#(quickly adds it to the tag too anyhow)

[sugoi-writes]

REQUEST TIME :333 ummm this is actually my first time requesting here but I’ve been so obsessed with Human Alastor so maybe a sexy thing where he hunts you (fem reader) down in the wooded near his cabin with his shotgun? This is so dangerous lol but he’s shooting and splitting trees as you zip pass them in your nightgown (he would never shoot you it’s for the flare) you stumble over an old stump and he is on your ass! You fight and tumble around before he’s dragging you by your ankles back to his cabin to have his way with you? (All of this was very much consensual between the two of you elaborated foreplay if you will!)

Trigger Happy - Human! Alastor x Fem!Reader

My friend in Satan, I am SO sorry for how long this took! I was honestly getting worked up over it!!! Hate the delay, but I hope the story itself will be worth it! Just as a warning, this is getting towards risky territory, but I promise nothing too bleak. A few warnings: Guns, a heated foot chase, you get distracted there for a while, some physical violence/tussling, f!reader, some f!oral and m!oral, overtsim, rope/restraints, and some REALLY filthy penetrative sex. Y'all are some absolute freaks in this one. Hope you enjoy! (ALSO THIS IS LIKE INSANELY LONG IM SORRY ITS LIKE 9K--)

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes for helping me through this and being my scream queens/beta readers dhoduhdouhdoduhdohidoi <3 (I'm in love with both of you BLINKBLINK)

Taglist: @ieatcocoa @nocturessa @tsukikos-stuff @leviskittywh0re

@polyo-nym-y @cosmiccandydreamer @littlebluefishtail @your-excellenc-z21 and others (if you wanna be tagged I'll add you! Sorry I've never made a taglist before???)

🩸🦌🩸

Your hands fidgeted in your lap as Alastor finished the final touches of tonight's meal. You regarded him nervously as his humming filled the humble interior of his inherited cabin. He was in such a good mood, you thought... Why spoil something so tender and domestic between the two of you?

For a while now, you knew of your darling beau's aversion to many things, physical intimacy being one he struggled with most. At least, compared to most... You hardly minded, as when you were on the receiving end of such of intimacy... Well, let's just say you could usually expect to be bedridden for a few hours. You swallow the bile creeping up, nerves reflected in your voice as you spoke," Alastor, dear?"

A pair of kind, almond-colored eyes looked upon you, making your heart leap. Alastor's eyes turned a warm amber when exposed to the charming lighting provided by the fireplace.

"Yes, darling?" Alastor cooed, his tone still airy and filled with a domestic softness.

"Could we... could we talk for a moment? Before dinner?"

Your partner gave you a bemused look, as if he were asked a ridiculous question. His hands settled on his hips as he rocks his weight onto his other foot, eyebrows raising.

"Dear, why let the food grow cold? Could we not discuss it over dinner? I tell you, it's JUST like my mother's; it's hearty, filling, and--"

"Alastor," you interrupt, a stern bite cutting through your meek tone," Pl-Please... If I try to tell you while you're eating, you'd probably choke." Alastor grants you an interesting look, eyes widening with your change in demeanor. But of course, he relents, sighing like a demure housewife.

"Well then, who am I to refuse... Choking is rather unpleasant, anyhow." Quickly, Alastor fusses over your meal, dousing the fire to let it simmer.

"Now then: we have a few minutes before I need to stir it. Tell me... what's troubling you?"

You gesture for Alastor to sit with you, to take his place at the table. He silently moves towards it in confident, wide strides. You watch nervously as he sits, crossing his legs formally. You felt the sweat trickle into your brow as his simple actions felt like they took an eternity... Alastor then sets his elbows on the table, resting his chin upon his folded hands. He looked... entirely too comfortable, a stark contrast with your stiff spine and sweating palms.

Alastor watches you quietly, granting you a moment to collect your thoughts. And then, you speak:

"Alastor... you know how-- well, it's been a while since we last-- Uhhm..." The quiver of your lip tips your partner off immediately, his eyes squinting. The smile that plays on his face is telling, his teeth gleaming under the dim light.

