.

That was when the sharp edge to your features started to soften, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer, too, even if it did still have some bite to it. “What changed your mind?”

“I think I wanted to move on.”

Honesty.

“And have you?”

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, already feeling defensive and out of his element because he knew the answer was ‘no’. He may have worked through some things with his therapist, but he’d never be able to move on. Not really.

Your derisive snort set him off in an instant. Mocking. Spiteful, and Bucky’s eyes snapped back to you. Here he was, opening up a little, trying to make amends, doing the best he fucking could and you thought it was funny—

But then he saw the smile on your lips, and those bitter words caught in his throat. You were smiling a little, smiling at him – a genuine smile, full of tears and empathy and care.

Pretty girl. Broken just like him.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” you croaked, hastily rubbing fresh tears away with the heel of your hand. The flush that came over your face made his heart stutter in his chest; not only were you right, but you were embarrassed about it. Why?

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, reaching up to pull your hand away. “Shit, I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His fault. Always.

You sniffled, small fingers lacing through larger vibranium like it was the most natural thing in the world. So small, so delicate, so god damned fragile—

A sob escaped you, followed by a choked, “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky.

Something broke inside of him, then, because his body reacted before his mind could catch up. Bucky let your hand go in favour of pulling you forward into his arms – cradled your cheek to his chest, and he soon discovered that you weren’t ice cold, not anymore. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about.”

“But you— you keep helping me and I don’t deserve it, not after being so— so—”

He felt your shoulders shake with every sob, and his stomach twisted into knots.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bucky told you softly, stroking your hair. Hot tears soaked through his t-shirt – his fault, always his fault, but this time he pushed the blame away to focus solely on you. “Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, you buried your face in his chest and cried – a real, proper cry, ugly and uncontrollable, just like last night. Smeared makeup and mascara likely left stains, but neither of you cared. Not with him holding you so close.

Warm. So warm. So right.

“I— I don’t wanna die,” came your hushed voice, muffled by his warmth, barely audible. “I’m scared. I don���t know what to do.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “We'll figure it out. Everything's gonna be okay.”

And for the first time, Bucky believed it, too.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

Part Six

[bidnezz]

Revenant [1/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary: 

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Something to note: This fic is extremely AU. I've fitted a lot of events that we know to be canon (such as dates of events happening) to fit my story, and the past events happened around the early 1900's, until present canon time. There are also many mentions of blood and wounds and lots of death in the fic, so please be wary if that's a no for you!

Chapter One

Rushing residents and evening traffic fills the bustling streets of New York as the surrounding sky begins to darken with the dusk of the setting sun. Nightlife begins as shadows emerge from the alleyways, and doors that lead to no good open with the creak of bad decisions. The Downworld rises to the occasion, drinks in-hand and smiles plastered. So, too, do the Nephilim of the New York Institute who patrol the streets to keep tabs on those unknowing of the dangers that lurk in the dark.

Alexander Lightwood stands alone, weighted with shoulders heavy and nervous energy surrounding him in his new office. 

Head of the Institute.

The words roll around his tongue, foreign in his mouth but synonymous with him now. It feels… odd. But welcome.

A knock brings him back, a light rapping of knuckles on the thick wooden door, followed by ebony hair and dark red lips encasing a grin that could only belong to his sister. “Alec,” she calls, her grin turning wry. “Or should I say Head of the Institute?”

“I’ve seen the position lost to better people than I, let’s not jinx this.” 

“People? Yes. Leaders?” Isabelle pauses for effect as she strides towards Alec, a dramatic flair he knows to always expect. “I haven’t seen a leader yet, more deserving than you, dear brother. You can be happy for yourself, Alec. Smile, gloat, live a little. Even in the confines of this tiny room.”

Hard as he tries, Alec can’t reign in the small smile that curves his lips. He won’t gloat, he won’t yell and cheer and celebrate. That’s not him. But he will allow himself to feel pride and happiness in this small moment in time with his sister, and he’ll lock it away as a cherished memory to strengthen their bond. This is a turning point for him, a chance to uphold the Lightwood name and make his parents proud. Finally, a chance for them to see exactly the type of leader they raised, a chance to prove that it was all worth it - will be worth it. A chance for him to look upon his mother’s face and for once see something other than barely concealed disappointment and contempt.

“Hey buddy,” A low rasp calls from the opened door to the office. Jace rests against the curved door frame, arms crossed and wide smile dimpling his cheeks. “Oh,” he starts, adjusting his posture to stand perfectly upright as he offers a small salute to Alec. “I guess I should be more proper in front of our new leader, eh?”

The twinkle in his eyes and the way his smile devolves into a shit-eating grin only pulls a small chuckle from Alec, and he reaches his arm out to grip Jace’s as he’s pulled into a rough, brotherly hug. It’s warm, comforting, and when Isabelle joins in - complete.

Right here, right now… this is the turning point for Alec. No more failing, no more letting anyone down. This is where his new life as a leader begins, where everything he’s worked towards shifts into what it was always meant to be. This is what he was born for.

So then why does it feel so empty?

There's a gnawing inside of his chest, a cavern of muddled introspection and half understanding. The goal was always this, the finish line has been crossed and his direction never clearer. But under the anxiety of being freshly anointed, if Alec were to peel away the layers of doubt and worry until he’s viewing his own satisfied ego, what else would he see? Happiness, of course, to some extent. Nothing more, and nothing less. Unfulfilled pockets inside of him that yearn in wonder, and desire for something more.

A mother’s love, perhaps. To be accepted and finally seen as enough. 

Yes. An affirmation from Maryse Lightwood herself, and Alec’s sure he’ll feel that last puzzle piece locked into place. ‘But for now,’ Alec thinks to himself as he watches Isabelle and Jace enraptured in a hilarious conversation no doubt at his expense, ‘I’ve got all I need right in front of me.’

With his day just beginning in the blossoming night, Alec prepares himself for the duties and responsibilities that lie ahead of him. 

On the other side of New York as the darkness creeps heavier, something more sinister begins to tear at the fabric that separates their realm from the rest.

---

A chime echoes through the halls of the Institute odd hours later, only a precursor to the dull bang as the wooden doors slam open to reveal a crowd of people in disarray. Alec, bent over a table in the main hall with the city’s layout and a small group of Shadowhunters, turns at the commotion brow raised and senses on alert.

“There’s a demon!” someone in the jumbled mess of bodies hurtling towards Alec proclaims. 

“He’s strong - too strong,” another one says with a gasp.

Jace steps forward, hand on the hilt of his seraph blade, the other on his stele. Prepared for battle, ready for a fight. “Where?”

Three voices begin to clamor all at once in a disastrous explanation that prompts Alec to step forward and raise a calming hand in the air. The voices stop, and Jace turns to him with a question at the ready. “One at a time or we won’t get anywhere. You,” Alec points towards the least frantic Shadowhunter of the trio, “what happened?”

The man winces as he takes a step forward, favoring the right side of his body. Red stains his clothes; it paints his pale face and each of his limbs. It’s blood, Alec notes easily, dried and congealing in some spots no doubt from the cold autumn wind on the way back to the Institute, but some of the wounds still bleed fresh. His blond hair is matted to his face with sweat and ichor and his lips are caked with a mixture of all three, none of it enough to hide the burgeoning purple bruises that are blooming on his face. If the man’s body trembles, Alec says nothing of it. 

“We were patrolling near Williamsburg,” the man begins, a slow nervous lilt to his voice. “There was an unusual spike in demon activity at dusk. We overheard residents saying it was a minor earthquake, but we didn’t believe that. We suspected it was related to the demons. And it was,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to Alec and the room now filled with curious Shadowhunters. “There was a horde of them, Ravener demons. We thought it was just a basic attack, we didn’t know why they were there, but we prepared to get rid of them anyway. It was in the middle of our fight with the demons that someone else showed up-“

“Magnus Bane!” sputters the man in the middle, specks of red flying from his mouth and smattering the floor. “He’s back. He’s back and he’s here for revenge! That's what he told us!”

A gasp echoes in the silent halls of The Institute, followed by the low thrum of chatter as Shadowhunters begin to talk. To the side, Alec catches Isabelle’s gaze, stony and reserved in thought, but sparking with worry for the day’s sudden turn of events. 

“Let’s get you guys cleaned up and healed,” Alec steps forward, stele in hand and iratze on his tongue.

“I-It doesn’t work,” the blond man whispers, shaking his head and peering up at Alec with furrowed brows. “We hid in the alleyways and tried to heal. Perhaps it’s the poison from the ichor, but I suspect it’s tied to the magic that Magnus Bane hit us with that makes our healing runes null.”

More chatter from the crowd of people, louder this time, and Alec nods once before turning to the person on his left. “Clary, see to it that they’re taken care of and bandaged properly. Triple check healing runes and make sure we get a full analysis report on all your findings.” It’s an order given with a tone Alec hopes conveys exactly what he’s thinking. He needs to know what’s causing the iratze’s to not work, he needs to know if it’s just a reaction to the ichor or something altogether more threatening. More than that, however, he needs discretion. Kept under wraps, with only Alec and trusted company to know the answers. With the way Clary keeps his firm gaze and offers a single, silent nod, Alec’s sure she understands. 

“Everyone else,” Alec speaks, loud and commanding. “Back to your duties.”

The room pauses, wary and hesitant with the new information discovered and seeping into every conspiracy forming in the back of their minds. They want answers, they want clarity, they want knowledge that Alec doesn’t yet have. Resigned to knowing they won’t get any more than this, they file out slowly with soft whispers and bowed heads towards one another. 

It’s only several seconds later when he notices the hesitation spread across the injured Shadowhunter’s faces, a look shared between the three of them. They’re brimming with the words they want to speak, information they’ve withheld, just barely. Only, they’re scared and Alec’s not sure if it’s a result of the situation they’ve just encountered, or the consequences they think they’ll have to face. Quietly, Alec steps towards them and grants a reassuring nod.

“Sir, Magnus Bane-” the Shadowhunter’s words catch in his throat. Alec hasn’t heard this name in years, not since training, and it already feels exhausted. “He didn’t let us leave with our lives for nothing. He gave us a warning.” There’s another pause, ominous in nature and the patience Alec composes himself with is waning thinner and thinner by the second. 

“Go on,” Alec presses, voice carefully neutral.

“He wanted us to relay to you that this is a Downworlder affair, and for the Shadowhunters not to meddle unless they’re prepared to begin a war with Edom.”

The words come out in a single breath, rushed and trembling. He suspects it was infinitely more intimidating and terrifying than it sounds coming from three battered and bloodied Shadowhunters, but the message is clear: Don’t get involved.

“Thank you,” Alec finds himself saying, thoughts already trailing into a plan of action, mind already gearing for only two options. The first, to take an observer's role in this newfound issue of Downworld battles. The second, to raise alert to the Clave and begin to fortify the Institute for the foreseeable attack once involvement is inevitable. Or perhaps a third option is available, Alec speculates to himself. 

Diplomacy. 

There’s very little he knows of Magnus Bane, what scraps of information left of him are withheld in Clave documents. He’ll gather up what he can find, form a case to present to an angry, vengeful Greater Demon, and see if some sort of reasoning can be made.

With a sigh, Alec thumbs away the blooming headache from his temples and heads towards his office, doubt already sprouting up in the corners of his tenuous plans. Nothing is for certain, of course. Who’s to say Magnus Bane will be a reasonable man with the quivering display he left for Alec at the doors of the Institute. The only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going to get to the bottom of what’s going on and take care of it personally, Greater Demon or not, New York is Alec’s city now. 

---

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn for decades until his banishment to Edom at the beginning of the 1900’s, was frequently described as a hedonist. Reports on him vary from year to year. Some decades he remained under the radar, shielded from the eyes of the Clave. Others, he became notorious for begetting impish troubles between the classes. The only consistency found in any and all reports of the former High Warlock is the tendency towards extravagance and self-indulgence, with a craving for social gatherings.

Leaning back in his seat, Alec traces a finger along the case of his device and focuses on two words. 

High Warlock. 

He was obviously well-liked at some point in time, formidable enough to be deemed a worthy leader, and charismatic enough to be seen as an ambassador for other Warlocks. There must have been great strength at his hands, and greater support backing him to attain the level of priority that he gained.

So… what happened?

Power, clearly, and too much of it. The same Warlocks who hoisted him up petitioned to get him banished, cried his name in the streets of Brooklyn and swore his downfall.

And they made it happen.

Warlocks from all parts of New York flocked and rallied towards Brooklyn in hopes of seeing the demise of one Magnus Bane. Clave reports account for groups gathering outside of his apartment, banding together to peel away any protection shields cast up in defense. Among them, a leader: Lorenzo Rey.

The Clave watched from the shadows, vowed to not get involved in affairs they deemed less than worthy, but insisted on documenting it all. And Downworlders are the definition of unworthy in the Clave’s eyes. 

There’s a nagging in the back of Alec’s mind, a wonder if anyone tried to help, tried to stop it. If there was another way. 

But no, Downworlder affairs need not be meddled in, especially when Shadowhunters were never involved in the first place.

With a sigh, he sets down the reports and rubs at the bridge of his nose. What makes this situation any different? Magnus Bane threatened for Shadowhunters not to get involved. He sent a message back in the form of barely living soldiers who were just doing their duty, a message sent loud, but not so clear.

“Are you going to report this to the Clave?” Isabelle’s voice pierces through his thoughts, and Alec prides himself on only showing a fraction of surprise when he turns to face her.  

“Of course I am, Izzy. It’s my duty.”

His sister peers down at him from her spot on the corner of his desk, eyes scrutinizing every emotion that flickers across his face. She doesn’t seem appeased with whatever she finds. “You can wait if you want, Alec. You can see what happens next. Try your plans first and go to the Clave later with your findings.”

Alec scoffs. “And have my position rescinded for failure to uphold the most basic understanding of status? The Clave will know everything I know, because that is what is right. They’ll know the best course of action, because they know Magnus Bane and what he’s capable of.”

Isabelle watches him for several long moments, trying to read for any hint of something to give away any of the thoughts running through Alec’s head. When she receives nothing, she nods and reaches for the handheld with the last report Alec was reading, and holds it in front of herself. She skims the words on the page, traces a slow finger from picture to picture, before settling on one that she sets down in front of Alec with a smile.

“You know, for a Greater Demon who’s here to enact his revenge on the Downworlders, he’s actually quite handsome.” Her lips pull into a smirk, and her eyes await a reaction, but Alec gives her none. He simply shrugs and locks the screen of the handheld. “He was, at least. Who knows what he looks like now after a hundred years in Edom.”

And honestly, the last thing Alec wants to focus on is the physical features of a Demon here to cause chaos. He doesn’t want to think about the picture of Magnus Bane in Clave documents, drink in hand and that perfectly tailored suit fitting his body, smiling at the photographer with his dark-rimmed eyes. It doesn’t matter what Magnus Bane looked like then, or even now. The only thing that matters now is the information he’s managed to scrounge up from every instance of this Demon’s name in Clave history, and how he can use that knowledge to his advantage. 

Magnus Bane was cunning, sneaky, and smart in the early 1900’s. He was dangerous then, and Alec’s not going to believe that Edom did anything but magnify that danger after a century of letting his anger fester.

---

Moonlight spills through the windows, casts soft light along the path Alex takes as he makes his way, resigned, towards the infirmary. 

The halls of the Institute are sparse with Shadowhunters now gathered in the training hall and library in hopes of strengthening themselves for whatever battle they foresee coming. It’s all for naught, Alec thinks to himself as he recounts the lackluster conversation that transpired between him and his parents just an hour ago, accompanied by Inquisitor Herondale. 

“You’re to remain on the outside and cease any and all involvement in these Downworlder... squabbles.” Herondale’s voice had cut sharp and left no room for questions. Squabbles. That’s the extent that the Clave had watered this threat down to. A Greater Demon, capable of stripping away their ability to heal without the use of mundane technology. A Downworld squabble. 

“Alec,” his mother’s stern voice had cut in, low and severe, “you need to make it absolutely clear to everyone that they are not to expose themselves to any fight that Magnus Bane chooses to partake in. Any patrolling Shadowhunters are there for one reason, and one reason only. To observe and record.”

Yes, to observe and record. To keep an account of what happened for Clave history. More ammunition for Shadowhunters to keep themselves separated from Downworlders, and information to add to the files of warlocks the Clave already suspects are dangerous. Fuel to the fire, all wrapped up in the innocent guise of history.

It doesn’t sit well with Alec, being a bystander to the havoc a furious Greater Demon might cause. The Clave won’t step in, they won’t be a helping hand in all of this, and Alec hates to sit on the sidelines of what could possibly be the worst decision in the history of the Accords. 

But the Clave has the final say on any Shadowhunter involvement in Downworld affairs. The Clave is every bit as responsible as Alec for whatever presides in Brooklyn in the coming days. The Clave doesn’t want to stop Magnus Bane, so why should Alec?

Alec’s fingers wrap around the cool metal of the door handle when he remembers his mother’s face, the expression she wore so unabashedly in front of him. Disappointment so thinly veiled underneath all of that carefully crafted apathy. Disappointment for the way Alec offered his solutions to Inquisitor Herondale? Disappointment in the way Alec questioned the motives of the Clave for hiding in the background when they could find an alternative to be part of the solution? Disappointment in Alec, for becoming Head of the Institute, clearly unprepared and unwelcome by even his own mother?

The smile that graced his mother’s features when he first saw her had been enough for the newly awakened pride inside of him, seeking the tiniest shred of affirmation from his harshest critic. How short-lived it was. How quickly had that pride deflated into embarrassment when he began to speak of the attack from Magnus Bane and his mother’s eye shrouded themselves in disapproval.

Perhaps he could have done something differently today. He could have proceeded with a different plan of action that would have appeased Herondale’s thirst for non-consequential knowledge, if he had only known. But now he does, and though redemption is not far off, it’s going to be an uphill battle. 

He’ll do better.

With a steadying breath, Alec pushes open the wooden doors to the infirmary and steps in.

There’s the distinct sterile scent of Iodine, and far more lines of IV that are hooked up than Alec is used to seeing. They’re a back up, mostly, for when an iratze isn’t enough, or the wounds are too infected with ichor to properly heal, but even then…

The click-clack of heels on tile brings his focus to the lithe redhead who steps towards him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. 

“It’s not the ichor,” Clary begins, wasting no time. She’s worked with Alec long enough to know he doesn’t think highly of beating around the bush or dawdling. “I was able to analyze the blood samples enough that I could detect a magical signature on all of them. Bane, of course, but it seems that the magic is keeping the wounds from healing. They’re not re-opening, so to speak, but they aren’t clotting and the stitches I’ve made don’t seem to be helping the process either. They just,” Clary inhales a deep sigh, and expels a shaky breath. “They just bleed. Not enough to drain them completely, but enough to cause substantial blood loss. With how much they’ve already lost and how much more they’re going to lose, they’re going to need several transfusions just to stay alive.”

Alec turns to face one of the Shadowhunters laying on the cold, white bed. There are bandages around his arms, patches of gauze scattered across his body and face and butterfly bandages to keep small wounds closed. But for every bandage, for every strip of white, there’s red that blots it. Small beads of blood that pool at each line of cuts until they brim over and cascade in a slow and steady spill of red that stains the sheets beneath. 

Three Shadowhunters in critical care, while not a huge blow, only paves the way for bigger hits in the future if Alec chooses to stand in the way of Magnus Bane. It’s not a risk he’s willing to take, to bet it all on the unknown, to subject the very same people who put him in this position to the torturous death sentence of blood loss. 

“What are we going to do, Alec?”

Clary’s voice is soft when she speaks, uncertainty replacing the confidence and assertion he’s so used to hearing. Yes, three Shadowhunters isn’t a big loss, but it’s an omen chilling enough that he doesn’t want to cause panic and worry within the Institute.

“We stay quiet about this. If anyone asks, the ichor and magic is causing a unique reaction that you’re working on a remedy for. They’ll be fine.”

They’ll be fine.

Even to himself, Alec sounds scared.

“Maybe we need to find Magnus Bane, we could talk to him and ask - “

“Ask what?” Alec snaps his attention towards Clary, who frowns up at him.

With a calculated pause, she surveys the room’s occupants. “We can ask him what he’s here for, what he’s trying to gain from this.” 

“He wants whoever sealed him away in Edom to pay.”

Clary’s brows crinkle together, and her eyes focus as she undoubtedly tries to recollect any information on Magnus Bane she’s heard of over the years. There’s not much to remember, not much spoken through word of mouth besides cautionary tales and warnings on why Downworlders must always be watched. The real meat of the situation is hidden in the files of cases over the years. Cases that litter Alec’s desk, pages of text that have been ingrained into his mind.

“Maybe we could help him,” She offers, timidly.

“Help him?”

“I know it sounds crazy, us helping a Greater Demon,” Clary begins. “We work on keeping the Downworld in order so to speak, right? We make sure that danger doesn't seep through into mundane territory, and so far it is. We can seek out Magnus Bane, see why he’s after these people, who they are, and what he’s trying to achieve. Maybe… Maybe helping him will bring more peace than leaving him to his own devices.”

Clary’s not wrong, at least to Alec she isn’t. It’s the better option, to help Magnus Bane with whatever mission he’s steering towards so he can be done with it. Get him out of the way before it becomes a bigger issue with the Clave. 

But the Clave. 

“The Inquisitor doesn’t want that,” Alec explains tersely.

Clary rolls her eyes and wears a common expression of distaste so many around him always do when the Clave is involved. “They aren’t here, Alec. The Clave only cares about the Law, with no regard to how it actually applies to all of our lives in the Institute. You’re our leader now. I understand you report back to the Clave, but they don’t have to know. At least not yet.”

It’s a temptation Alec won’t entertain for longer than a brief second. Going against the Clave is not an option. They’ve been given orders, and he’ll make sure they follow them. 

“We will not go-“

Alec’s words are interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of his phone that he answers immediately.

“Isabelle?”

“Alec,” There’s a loud crash that crackles through the receiver of the phone that instantly sets him on high alert. “Alec, he’s here. Magnus Bane, he’s come to Hotel DuMort with an army of demons. You need to come!”

“Hotel DuMort? What are you even doing there, Isabelle? You were told to stay out of this, you shouldn’t be anywhere near other Downworlders with Magnus Bane around!”

“Jace and I came to -“

There’s silence as the phone loses connection, and Alec can’t help the involuntary reaction of slamming his empty fist into one of the unoccupied beds of the infirmary. “Fuck,” he spits out, before shoving the phone into his pocket and making his way towards the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Clary shouts as she rushes to his side.

“You will stay here and stick to the plan, Morgenstern,” Alec grits through his teeth. 

“There is no plan, Alec! I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, giving people false hope when I can go with you and help.”

A moment of silence. A moment where Alec feels the heavy thud of his heartbeat in the palms of his hand where his fists are balled so tightly, before he exits the infirmary in quiet anger with Clary trailing behind him. 

---

There are screeches and screams that surround the Hotel DuMort as Alec and Clary gather closer. To mundanes, only quiet calm and the sounds of cars honking with idle engines fill the late night streets, but behind the screen of blissful oblivion lies something much darker, something far more inauspicious. 

Sparks of red shoot from one of the top floor windows, and Alec and Clary dodge the shards of glass that sprinkle down on them as they search for an entrance. Magic enchants the walls and tingles against Alec’s hand as he pushes through one of the side entrances not blocked off with deadbolts and hanging locks. It would be almost too easy for any mundane to just waltz in, and he’s sure under different circumstances this would be a red-flag for Hotel DuMort’s compliance with the Accords to be taken into question.

The room inside is dark and empty at first glance, but a gasp from Clary and the tip of his boots hitting something raised against the floor shows him that they’re not alone. 

A handful of lifeless bodies litter the floor in front of them, surrounded by darkness and sparks of electricity from the light sources that have been shot out and electrical wires exposed. Vampires. Demons. Nothing left alive.

It makes the fear of Jace and his sister being one of these figures all the more real, and he finds the weight of his feet carrying him faster towards the staircase door. Logically, he knows that’s not the case. He’d feel it through their bond if something happened to his parabatai, and he knows that Jace would throw himself into the line of fire first before he let anything happen to Isabelle. With Clary hot on his trail they race up the stairs, stamina and speed rune lighting up and fading quickly with the wave of their steles. It’s only a few quick minutes before they’re paused at the door to the 7th floor, only stopped by the body of a dead vampire blocking the entrance from the other side. With a grunt and a shove, Alec pushes the door open and they step through into a fight that’s already begun.

The sight of vampires greet them; teeth bared, claws sharp and blades in hand fighting off the demons that surround them, ash covering the floor they fight ont. Clary whispers his name, but he doesn’t turn to her, focused critically on the threats in front of them. Alec takes one step forward, close enough to the nearest vampire that he can almost get a word in, before he’s swiped at suddenly by a Ravener demon. 

He dodges the first attack with several hurried paces back and reaches for an arrow from his quiver, before the demon fizzles out before his eyes. The final blow in question is dealt by Clary, who heaves a breath and grins at Alec as she pulls her seraph blade back from the fading particles of the dying demon. It’s one miniscule victory short-lived, however, because in its place pour in three more from the broken windows that line the walls. Alec nocks an arrow into his bow quickly and chances a glance towards Clary out of the corner of his eye, who curls her lips back in a grimace and readies for a fight. 

Together, they take them out. One after another, an onslaught of demons rush and growl and shriek in attack. None of them get close enough to injure, though all of them try, and it’s not until the remaining few pull back and crawl through the windows that Alec realizes they’re not retreating for the sake of defeat.

“Upstairs,” Alec breathes, ragged. “Isabelle and Jace must be upstairs.”

“The demons are no-doubt being called back by Magnus Bane. We need to get up there.”

A hiss from the side catches their attention, a wounded vampire covered in blood and ichor. “Going up there is a death sentence. Your other Shadowhunters were already doomed before they’d even reach the top floor..”

There’s only a brief look of worry shared between them, before Clary and Alec are racing up the next staircase in search of Isabelle and Jace. Jace isn’t dead, he knows for a fact, but the possibility of Isabelle being injured fuels him up the next flights of stairs that tug at his parabatai bond. They’re close, he can feel Jace and the feelings being pushed through the bond right now. Confusion, anger, worry… Fear.

Fear of Magnus Bane?

They’re close, so close now, and Alec knows he’ll finally get answers to all of the questions and worries pouring through their minds as he and Clary push through that final door that leads them to the top floor of Hotel DuMort. 

Relief overcomes him, spreads warmth through his body as he sees the golden blond of Jace’s hair, and his sister right beside him across the room. But it’s replaced, almost immediately, when he spots the scene that surrounds them.

In the middle of the room are two figures, Camille Belcourt who Alec knows to be the leader of the Brooklyn Vampire Clan, and someone he can only presume to be Magnus Bane.The pair of them ensconced in a circle of high red flames that prevent anyone from leaving or entering. There’s a conversation happening inside of it, screaming and yelling from Camille that Alec can’t hear through the roar and heat of fire, and wild gestures from Magnus Bane, whose back is turned to he and Clary. 

Scattered around the room are clusters of vampires fighting off the unending horde of demons, unsuccessful in their endeavors. Jace and Isabelle are with them, the crack of his sister’s whip snapping louder than the crackling of fire that licks at Alec as he steps nearer. There’s no way around the fire, no way for them to get any closer even as he and Clary fight their way through the demons rushing towards them. 

So they fight, continuously with only precious seconds in between each attack for them to catch their breath and gather their strength, but Alec doesn’t tire as the ichor mingles with the sweat soaking his clothes and coating his skin. He won’t give up until he finds a way to Isabelle and Jace, and he’ll die trying if he has to.

Another demon jumps at him, and this one catches Alec at an angle that his arrow can’t quite reach in time. The knowledge of being cut hits first, followed shortly after by the pain in his shoulder. It stings and burns, not from the fire, but from the magic laced and infused deeply within the demons themselves. 

It’s a minor inconvenience, he tells himself as he reaches for the seraph blade holstered to his thigh and jabs it into the back of the demon as he dodges a second attack. It hurts, but it’s nothing he can’t stand, nothing an iratze won’t heal.

It’s a lie he knows to be true. He can feel the magic tingling against his skin where the blood begins to seep from the shallow wound. He’ll be fine for now, at least long enough to get them out of the building and back into the safety of the Institute. 

A grunt beside him brings him back into the fight and he turns to see Clary swing her weapon into the skull of the demon closest to her, while kicking another into the fire beside her that consumes the demon with a sizzling crack. It’s almost more effective to use the fire to their advantage, Alec realizes as he and Clary share a knowing look. They change tactics quickly, rushing towards the demons from the outskirts of the room, boots thudding heavily against the hardened exoskeleton of the demons as they rush towards them. The vampires nearby take note, exhausted and battered far more than the two of them, and begin to follow suit.

It’s not long before the flocks of demons that pour into the room fade into a more sparse area of coverage and everyone involved in the small battle can take longer than a moment's breath. 

Whispers and speculation fill the silence when only a few demons are left remaining, being fought off by courageous vampires with a sudden need to direct their adrenaline. In the middle of the room the fire howls fiercer, brighter and hotter as Camille and Magnus continue to occupy the center, closer than ever to each other. 

There’s discourse, still an argument being had if the curl of the Magnus’ fist and Camille’s bared teeth are anything to go off of. It’s still too loud to hear the topic at hand, something unsettling and stormy brewing between the two, but then suddenly something shifts in Camille’s incensed demeanor. 

It’s as if a switch has flipped, as if the anger has evaporated with the heat of the flames, and left in its place a barrage of tears that trickle down her face. She’s frustrated, Alec can see it in the square of her shoulders, but she’s given up the fight to Magnus. Part of him knows it’s not his place to care about the outcome of the events that are unfolding before them, that he has other more pressing matters at hand, such as getting to Jace and Isabelle. But the flames don’t give an inch of slack, and the path to them is blocked almost entirely by dead bodies and debris. 

A pale hand reaches up, contrasting shockingly to the deep tan of Magnus’ cheek where it rests, color that Alec can see isn’t just the result of the shadows from the fire. From Alec’s spot behind Magnus, he can’t see the expression he wears or the effect this gesture has on him. What he can see, though, is the tense of his back through the black blazer that fits his body, and the way he straightens out the length of himself when presented with the vulnerability of Camille. 

And Camille, for all her false innocence and shrewd manner over the years, seems genuine for once. 

With rapt attention, Alec watches every step closer she takes.He can feel rather than hear the staccato click of her heels along the marble floor for every inch of distance she closes. He should look away, he thinks in a moment of polite weakness. 

But, no.

This is a deliberate display, a show the two of them are putting on for any Downworlder, Shadowhunter, or Mundane who will watch. And so he does. 

He watches, enraptured, as Camille raises herself onto the balls of her feet, black stilettos lifting and pale arms encircling the strong shoulders of the Greater Demon before her. He watches still, as the bright red lipstick that stains her lips also colors Magnus’ cheek and smears against their skin when she ducks her head into the junction of his neck. It’s almost too intimate for him to continue watching, the moment surely too much for them to all be allowed to partake in. It feels sinful, in a way. Alec almost averts his eyes, guiltily casting his gaze downward, when he catches Magnus’ hand reflecting back to him the brightest flames through the rings that adorn the fingers curling into the dark long locks of Camille’s hair.

Most importantly, in his bashfully thorough scrutiny of the scene before him, he watches Magnus’ other hand, unnoticed and dim in the shadows of their two bodies. A hand that ignites a soft blue nearly unseen through the fire, magic that produces a wooden stake to spear straight into the unsuspecting heart laid out before him.

A gasp, a lungful of staggered breathing fills Camille as she cries out in the same silent shock Alec feels vibrating through him. Her body, lithe and slender and her deep burgundy dress darken with color as she twitches and fades before them into slow settling ash on the floor, graceful and beautiful in ways that only the leader of the New York vampire clan could manage. But Alec pays her no mind as her memory slips lower beneath the line of his vision, all the while his eyes remain steadfast on the Demon before him. On Magnus Bane.

The fire lets up minutes later, and the surviving vampires rush towards Camille with their inhuman speed, crying and bemoaning the loss of their leader with wails that echo in the silence now befalling the room. There’s a tug in the pit of his stomach, a pull that he recognizes clearly as his parabatai bond. He should follow it to Jace, to Isabelle and undoubtedly Clary who is likely already with them. He knows, logically, what he should do now. He knows what’s expected of him, and he knows what’s right. And yet… 

Now that he knows for certain his siblings are safe, there are more important matters at hand. Like the fact that Magnus Bane now stands in front of him, piercing Alec with golden eyes and the hardened exterior of a Greater Demon who shows no remorse for having just killed someone. 

Time seems to move slowly as Magnus lifts a hand and summons a portal, an endless swirl of darkness that will release him from the destruction he’s leaving behind, that will take him further from the answers Alec seeks. Magnus turns then, takes one step into the void and the flow of time accelerates so quickly that in that instant Alec doesn’t realize he’s stepping through the portal with him until the roar of magic deafens him to the sounds of his sister’s call.

[raceydays-hopelesshaze]

Dean tries to tell Cas how he feels but things don’t go to plan, angst, ~1800 words

This was it. The last rest before the final battle. Well, “rest” was the goal but no one in the bunker was having a very peaceful night’s sleep. They were off to kill God in the morning and afterwards, nothing would be the same. Assuming there will be an “afterwards”. They all know that they, and the world, could all be dead in within 24 hours so Team Free Will 2.0 spent that evening getting things off of their chests and saying goodbyes – subtlety, of course. Real goodbyes this early would make tomorrow’s impossible task just seem more impossible and suicidal.

Dean had managed to get out most of what he wanted to tell his family, except for one thing. He still hadn’t told Cas how feels about him – how could he? And now he was lying on his bed thinking about it. With Cas just down the hall and Rowena’s warning about dying with regrets still in his mind. It could all be over and Cas would never know. This was his last chance, maybe their last chance. Last night on Earth and all that…

With a newfound courage, Dean got up and started his pilgrimage to the angel’s room. And hey, if Cas rejects him, he’ll be too preoccupied with trying to save the world to be heartbroken. Dean stopped in front of Cas’s door. The light was on which meant he was awake, of course he was, and Dean knocked. When he heard footsteps moving towards the door, Dean suddenly realized that he ran over to Castiel’s door in the middle of the night straight from bed and he tried to quickly fix his hair so he was at least somewhat presentable. Hot dog pajamas and noodle socks weren’t exactly the best outfit for professions of undying love, but he was already at the door and it was too late to change or backout.

Cas opened the door and smiled softly before becoming slightly concerned, “Dean? I thought you would be sleeping by now, has something happened?”

“No, no Cas, nothing happened I just… Do you mind if we talk?”

“Not at all, you know I enjoy our time together.” Cas held the door open for Dean to step inside then sat at the end of his bed. Nervous, Dean paced for a few moments while Cas squinted and tilted his head in confusion as he waited for Dean to settle down. After seeing Cas’s signature LookTM, Dean sat beside him and started to talk.

“Cas, we’ve known each other for a long time, right? You’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose that. But- We’ve been through a lot together. And I think I owe you, and myself, the truth. I’ve been… lying for a while now, because the truth is, we’re not brothers. We’re not family in that way.”

“Oh,” Cas looked dejected, he felt as if his worst and deepest fears had been confirmed. Dean didn’t want him. He opened his mouth to apologize but Dean stopped him before he could get a word out.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, Cas. Please, just let me get through this.” Cas stayed where he was but couldn’t bring himself to look back up at Dean. “Cas, I don’t see you as my brother. The truth is… Cas when you’re not here I can’t function. I can’t concentrate, I sure as hell can’t relax, and I just count the hours until you’re back. When you do eventually come back, like you always seem to come back,” Dean fought the urge to run his hand through Castiel’s hair. It was a fight he didn’t altogether win because his hand had ever so slightly reached for Cas – which Cas happened to notice. “When you do come back home, I’m at my happiest. The world is less of a dumpster fire and things seem brighter.”

Cas was on edge. He knew what could make him happy and he knew the consequences. He may not be completely adept at interpreting human emotions and it could just be that he was seeing what he wanted to see, but he couldn’t take that risk. This had to stop, “Dean-“

“Cas let me finish, please. The last time you died, a part of me – most of me – died too. And it didn’t come back until you did. You are my hope, Cas. But losing you knowing that I never told you made the pain worse and I can’t go into tomorrow without talking to you first.”

“Dean-!”

“Cas the truth is –”

“Dean stop!”

“I love you.” Dean took Castiel’s hands in his and looked at him with all of the love and warmth he could express with his eyes. Cas froze. He had wanted to hear Dean say those words for so long, but not now. Why did it have to be now? Somehow this was worse than Dean telling him he wasn’t wanted and rejecting him because now it was up to him to reject Dean and break both of their hearts. Castiel pulled his hands away from Dean for the first time.

“I can’t,” he looked down again.

“W-what?” Dean knew rejection was a strong possibility but hearing it out loud was too much. But then he noticed something was off. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but something about what Cas had said was just wrong. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I just can’t.” He didn’t want to tell Dean why and it was probably better not to in case Dean tried to find a way to break the deal. But Dean wasn’t taking his answer at face value.

“Can’t or don’t? I love you. If you don’t love me, just tell me! If you _can’t _love me, then tell me why! Is it an angel thing? A rule or something? I know I’m just some human and I don’t deserve something as good as you – ”

“Never say that, Dean. You deserve the world.” Cas’ eyes snapped to meet Dean’s as he said it. Cas’ brow was furled and his voice was stern but there was an unmistakable hint of sadness in his eyes. Dean wanted to make that sadness go away.

“You are my world. I want you.” Dean reached for Castiel’s hands again and cupped his cheek with the other, hoping Cas wouldn’t pull away. Instead, Cas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, savoring the warmth and the light pressure. Dean took the opportunity to stroke Cas’ cheek with this thumb. It was then that Castiel opened his eyes to look at Dean and understood why green evokes a feeling of safety for humans. Looking into his eyes felt like everything was going to be okay, like everything was exactly as it should be.

Slowly, Dean leaned in for a kiss, not entirely sure of how Cas would react. Any doubts were unnecessary though, and Cas met him in the middle. It was soft and slow, but its effect was anything but. When they broke apart, they pressed their foreheads together, not wanting to lose the closeness they were enjoying.

“I love you too.” It felt good to say. It all felt good. Saying he loved Dean, Dean saying he loved him, their kiss. But that was the problem, and Cas remembered he wasn’t allowed to have this after all. No matter how safe Dean’s gaze made him feel, it couldn’t protect him from what was surely to come next. “And I’m sorry, Dean. You made me happier than I thought possible and I wish we could have had more time together.”

That startled Dean. He pulled away to get a better look at Cas, to try and figure out what was happening.

“What do you mean?” Cas opened his mouth to reply, but before he could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of laughter from somewhere in the room.

“Time to pay up!” sneered the dark figure that was appearing before them. Dean sprang up from the bed and tried reaching for his gun before remembering he was in his pajamas. Whatever was happening, he didn’t have anything on him that could stop it.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Who am I? You don’t know?” more laughter. Dean wished he could pump it full of lead and shut it up. “Well, Castiel, do you want to tell him the secret you’ve been hiding since Jack went to Heaven, or should I?” It may be about to drag Cas into nothingness, but it wanted to mess with them a little first and drag out Cas’ torture.

“Cas, what is it talking about?” he turned to Cas who was presently standing up as well. Dean didn’t want to believe Cas was keeping anything from him, but after seeing Cas avert his eyes and seemingly accept what was unfolding, his stomach dropped. “Cas!” Cas turned to him but still couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“I made a deal to go to the Empty in exchange for Jack’s soul going to Heaven, and it would only come for me when I allowed myself happiness.”

This was a nightmare. Of all the bad ways he thought this conversation could end, Dean never imagined it would end like this. That Cas would end like this. Cas tried to stop him, but he kept going and now Cas was going to die. This can’t be happening.

“No! Damnit, Cas! I can’t – I can’t lose you again! Please!” He was shaking Cas’ shoulders at this point, holding tight and refusing to let go. Cas lifted his eyes again and Dean almost wished he hadn’t for how defeated and guilty they looked.

“I’m sorry my leaving has come at such an important time, but I want you to know that I don’t regret any of it. I love you, Dean.” Cas reached over to grip Dean’s shoulder, the same spot where gripped him tight all those years ago.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The entity grabbed Cas by the collar and ripped him from Dean’s hands. Suddenly, everything was too real and too fast. Cas strengthened his hold on Dean in a desperate attempt to have him for just a little while longer before he was consumed by emptiness.

“I’m sorry! I love you!” he shouted as he was being separated from the love of his very long life. A life that was coming to an end.

“Cas!” Dean tried to out and grab Cas, but it was too late. Cas was being swallowed by the darkness of the Empty and then he was gone. The room looked untouched, as if what happened inside of it hadn’t just destroyed Dean.

“Cas?” he called out to the now barren room. There was no answer. There never would be from now on. Cas could never come back to him. Cas may have been the one that was taken, but it was this world that felt empty without him.

[tamayokny]

family shopping trip; kanera week 2020

Hi, everyone! I hope you have all enjoyed Kanera Week. Here is my small contribution to it. I wrote this the week before I started back university, and I found myself enjoying it as I stressed for the first week! Now here I am, about to continue on to week three and still in an uproar, LOL. Seeing all of your creations, though? It has brought relief to me. I hope this gift returns the favor!

Special thanks to Nikki and Sara for hosting @kaneraweek. Seriously, you guys are amazing!

[AO3 LINK] 

sypnosis: Kanan, Hera, and their family take a last minute trip to Walmart. It goes as well as one would expect.

For Kanera Week, Day 7: Family.

(I apologize if formatting is weird. We’re currently having disagreements with each other.)

Sitting in the Walmart parking lot at 9:50 in the evening was not part of Kanan’s Wednesday plans. Yet here he was, in the passenger seat as Hera maneuvered into one of the parking spaces perfectly, van jerking when she set it to park.

“When we get inside, you get what you need and go. We are on the clock, there’s no time for games,” Kanan warned his family. “Once you’re done getting whatever it is, you find Hera. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Ezra, Sabine, and Garazeb echoed altogether, slight wit in their tones.

“He especially means you, Ezra,” Sabine quipped from the middle row, a teasing grin forming on her face.

“Shut up!” Ezra retaliated, swatting at Sabine’s head. Sabine dodged out of his reach and pressed herself against the car door.

“Don’t fight in front of Jacen,” Hera chided.

“Knock it off,” Kanan translated. “Everyone know what they need?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Ezra and Sabine rushed out of the van, charging through the parking lot and into the store. Garazeb was climbing out from the backseat, grumbling about how those good-for-nothing kids just left him behind.

“You think you would get used to it,” Kanan mused as he unbuckled his seat belt and proceeded to get out of the van.

“Oh, not you too!” Garazeb groaned, slamming the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Kanan and Hera were the last ones to get out. Hera was busy with making sure the headlights were turned off before exiting the driver’s seat and getting Jacen. Kanan was busy making sure he was exiting the van safely, getting his white cane ready as he had to venture into a hellhole with his chaotic family.

“You ready?” Hera came up to his side, Jacen curling in her arms.

“Yeah,” Kanan replied. “Let’s go.”

The couple and their small son walked briskly across the parking lot, the tapping of Kanan’s cane echoing off the asphalt.

“Remind me again: why are we here at ten o’clock at night?” Kanan asked Hera, trying his best not to sound agitated.

“Because Ezra and Sabine forgot that they had projects to complete, and Zeb came along for a beer run,” Hera reminded her husband as she grabbed a cart, promptly placing Jacen in the child seat. “We also need to restock on groceries, we’re running low this week.”

“It’s what we get for sending Zeb and Ezra out to do the shopping on Saturday,” Kanan sighed. Hera laughed.

“Well, it gives us a family adventure. How many can say that they take a trip to Walmart at 10 o’clock on a Wednesday night?”

“A lot of people.”

* * * * *

When Hera said that they needed to restock on groceries, they really needed to restock on groceries. 

“This is going to take longer than expected,” Hera noted in an apologetic tone.

“When it’s our family, expect the unexpected,” Kanan mused. He smiled as he felt his son’s chubby hand toying with the hand Kanan had resting on the handlebar. 

Hera snorted as she grabbed the next item from her grocery list. “You got that right.”

“Besides being out so late, I am enjoying this,” Kanan added thoughtfully. While it’s true that he wasn’t exactly happy with Ezra and Sabine’s forgetfulness, he did enjoy the time he spent with his family.

“Well, you always did like to do the grocery shopping,” Hera smiled. 

“You can thank my mom for that. I always loved running errands with her,” Kanan reminisced. “And wherever you go, I go. Mostly.”

“Right. I don’t think you could do my job,” Hera joked, before reaching up to kiss her husband. “Now—what is it?”

Kanan had frozen up on the spot, a certain feeling of intuition washing over him. This specific feeling happened when—

“Ezra and Sabine is doing something dumb. I know it.”

GARAZEB. GARAZEB. GARAZEB.

Kanan sighed as his phone rang. Having a feeling knowing what he was calling for, Kanan answered the call.

“Yes?”

“Ezra and Sabine are arguing about movies.”

“Put me on speaker.”

Garazeb followed Kanan’s command, putting his phone on speaker. He could hear the two teenagers bickering (something about Studio Ghibli? Kanan wasn’t totally sure), and he was sure that Hera and Jacen could hear the fight, as Hera shot him a perplexed look while Jacen babbled happily, recognizing the voices.

“Hey!” Kanan barked out. The arguing ceased almost immediately as Ezra and Sabine heard the authority. “What did I say? Get what you need and meet Hera and I!”

“But—!”

“No buts,” Kanan interrupted. “We are out late enough already, and Jacen is getting tired—”

“Unlikely.”

“—and need I remind you that you both have school tomorrow?” Ezra and Sabine didn’t say anything else, which made Kanan feel triumph. “Good to hear.”

Kanan hung up without another word. Hera looked at him, and Kanan didn’t need his sight to know that she was thinking.

“Why is Zeb with them?”

“I—” Kanan began but stopped short. She was right. Why was he with them? He should be in the frozen foods and alcohol aisles of this stupid store.

“And did you really use our son to control them?”

Kanan smirked as he could hear the teasing in Hera’s voice.

“They don’t always listen to me, you know. Sometimes, it’s good to guilt-trip big siblings.”

“They know Jacen is somewhat of a night owl,” Hera pointed out.

Kanan shrugged. “Yeah, well...they’re going to get back on track.”

“You think?” If Hera had to be honest, she knew Sabine and Ezra were going to cause more ruckus. Kanan had to know as well, but he was holding on to some shred of faith that they would get their act together.

It was going to be an interesting trip, as if it wasn't already. * * * * * Hera had to get more underwear and Kanan was wondering if she had put everything on the backburner, because purchasing underwear was not on their weekly shopping list.

“Why do you need it?” Kanan asked.

“The wire broke in one bra, and both Ezra and Zeb need more boxers,” Hera explained. She began to walk around a rack when she suddenly stopped.

“What’s going on?” Kanan asked, sensing her still figure.

“It’s Ezra and Sabine. Ezra’s holding a bra out in front him. I think they’re goofing off.”

“EZRA!”

“GAH!” Ezra yelped, throwing the article of clothing away from him. He ran off, Sabine right on his heels, laughing, before either Kanan or Hera could question or scold them.

Kanan felt like he aged ten more years. This was starting to be a long night for him.

“For the love of—let’s just go.”

The couple continued to navigate through the aisles, with Kanan pushing the cart and entertaining their young son while Hera picked out what they needed. Hera would talk to Kanan often, asking his opinion on what they needed and if he had any preferences. She would make jokes that would cause Kanan to laugh, with Jacen giggling along as a result.

Kanan cherished these moments. This family that he had: Hera, Garazeb, the kids...despite what he may say or present to the world, he loved them. 

SABINE. SABINE. SABINE.

For the second time that night, Kanan’s phone rang. This time it was Sabine. Kanan was quick to accept the call.

“Yes?” Kanan answered.

“What’s our budget?” Sabine asked. Kanan exhaled in relief, knowing that she was at least focused on her task as of right now.

“Depends on what you need. You know our budget system.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Sabine hung up, leaving Kanan to put his phone away.

“It sounds like Sabine is on track,” Hera observed.

“Better than Ezra,” Kanan agreed. “I know he’s trying, but he cannot afford to fail his assignment...that’s due in fourteen hours.”

“He’ll get it done. It’s not that hard, is it?”

“It sounds like it’s not, but you know how he is. Procrastinating until the last minute, goofing off in the meantime...”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Kanan scowled. “I know you’re not talking about me.”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten all the stories your mother has told me?” Hera questioned. “All about a rowdy little boy, who, while doing his work was also known to be quite the troublemaker?”

Kanan deflated, knowing Hera wasn’t far off. 

“I wasn’t a troublemaker. I just caused mischief,” Kanan half-heartedly defended. “And don’t forget inquisitive. I was always asking questions.”

“Sounds like a teenaged boy we know now.”

Kanan stopped, as he heard familiar yells from the back of the store.

“Isn’t that Ezra and Garazeb?” Hera asked.

“Yes,” Kanan gritted out. “I’ll be right back.”

Kanan left Hera and Jacen, navigating his way to the sound of the yelling. As he got closer, he could hear hollow plastic bouncing and clattering against each other. Kanan narrowed his eyes.

“Ahem.”

Kanan couldn’t see them, but he was sure that they froze in position, with one of them dropping the item in their hand.

“What aisle are we in?” Kanan asked, even though he already had a good idea already.

Garazeb was the one to speak up.

“The toy aisle.”

“And why are we in the toy aisle?”

“...because we’re bored?”

Kanan sighed, shaking his head as his hands found purchase on his hips. He was sure he was mimicking both Hera and his mother’s “mom pose”, but he found himself not caring in the slightest.

“Garazeb, you go finish your own shopping list. Ezra, lead me to the art supply aisle. Now.”

“Alright, geezer, I’m leaving,” Garazeb informed Kanan. He then leered at Ezra, ruffling the teenager’s hair. “Have fun with daddy.”

Ezra scowled, swatting at Garazeb. “Shut up, you weirdo! It was your idea to battle it out!”

“Watch it, kid!” Garazeb retorted, pushing Ezra slightly. 

“Hey! You—” Ezra started, but stopped when Kanan tugged his arm.

“Let’s go. Now.”

Ezra grumbled, but led Kanan to where he needed to go anyway. Kanan made sure to send Hera a text (with Ezra proofreading), letting her know that he was with Ezra. * * * * * Jacen was playing with Hera’s phone when it rang. Startled by the vibration, Jacen threw the phone up in the air, but Hera was able to catch it. She scanned the ID, answering quickly.

“Yes?”

“I’m with Ezra, but Sabine’s not here. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Hera drawled out. “Is she in need of the same supplies as Ezra?”

“I think so,” Kanan answered. “...but I don’t know.”

Hera said nothing.

“Kan—”

CRASH!

“Shit!” Hera heard a loud curse from the next aisle over. She knew who it was by the sound of their voice.

“Hera, what was—”

“I gotta go. Bye.”

Hera hung up, throwing her phone into her purse before she pushed the cart and ran to the next aisle.

Hera found Garazeb in the aisle, looking as if he was about to lose it as he stared at broken bottles and alcohol substances on the floor.

“Uh, Zeb?”

Garazeb, who was staring at the mess, slowly looked up to meet Hera’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Zeb—”

“Really, Hera. It’s okay. I’ll even pay for this mess,” Garazeb stopped her, as he picked up a new case and placed it on the bottom rack of the shopping cart. “I’ll pay for this, too.”

“It’s fine, Zeb. We’re part of the same household,” Hera told him. 

“No, I insist.”

Hera opened her mouth to speak but shut it and shook her head to herself, ultimately deciding not to argue with Garazeb. She had to meet with Kanan, Ezra, and Sabine soon.

“Alright. Do you need anything else? I think all of your usual requests.”

“Yeah. I need a pack of cigarettes.” * * * * *

Everything was not fine.

Kanan was standing in the craft section of the door, arms crossed as he heard Ezra freak out over what to get. Apparently, the teenager either forgot or did not plan this out. Kanan was sure that it was a mixture of both scenarios.

“What is the assignment? It’s not like it’s the same as Sabine’s, is it?” Kanan questioned.

“No,” Ezra huffed, furrowing his eyebrows. Kanan could sense that he was frustrated so instead of teasing him, the older man decided to guide Ezra the best he could.

“So, what’s the assignment?” Kanan repeated. Ezra told him, which led to Kanan nodding, a sign that he was actively listening. “Okay, so you’ll probably just need some cardboard, some colored paper, and markers. Those are probably some of your starting items you need.”

“Okay,” Ezra said before he began to mumble to himself, a sign that he was focused on the task. Kanan hummed in contentment, sensing that Ezra’s frustration had begun to ebb away. As he stood there, however, he realized something.

“Where’s Sabine?”

“How should I know? Maybe she’s back with Hera,” Ezra suggested.

“I heard my name?” Hera popped out of nowhere, with Garazeb carrying Jacen in tow. It appeared that he was both keeping him entertained and helping Hera in regards to storage. The shopping cart was almost overflowing, especially since her organizer (Kanan) had disappeared on her.

“We were talking about Sabine. Have you seen her?” Kanan questioned.

“No,” Hera shook her head. “She’s not around here?”

“I haven’t heard anything that indicated so,” Kanan answered.

“I haven’t seen her,” Ezra confirmed.

“Me either,” Garazeb added. 

“That’s strange. Where could she—” Kanan began, but stopped abruptly. Realizing that if she wasn’t here, then she was in—

“I’ll be back,” Kanan huffed. 

“I’ll come with you,” Hera said. She looked up to Garazeb. “Zeb, watch the cart and the kids.”

“Hey!” Ezra shouted. “I’m not a kid.”

“Yes you are,” Kanan told him. He motioned for Hera before turning to walk away. Hera was right by his side in seconds.

“Where do you think she’s at?” Hera asked, as she glanced through the aisles that they passed.

“If you were obsessed with constantly changing your appearance, where would you be?” Kanan asked.

“Of course!” The realization hit Hera. “Of course…”

The couple found Sabine in no time in the hair product aisle, inspecting boxes of…

“Sabine.”

Sabine’s head snapped towards the sound of Hera’s call, dropping her shopping basket in process. Hera could see that Sabine had items in the basket, indicating that the girl had picked up what she needed, and had decided to take a quick stop in this section.

“I got what I needed, I swear!” Sabine proclaimed, picking the basket back up. She began to list off all the stuff she had.

“We believe you,” Kanan told her. “But do you really need to dye your hair again?”

“Yes,” Sabine answered. “I won’t do it tonight, but I want to get this color before they sell out. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Hera and Kanan glanced at each other. Hera’s face showed perplexity, and Kanan showed similar sentiment. 

“Kanan?” Hera questioned.

“Aren’t you coming back later?”

“Just let her get it. It does look like they’re running low on what she wants.”

“Fine.”

“Yes!” Sabine cheered. “Thank you, thank you! You guys are the best!”

Sabine ran towards the married couple, hugging Hera first before Kanan.

“You’re sweet, Sabine,” Hera smiled at the teenager. “Now, come on. We should get back to—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

Hera and Sabine glanced at each other and at Kanan, who could only sigh heavily for what must have been the thirtieth time since they’ve been at Walmart.

“Kanan,” Hera began.

“I’m strangling them both,” Kanan said. “Do not wait for me.”

It didn’t take long for Kanan to find Ezra and Garazeb, seeing as they weren’t being quiet in their bickering. It also helped that Jacen was babbling and laughing at the scene in front of him, only getting happier when Kanan returned.

“Dada!”

Judging by the pitter-patter sounds, Jacen was moving towards Kanan. Kanan knelt down, holding his arms out and caught his young son in his hold, picking him up and giving him a kiss.

“What’s Uncle Zeb and Ezra doing?” Kanan asked Jacen. 

“Fi!” the young boy answered, glee in his tone. 

“Fight?” Kanan mused, as if he didn’t already know what Garazeb and Ezra were doing. His head tilted in the direction of the bantering. Kanan didn’t quite catch what they were fighting about, but he would bet that Garazeb provoked Ezra in some manner. It’s what he did best.

“Are you two done?” Kanan asked, and almost flinched at the exhaustion in his own voice. He must be more tired than he realized. He wished he knew what time it was, besides the fact that it was past his own bedtime.

Garazeb and Ezra froze, their attention gravitating towards Kanan. They could tell by his tone and body language that he was exhausted...exhausted of their antics. Deciding not to talk back (this time), the two sighed in defeat.

“Yes, sir,” Garazeb and Ezra echoed.

“Good,” Kanan nodded. “Ezra, did you get what you needed?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go!”

* * * * *

The ragtag family returned to the house around 11:30. As soon as Hera parked in the garage, Sabine and Ezra booked out of the van and into the house so they could work on their projects. Kanan and Hera could only chuckle at their antics, not surprised in the slightest.

Jacen was fast asleep in his car seat, and Garazeb offered to put him to bed as Kanan and Hera took care of the groceries.

“Just don’t wake him up,” Hera agreed to Garazeb’s helping hand. “We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“We certainly don’t. You can leave my stuff out, I’ll take care of it,” Garazeb told the couple up front before he carried Jacen out and into the house.

As soon as Garazeb entered the house, both Hera and Kanan sighed in relief.

“That was a trip,” Kanan was the first to speak.

“You know something like this happens whenever we all go out together,” Hera pointed out, smiling in thought. “You know you love it.”

“I don’t,” Kanan said quickly. 

“I don’t believe you,” Hera told him.

“I know you don’t.” Kanan leaned over the PRNDL, giving Hera a chaste kiss on the lips. “Come on, let’s get this stuff put away.”

* * * * * *

Some notes:

Basic title because I forgot to actually come up with a title.

Kanan is blind from an undisclosed accident. He has a folding white cane, but does not always use it.

The scenarios that Ezra and Sabine are put through are based off my own experiences with my friends at Walmart. It's also the only place you can hang out, especially if you're under the age of 21 LOL

Zeb is semi-inspired by my aunt's brother. Zeb definitely gives the vibe of  the middle-aged, single uncle that consumes alcohol and cigarettes.

Chopper is the family pet. I was thinking of a shih tzu (because...they're chaotic). I haven't finalized my decision, so any input on what animal Chopper would be is welcomed.

Thank you so much for reading!

[writingsbychlo]

feels like loneliness (08)

word count; 7701

summary; thomas is frustrated and distnacing himself from everyone, and only one person can break through that. 

notes; took me a while to sort this out after tumblr fucked it up, I’m sorry it took so long to get uploaded!

warnings; smut, overstimulation, aggressive sex.

“I keep on the go but, I don't mean to tease you”

Thomas was stressed. He had been for months. Everyone was worked up about how they were going to get Minho back. Their group had been growing, considerably, over the last few months, as they had slowly travelled their way to the abandoned town by the shore three months ago, they had picked up stragglers along the way, but no matter how many new minds were put to the task, they were still at a dead end. 

In the first couple of months, they had made huge progress. It seemed like they were getting closer and closer to a solution every day, closer to a way to save Minho, bring him back safely. Around month three, as they’d found their new place to stay, they’d hit a bump. It was like they had all the information and all the ideas, but the puzzle pieces just didn’t seem to slot together quite right. Around month four, Vince had become distracted, the more kids that joined and needed help, the more determined he was to get them to the safe haven. The ship they had been working on was getting closer and closer to being ready to go with each passing day.

Everybody’s nerves were fried, what with WCKD beginning to do checks each week that seemed to be drawing nearer each time they were conducted. Thomas had been putting everything on his shoulders, from all that had gone wrong that night to the present day, any little error and mistake was added to the weight on his back, and no matter how much anyone tried to relieve him of the guilt, he would snap or storm away. Newt was missing his friends, Minho imparticular, and the weight of everybody else he had lost was dragging heavily on his heart. 

Vince was stressed about getting everybody to the safe haven, he had committed to it, and was working himself up into a frenzy. Brenda and Jorge were trying to make themselves useful, dig themselves into the community deeply enough that they’d be taken to the safe haven too, despite their lack of immunity, and the tickling timebomb on Brenda’s shoulder, seemingly waiting for her to suddenly crank out.

And you? You were surprised your hair wasn’t falling out with stress and anger.

You had been going over your notes, again and again, reading through every inch of every page as you tried to decipher your own notes, but with only a drip of your memories, you only had a drip of your knowledge. You just weren’t as clever without them, you couldn’t understand your own works, and you certainly couldn’t finish your final push for a cure, no matter how hard you tried. You were worried about all your friends, and for Thomas especially, who had been pulling in on himself more and more as he worked long nights and hard days to save his friend.

You had tried to talk to him, to help him. At first, you’d settled on waiting, until you got somewhere safe to be able to talk about what you would be, where things would go. When you had finally reached your temporary camp, he had instead seemed to close down completely. He sealed himself away from everyone, closing the door and staying behind it. He’d barely speak, and you were growing lonely without him. 

When you reached out, he often pulled away, shooting anyone who tried to distract him from his work a look or harsh words that sent them reeling. He barely even let his hand brush against yours anymore. Bags were hanging under his eyes, and the discussion of whatever you two were going to be hadn’t just been tabled for another day, he’d boxed it up, sealed it tight and put it into storage. Around about the middle of month four, you’d all stopped trying altogether.

He’s become unbearable to be around, throwing anger tantrums and shouting, storming and stropping around, throwing insults and accusations around like they were hello’s and you’d all given up entirely. He’d almost fought Newt hours prior, the blonde simply having told him maybe he should take a break for his health, get some sleep or just relax, and when he’d placed a hand on his shoulder, Thomas had almost snapped it in anger when he yanked the touch away.

Now, two were simmering at each other from across the table. A table with a map set out, little rocks and figures representing different obstacles and items they had in their way and at their disposal. A table, that they had been gathering around every single day since they had gotten here, at the ex-runner’s request, and not a single piece had moved its place in two weeks now. As Vince finished telling Thomas that he was pulling back for a while to finish fixing the ship, his anger bubbled over, and the boy slammed his fist down onto the table, the pieces on the map jumping at the disturbance and he screamed loudly. 

He yelled obscenities at everyone, storming from the room and kicking at barrels and scrap as he went, the sounds of his anger fading away as he made the trek to the little room he’d claimed as his own, secluded from everyone else so he could brood in isolation. You sighed loudly, eyes sliding shut and you bit at the nail on your thumb, the chatter around you taking up.

“This is ridiculous. Someone needs to go and talk with him, hash it out because this obsession is going too far.” Vince had concluded, and your head tilted to the side, hands coming to sit on your hips as you opened your eyes, only to find everybody looking at you. Your own eyes widened as your jaw dropped, and you shook your head quickly. “No, absolutely not.”

“You’re the only one who can do it, love.”

“That is not true! Any one of you could talk to him! Why does it have to be me?” You fought, your eyebrows shooting up but you could already tell you were losing the battle as they all continued to look at you.

“He’s snapped at all of us, and tried to take a physical blow at most of us.” Jorge chuckled, and Newt scowled at him, Frypan coming up to rub subconsciously at the place where they blackeye he’s been given had only just faded. 

“With you, he just bites his tongue and storms off to simmer quietly.” Brenda added, and you looked at her pleadingly, hoping she would’ve taken your side and she raised her arms in defence as her gaze left yours. “Hey, don’t give me that look! He loves you, so you have to be the one to go talk to him.”

“He does not! Shut it, before I beat the flare to it and take you out myself.” She whistled, laughing at your weak threat, and you fought the urge to laugh with her.

“He does, love, that is why you have to go get him to sort his bloody temper out.” Newt tried to ease the tension, still caring for the boy even through the countless fights they had been having and you groaned loudly. 

“If he did, he wouldn't be treating me like this. This isn’t how you treat someone you love.” You murmured, swallowing thickly and looking back up to them all. “But, I will go and talk to him, to get all you shanks off my back.”

Newt whooped, the group smiling happily and the blonde clapped his hands down on your shoulders, steering you towards the door. “Minho is going to be thrilled when he hears you using Glader-slang.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh, setting off on the short trek to follow the direction Thomas had gone in only minutes prior. 

You could hear him throwing things about and shouting angrily before you had even stopped outside his door, the mess inside being evident as you opened it carefully, leaning your shoulder against the frame as he continued to strop, his eyes only catching sight of you a few seconds later. “You wanna’ talk about it?”

“I don’t want to talk about anything.” He spat, panting aggressively as he ran a hand through his hair, looking back at you when you didn’t move. “Especially not with you.”

Your brow furrowed, a scoff leaving you as his words cut deep, hurt seeping into the open wound. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

When he looked back to you, he could see the hurt look in your eyes, the sharp look on his features softening minutely as he heard the pain in your voice at his outburst and he let out a groan. “Fuck, I-I didn’t mean it like that. You just wouldn’t-”

“Understand? You’re treating me, all your friends, like shit, because you don’t think we wouldn’t understand?” You shook your head, dipping it as you pushed yourself from your leaned position, nails digging into the skin of your palms as you clenched your fists. “Do you-”

“Can you just leave me alone?” His words were sliced at you, digging deeper than any insult he’d given you so far had as he continued to push you away, and you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your emotions down, desperate to say your piece.

“Sure, Thomas. I’ll go, I’ll leave you alone. You have made it very clear over the last few months that you don’t want me around you.” You were seething, his eyes widening at your words and his jaw dropped open to speak, though your glare shut him up. “But, don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t understand what you went through! What you are going through!” Your finger jabbed into his chest as you stormed forwards, and he was shocked as you finally snapped at him after all this time. “What? You lived in the maze for a week? I lived that hell for over a year, Thomas! I watched my friends die, I watched people I care about get taken and I suffered too! So, don’t you dare have the audacity to tell me that I don’t get it!”

You were screaming in his face, tears lining your eyes as the faces of all of those you had lost flashed behind your eyes, and he huffed, not understanding how to convey how he was feeling. “You don’t! You don’t get it though!” You looked up at him, your jaw clenched as you glared at him in fury. “You don’t have all this pressure on your shoulders, to save everyone, to be the leader and to find a way to save them all! I-I feel.. I need to save them! All of them! I didn’t want to talk about it with you because I knew I’d end up screaming and getting angry with, and goddammit, you are the only person here who’s opinion has ever mattered and I didn’t want you to see me as fucking weak!”

The silence echoed around the room as he tugged on his hair, growling to himself as he paced and you were shocked, the sound of your breathing audible in the deafening silence hanging over you both. You reached out cautiously, bringing him to a stop as tears filled his eyes and you reached up, taking his hands from where they were tugging at the roots of his locks carefully, letting them hang by his side.

Your hand cupped his cheek gently, shaking your head as you looked at him and he leaned into your hand, his own coming up to hold your touch to him as his eyes closed and a happy sigh slipped from him, showing just how much he had missed you in his blinding rage. 

“I have never seen you as weak, Tommy. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I-It’s so hard. I feel trapped, I have all this anger and energy and I’m spending all day just waiting for news and there is none. I can’t go anywhere!” You raised your other hand, bringing it up to his face, thumbs smoothing over his skin and wiping the tears away as they finally leaked from his eyes. “I’m so hopped up on adrenaline all the time and I can’t run, because we’re trying to keep a low profile, and I have so much fucking stress that I can’t even sleep at night and my hands won’t stop shaking and I have no way to take it out and I ju-”

“Take it out on me.”

His eyes snapped open, fear taking over his body as he backed away from you, the tremble in his hands spreading across his whole body as he backed away. “What? What are you talking about?” He didn’t understand, and he feared for you, his hands clenched by his sides as you closed the door behind you, the soft click echoing from the walls.

When you reached for his hand, he snatched it away, backing up into the wall and you stepped closer, taking his shaking fist in your hand as you delicately unfurled his fingers, his hand laying open and flat in yours. “Your anger and your stress, Tommy.” Taking his hand, you placed it on your waist gently, his fingers curling around your body and twitching against you. “There are more ways to burn off all your extra energy than getting angry or running.”

He was nervous, his eyes scanning over every inch of your face as he assessed the situation, and he raised his other hand, fingers tucking under the edge of your top to rest against your flushed skin, goosebumps rising over your body at the fell of his sorely missed touch. “I’ve missed you so much.” He brought his hand up, tucking hair behind your ear delicately as he held himself back, struggling to hold back his urges and his entire body was oozing pent up rage and energy, his foot tapping against the carpet subconsciously, his fingers on your body flexing absentmindedly as he gnawed on his lower lip. “I can’t, I could hurt you.”

You let out a small laugh, raising your hands to cup his cheeks, trying to pull his face down as he resisted, and you rolled up onto the balls of your feet instead, your noses bumping and brushing. He sucked in a breath, your own fanning over his cheeks as your lips practically brushed, his grip on you tightening as he pressed down what he really wanted to let out. “I can take it, Tommy. Give me all you’ve got.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a split second, before he had spun you around, your back pressed to the wall as his body fell flat against yours, his lips working over yours and stealing every breath from your lungs. His touch was relentless, your shocked gasps swallowed by him as his tongue traced your closed lips, sucking your bottom one into his mouth to part them. 

Your fingers tugged at the bottom of his shirt, a chuckle on his lips as you whimpered and he lifted it up, his hands leaving your waist as he helped you to discard the material over his head, throwing it away across the room as you hands skimmed along his chest. His fingers wrapped around your wrists tightly, pausing your movements as he lifted them up, holding them above your head and pinning them to the wall. 

“Keep these here until I tell you otherwise.” His words were spoken deep and low, and you whined, nodding in acknowledgement. His fingers moved down to play with the waistband on your denim shorts, fingers easily popping the button on the stiff material and easing the zipper down. Sliding his hands lower, the digits of his fingers pressed through the cotton to press against your clothed clit, nail scratching lightly over the covered nub as your hips jumped up. 

“Shit, Tommy..” Your arms buckled at the elbow, falling down the wall as your hips twitched when he started rubbing slow circles with his fingers. 

“Hands up for me, I like the way your tits look when you stretch your arms up.” He mumbled the words against your flesh as he trailed his kisses down and along your jaw, licking and sucking at your skin as he went. You stretched them back up, ignoring the ache in your muscles, your mind blanking as his fingers pushed aside the material of your panties, swiping through your slick folds and swirling around your entrance.

Pushing a single digit into your core, a whine fell from you, your head tipping back to rest against the wall, a small ‘thud’ sounding at the impact and he growled when he couldn't push your top any further to the side, anger flooding him once again. “This is in my way.” He tugged at the hemline of your top with his teeth, before pulling away from you and you nodded. 

“Do you want me to-” He pulled his hand from your pants, two hands attaching to the neckline as he pulled roughly, tearing the fabric straight down the middle and you couldn't hold back the moan you let out at the action.  “Oh, or just do that.. shit..”

He grinned, hands pushing your sports bra up over your breasts to expose them to the cold air and you whimpered, his hand finding home between your thighs again as he pushed two fingers into you, pumping them quickly as you spasmed in his grasp. His lips sealed around one of your nipples, lapping leisurely at the bud and grunting as your fingers squeezed around him, the sounds he was drawing from you were echoing from the walls of the room. 

His free hand smoothed up from your waist, his mouth switching breasts and his fingertips moved up over your arms, lacing his hand together with one of yours, pinned to the wall above your head as he brought his lips back up along your neck. He was sucking gently at your jaw, your breathing getting quicker as your eyes squeezed shut, pleasure surging through you. His fingers pumped rapidly, the heel of his hand creating a delicious friction against your clit as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. 

You rolled up onto your tiptoes, squeaks and cries leaving you and your chest pressed up against his, hot air fanning over your neck as you moved towards your climax. “Tommy, I’m..”

“Not yet, you’re not. I don’t need you getting tired out before we really have some fun.” He smirked, pulling his hand back from your pants and sucking his fingers into his mouth to clean them, nodding his head to your shorts, still hanging open and his hand left yours. Sliding your hands down the wall, you shakily dropped your shorts to the ground, kicking off your boots and socks as you tried to strip yourself down before him, his dark gaze on you as you let the shredded material of your top drop away, your sports bra soon following it. 

He palmed himself through his jeans, and you lunged up into him, pressing your lips to his and you fumbled with his belt, tugging his jeans down until they fell to the floor, his boxers following and he kicked off the rest of his clothes, the air between the two of you hot and heavy as your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking his hard member as precum dribbled over your fingers. “Can’t wait to bury myself inside you, been thinking about it for so long.” He whispered, your lips leaving his and he cupped your cheeks, pulling your face back to meet his as his tongue pushed past the seam of your lips, tangling with yours in a wet and sloppy kiss. 

He was dominating you in every way, and when you felt your back meet the wall once again, you had barely heard the word ‘jump’ fall from him before you were launching yourself into his arms, his large hands gripping your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock sliding through your folds. 

Lining himself up, he eased himself into you, your eyes rolling back as he sank deeper and deeper into your tight hole, a low groan falling from him as his forehead fell to your shoulder. “You’re so tight, fuck..” 

“Well, you know, it’s been quite a while since I last slept with anyone.” You teased, the dark look on his face lightening just a tad as he let the corners of his lips pull up, shaking his head slightly. 

“Shut up and kiss me.” You grinned, your lips finding his as he set a slow rhythm, his hips pulling back from yours as he eased himself in and out of you, both of you settling into the feeling, his pace picking up. Your lips slanted across his, and he happily welcomed your touch, his lips parting as he deepened the kiss with you. 

Your arms looped around his neck, fingers weaving into his hair, tugging on fistfuls of it as he growled into your mouth, lips moving harsher against yours as his hips snapped up into yours. Pulling you away from the wall, he placed you down on the edge of the desk, his hand sliding up your stomach to sit between your breasts as he pushed you down, your back meeting the wood of the table. He was stretching you out in all new ways and tapping all new spots, and your jaw hung open, silent sounds never making it to his ears. 

With hands still on you, he leaned back, just far enough to watch as he fucked into you, his wet cock slipping in and out of you perfectly, your walls hugging around him and squeezing him just right. You were already wound up and close, and as his fingers slipped down to pinch at your clit cheekily your back arched up from the wood. Your fingers raked along it, sure you were tearing tracks into the desk surface as he muttered under his breath. 

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Look at your pussy, taking my cock like a fucking pro, you’re so wet, dripping out onto the desk for me.” Your arousal was coated along the insides of your thighs, his face faltering as your walls tightened around him, curses leaving him. He pushed forward, your hips slapping together harshly as he pushed against that special spot inside of you and stars exploded behind your eyes, a long cry of his name leaving you as you shook. 

He rode it out, hands holding you to the desk as he slowed his thrusts, before he found your shoulders, pulling you to sit up for him as he slipped his members form you, your thighs trembling as you sat up, every muscle in your body feeling like jelly. His hands skimmed along under your legs, pulling you until your ass was just barely on the desk and his lips lid over yours, panting and needy kisses being drawn from you and when he stepped closer, the head of his cock pressed up against your clit, your body twitching with sensitivity as you jumped back, yelping at the stimulation. 

A dark chuckle left him as he pulled you to your feet, hands cupping your cheeks as his fingers ran over your skin slowly, his eyes hooded as he looked down at you. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. I thought you said you could handle it?”

Before you even had a chance to reply, the front of your hips were pressed into the wood as he turned you around, a hand in the back of your hair pushing you face down into the desk and you barely had time to catch yourself, your hands fumbling to find the edge of the surface and hold on. His foot between yours kicked your legs apart, and your breasts were rubbing up against the cold surface, the sensation shooting straight to your core and you shook at the way he was handling you. 

He dragged the tip of his cock through your folds, sinking forwards with one rough and fast thrust, filling you up again instantly and you cried out, biting down on your lip in pure pleasure as he set a fast pace, the hand in your hair tightening and pulling as he bent over you. Your nails were digging into the wood as your fingers curled around the edges of the desk, holding you for support, and he let his hands find your hips, before one slid around to grope at your ass cheek. 

Moans were falling wantonly from your lips as he fucked into you, a sheen of sweat coating your body as you were pushed closer and closer to another climax, your brain going hazy and all you could focus on was the feeling of him ramming into you rapidly, tapping against your g-spot with every thrust as he worked out all his pent up energy. You knew you’d be sore in the morning, you’d be covered in hickies and bruises but it would be worth it because God, if it wasn’t the best you had ever felt.

His hands slipped up to your hair again, tugging at the strands and your scalp stung as he tugged you up until your back met his chest, his hands sliding around the front of your body to roll your nipples between his thumb and index finger. Your head lolled back onto his shoulder as your eyes rolled back in your head, and he bit at your ear lobe gently. “Get ready.”

You couldn’t even process the words, but a scream tore from your lips as he picked up his pace, the aggression showing through with the ferocity of his thrusts, and a scream left your lips, his name mixed with pleads and begs as your whole body shook and spasmed in his grasp, your own name grunted into your ear as you felt him throb within you, cock pulsing and twitching against your walls as he neared you both to a climax you’d never forget. 

His hand came up, squeezing around your neck lightly as the other trailed along your body, your screams silenced as he squeezed at your neck, and he slapped your abused bud once, your body hurtling over the edge into wave after wave of pleasure as he fucked you through it, loud shouts leaving him before he suddenly pulled out, your arousal gushing from you, strings of your essence connecting his cock to your glistening hole as he grunted, moaning lowly and shooting cum across your back and legs, the wet sounds of him working over himself sounding out as he came and your knees buckled as you braced yourself on the desk. 

Your mind was fuzzy, the aching between your legs and pounding in your heart was all that made sense, and despite it all, you still wanted him, you need him. You could barely clench your thighs for the over-stimulation but the burning in your stomach told you that you needed more, and you heard as he collapsed back against the bed, the fabric of your torn shirt being brushed against your back as he cleaned you up tiredly. 

His legs were parted, cock still hard and resting against his stomach as he panted wildly, sweaty with his hair matted to his forehead as he leaned back on his elbows, a shaky laugh leaving him. You could feel your own nectar dripping down your thighs, coating the insides of your legs as your need for him continued to eat away at you and you stood either side of his legs, one hand finding his chest as you leaned over him, the other wrapping around his cock gently, and he hissed. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m still sen-”

“Still sensitive? Now you know how it feels.” His hips bucked up into your grip, and with you a wink you ran your thumb over the swollen head, swiping away the cum still dribbling there and lifting it to your lips to clean it. Straddling him, you shivered, the shake running along your whole body as the red tip nudged against your throbbing bud, before you sank yourself down onto his cock, the delicious overstimulation and stretching he gave you was already making you call out his name, and he snapped to sit up, hands finding your hips as he whimpered your name to you.

Your hands pushed his chest down, until he was lying in the sheets, your hands landing either side of his head and your knees on either side of his hips as you rocked back into him, and he growled lowly, shaking his head. With feet planted firmly on the floor, he rocked his hips up into yours, the sounds he loved so much leaving you and he repeated the action, your arms weakening at the way he fucked you.

Your vision was blacking out, eyes in the back of your head and your jaw ached as it hung slack, and your body was tingling, muscles aching as they tightened and you wanted to clamp your thighs together, the feeling all too much but at the same time you needed more, and when his hands found your hips, slamming you back down onto his cock in time with his thrusts, you found. 

You wouldn't be surprised if the whole camp could hear his name being screamed from your lips at this point, your voice getting higher and higher and you got closer to your edge and his voice was deep and raspy, shouting your name loudly as you clenched around him so tightly he could barely move.

His mouth pressed to yours, and it could barely be described as a kiss. It was a sloppy mess of tongues and lips dragging against each other, panting and crying into each other’s mouths as it all became too much as you fell over the edge, more like catapulted, the feeling different to other times and you jerked roughly in his arms, arousal splashing from you, the dirtiest sound you had ever heard Thomas make leaving him as he screamed. Pulling out of you suddenly, his load coated both of your stomachs between you, your arousal still leaving you as you clung to him, soaking his body and yours, dripping between the sheets.

He let you roll to the side, your eyes still rolled back in your head, a lazy smile on your lips as you twitched and whimpered, and he groaned at the sight, his cum painted across both of your bodies. He wiped a hand over his face, grinning exhaustively and his body ached, but he had never felt better. 

You had been right, he was calm and relaxed, his mind was clear and he was happy. He reached for the ragged piece of material that had been your shirt, wiping you both down before tugging his boxers back up his legs, a low groan leaving him as the fabric brushed against his stimulated and sensitive member. Grabbing your panties, he tugged them up your legs gently for you, a soft smile on your lips, eyes shut as he lifted your hips to secure them around your waist, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before collapsing beside you. 

You were grinning, eyes closed as you lay in his sheets, the sunlight from the window illuminating you perfectly in all your sweaty, messy, post-sex daze. He could see the disturbed dust dancing in the air, the sounds of your slowing breaths easing him into comfort and he reached out for you, brushing matted hair from your skin and you cracked an eye open to look at him, the other soon following as you turned on your side.

You raised an arm, bending it as your elbow dug into the sheets, your cheek resting on your palm as you looked at him. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking fantastic.” He was beaming, letting himself fall onto his back, letting out a soft sigh before holding his arms out to you. “C’mere. I wan’ hold you.” Without any argument, you snuggled into his embrace, the smell of sweat and sex sticking to his skin, undoubtedly on yours too, but you didn’t care. Instead, you rose your finger sup, weaving them through your knotty hair gently as you let your thoughts run slowly, peace taking over the room.

It was quiet around you, the sounds of everybody moving about further down in the camp just about reaching your ears, muffled by the walls and the distance, but you could still make out happy laughs and yells as the went about. Your mind drifted to the boy who was half-snoozing tiredly beside you, wishing he could let himself be that joyful and carefree, he deserved it.

When you had finished untangling your own hair, you moved to play with his, a content hum leaving him as you did and he nuzzled into you more, his lips pressing little kisses to the exposed skin he could reach when he turned his head towards you more, and you got lost in your mind once again, drifting away as you thought sadly about the map, the plan that kept falling through with errors, as you worked over it in your tired and muddled mind.

“Oh, my God.”

“I know.” He grinned, and you slapped his chest as he leaned over to kiss at you forehead but you shot up, your jaw slack and eyes wide, your mind spinning. 

“Oh, my God.” You shot up, slinging the sheets back from your form as you scrambled around in the discarded clothes on the floor. 

You pulled your panties and shorts on, grabbing the first top you saw tugging it over your head, not even bothering with your bra or socks as you reprocessed the idea on your mind, spinning around and around on a loop as you tried to find any flaws, but you couldn’t and a smile broke out on your face, the widest Thomas had seen in a long, long time. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched you, making your way to the door when he cleared his throat, his eyebrows raised as your eyes came to meet his. 

You were mumbling, so quickly and quietly he couldn't make out what you were saying but you silenced as you looked at him. “I’ve got it!”

He was only more confused as you left, leaving the door wide open as you dashed quickly towards the main room, screaming out to all the others you saw as you went that ‘you had it’, before he finally realised where you were going and what you were talking about, and he fell from the bed in a bid to follow you hurriedly. By the time Thomas had got there, you were holding Newt’s hands in a bowl shape as you dropped all the little markers into his palms, smoothing out the map and Thomas had his jacket pulled over his bare shoulders, his shirt hanging on your body and he struggled to do up his belt as he stumbled into the room. 

Newt looked over him, a smirk on his lips and Thomas blushed as everyone suppressed their snickers and looks, but he was focused on you, and you were far too focused on your eyes moving so quickly over the map he was surprised you weren’t dizzying yourself. “Okay, okay, okay.. so, um, well, we decided we’d have to have someone break into the train, right?”

Everybody was looking at you, nodding carefully as if to ask you exactly where you were planning on going with this, currently only being reminded of their failure.

“Well, let’s just take the whole carriage.” The hopeful looks around the room fell, replaced by irritated glares and your shoulders sagged, but you refused to be deterred by it. Brenda rubbed a hand over her face, sighing, and Vince laughed condescendingly, hands falling to his hips, while Newt looked at you disapprovingly, as though you were joking. “Seriously, just- just hear me out, okay?”

“I’ll listen, pequeña.” Jorge motioned forwards, and you shot him a grateful smile as he took on all the glares simply for encouraging you.

“Right, well correct me if I’m confused, but the very front carriage is the drivers, right? And the one behind it is soldiers and guards? Yeah?” You looked around, watching as they all nodded, and you grinned, looking back to the table and smoothing your hands over the map. “The two behind that are always supplies, for wherever the fuck they’re going. The last three are kids they’ve taken. Minho. Now, the trains are always supported by an airborne guard too, yeah?”

Vince let out a groan at your words, his head dropping forward in frustration and you scowled at his reaction. “Exactly, there are eyes in the sky and on the ground, we can’t get past the berg. This is pointless!”

“No, no! Our eyes in the skies are part of it!” You held your hands up, finally reaching for the items Newt was still patiently holding as you positioned them out before you, placing them perfectly to you’re liking and they all waited, even more confused than before. “Okay, so let's call it Team A, Team B and Team C, right? Team A and B are in cars, on either side of the train, and Team A is going to draw away the berg, because Team B is going to drive along the tracks behind the train and jump on board, they won't shoot at you because they won’t risk losing the kids, they need them!” 

You placed down the two small stones you had signifying the cars on either side of your train figure, and Newt nodded, looking down at the map. “Okay, but Team A is now being shot at by the berg, with nowhere to go?”

“There isn’t anywhere to go, and that’s what we need! Lead them into thinking we’re trapped, but we aren’t because hiding out is Team C-” You dragged your finger, across the map, pointing at a random spot and tapping the digit against the paper. “When the berg lands to arrest Team A, guards will come piling out! Team C then comes out and we take it! There’s what, four guards and a pilot, against Team A and C?”

You held up your hands, looking around everyone as they all continued to look at you, confused faces all around as they tried to process your thoughts. “I’m still not seeing how this is helping, what about the train?” You looked up to the blond man, Vince with his eyebrows raised but he was judging and he was curious and you smacked your hand to your forehead, laughing at yourself.

“Oh, right, of course! While team A pulls away the sky threat, B are on the train! We get to the end of the carriages with the kids in and separate them from the rest of the train! The emergency clamps will slow them down almost instantly upon detachment, but the rest of the train will take a good minute to minute and a half to stop, and then the guards have to run all that distance back! That gives us, like, five minutes!” Newt groaned, dropping the pieces in his hand as his patience finally wore away.

“Five minutes? Five minutes to do what? Huh?” His accent was only thicker with his anger, and you swallowed, your confidence dwindling as you became discouraged, almost every person in the room looking at you like you were insane.

“To.. To get Minho, and Aris and Sonya..” Your voice trailed off, and you backed away from the table, your body curling in on itself nervously, but Jorge rubbed a hand over his head, stepping up and putting a hand down flat on the map as he looked over it.

“Hold on, I get it.” He nodded, thinking over as he lifted another one of the discarded parts to rest on the land alongside the train tracks shown on the map. “Find out which cart Minho’s in, weld the brakes on either side. Call it D-Team. Four of you, one on each clamp for the correct carriage, and another four with ropes! Get the box chained up, and by the time A-Team A and C-Team get back with the berg, we drop the hook and lift the box, B and D can just climb on for the ride home.”

“We can have cars waiting for everyone,” Brenda added, stepping forwards and a smile cracked it’s way through your upset look to take over as she spoke up, her eyes meeting yours as she winked at you, softly. “We drop the berg and box, get everyone out and cover our tracks, way before they can track us. Everyone gets back safe.”

Silence filled the room, seemingly for minutes as the three of you now looked around at the others, each one thinking over the incredible complex plan, again and again in their minds as they tried to find the problem, only coming up with obstacles that could be solved but no major fall-throughs.

“Kid, you’re fucking crazy. But you’re also crazy brave, and smart.” Vince eventually muttered, but he reached over, squeezing at your shoulder before crossing his arms, and you laughed, nodding your head slightly in confirmation. “I think it could work. Needs some tweaking, and it needs to be done fast, that train goes by in three days.”

Frypan’s eyes were wide, and he looped his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers as he looked down at the map, shocked. “We’re getting them back. We’re getting out friends back. We’re getting Minho back!”

Newt cheered loudly, holding his hands up in the air and letting out a disbelieving laugh. “We’re getting Minho back!” He moved towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he spun you around in a circle, your feet not touching the ground as he held you tightly. When you were placed down, the chatter about fixing any minor issues had already taken up, the group crowding around the small desk with such renewed fervour and enthusiasm that you were shocked at how quickly hope had filled their bodies once again.

Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back and turning you as Thomas looked down at you, a smile on his face for the first time in months as he held you tightly, lips parting and closing as he tried to work out what to say. “You are incredible!” He teased, and you laughed, ducking your head as a blush worked its way onto your cheeks. “God, I fucking lo-” As he spoke, your head looked up, eyes wide at the words he almost spoke and your heart was pumping wildly in your chest, but he cut himself off, closing his jaw and you felt sadness seep into every pore in your body, despite the joy surrounding you. 

Instead, he leaned forward, moving to place a kiss to your lips and you turned your head, his kiss meeting your cheek instead and he grunted, not being the intended place he was aiming for. Your stomach was twisting, nausea filling you at the idea of having been so intimate ad close with someone that couldn’t even tell you they loved you, that perhaps, no longer intended to be that person. 

It had been half a year ago that Thomas had told you he wanted to love you again, but in that time he’d barely held you or touched you, and a lot had changed, you had moved on, fought battles you had never imagined and overcome odds you had never seen coming. Perhaps, he no longer wanted what he had wanted then, he’d spent a lot of nights alone, sealed himself away from you to have had enough time to think about it.

As you unwrapped his arms from around your waist, his brows furrowed and you excused yourself from the group with the claims of needing some food before you gave yourself a headache, and you were soon slipping from the door. Before he could come after you, Thomas was called over to the table, and so instead he watched you walk away, not understanding where he had gone wrong. 

The sun was just beginning to set, casting oranges over the horizon and you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and dirty as you made your way back to his room. Picking up your bra, you tucked it into your pocket, stripping his top from your body and folding it, placing it neatly on the end of his bed before zipping your jacket up over your bare chest and snagging the torn fabric of your top from the floor.

You disposed of it along the way to where you had chosen to sleep, plucking a fresh top from a pile of supplies available to anyone, and when you finally closed the door behind you, you dropped your bra onto the small chair in the corner of the room. Toeing off your boots, you tugged the top over your head, dropping the denim around your waist to the floor before crawling under your sheets, a saddened sigh leaving you.

You couldn’t dwell and Thomas and his feelings for you, or lack thereof, because in a few days, you would have Aris and Sonya back in your arms, you would have Minho back, and you would finally be able to rest, because lord knows you’d been through enough in your lifetime. You were ready to hold your friends again, you were ready to find the safe haven, and live out the rest of your days peacefully and quietly.

With a clear mind and a light heart, you were able to drift off with thoughts of where you would be a week from now.