"Oh honestly, what am I to do with you? Yes, of course we can try for a little romp tonight. But... I sense that our standard 'bedroom practices' aren't the only thing clouding your mind?"

He just didn't get it. He didn't understand the weight of what was on your mind, and how quickly it was going to hit him. You were thinking of this for weeks, terrified of his reaction... But, in the comfort of the cozy, warm cabin: it was now or never. You felt a tinge of guilt as you felt his flirty smile widen, ready to shatter his expectations.

You nod in affirmation, forcing yourself to look his way fully," Right. I have an idea. Something to... change things up. 'Make it a bit more interesting, if you'll hear me out."

Alastor hums pleasantly, one of his hands gesturing outward in an animated way. He regards you just the same, opening the floor to you. You steel your nerves, hands turning to balled up fists as you formulate your next thought bluntly," I want you to hunt me, Alastor. I wanted to be hunted."

A silence befalls the room, causing panic to rise in your chest. Your chaste, Creole partner stares back at you, eyes wide. His expression was damnably neutral, as if processing your demand. You immediately start onto a tangent, leaning forward as you make your case.

"L-Look, I know how that sounds... I don't want you to actually hurt me or kill me-- I mean-- I feel like you'd be terribly sad if I were gone, but-- No, I mean in a more..."

When you trail off, you expect Alastor to pick up on your meaning. You sigh with frustration, your hands mirroring each other as they mimed your body's curves and contours," ...sexual... way."

Alastor's expression morphs under the light of the fireplace, which burned dutifully. Alastor's black pupils dilate, his mouth falling ajar. He sits upright in his seat, leaning back as he takes everything in.

" You want me to... pursue you. Hunt you... like I would wild game? Is... Is that what you're asking?"

You nod firmly, your hands trembling," I-I know, I know... it's different. I told you it would be different--"

"Different is hardly a bad thing, mon cherie... 'just surprising, is all," Alastor drawls, his eyes softening. He could see how much you were worked up. You were scared to disappoint; scared to be rejected. He hated to see the soured look on your face, and was determined to replace it with something else," What exactly do you have in mind? This-- pursuit of ours... what are the conditions?"

It was now your turn for your face to morph, a mix of surprise and relief, a faint heat brewing in your stomach," Well... I'd like you to treat it like a legitimate chase. I could be a deer, in a sense... something to bring home for dinner. You'd chase me, and I would do my best to fight back, run away...," your eyes wander over to the shotgun by the cabin door, eyes glazed from your impure thoughts," But I don't want you empty handed. I want... I'd like for you to bring the shotgun. Use it, even... as long as you don't actually try to kill me." Alastor's expression, you swore, was now the rawest it's been since you've first met him. His heart was on his sleeve: confusion, shock, delirium, and... some sort of desire. A hunger.

Alastor smoothly rises from the table, his footsteps almost echoing in the silence. He makes his way to his nightstand, fishing out something you couldn't see. When Alastor turns towards you, you hear a familiar clink, as his revolver shines in the warm light. He opens the chamber, showing to you that it is empty, before sealing it with a resolute spin. Your fists unclench, and you let out a breath that you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Dear, as lovely and authentic as it would be... I would hate to bring the shotgun. That tool is far too accurate and far too deadly, even in an inexperienced person's hands. A round so small can tear a hole wider than your skull, given the proper range..." When Alastor returned to the table, he sets the empty revolver there, your heart thumping at the implications. He slid it towards you, as if a peace offering," I wonder what may have caused this idea to fester... But it's one I'm most certainly intrigued by," he offers simply. You tried your best not to look away, his smile exposing just how fascinated he was with your proposal. His eyes were a dead giveaway: he was more than willing to carry this act out.

Your hand ghosts over the revolver, the wood of the grip much warmer than the cool metal of the barrel. Alastor clears his throat, calling your attention back to him," If I may, dearest, I also have a request..."

You feel your heart thudding loudly in your chest, the loud pulse making you deaf to the rest of the world.

"Which is...?" you attempt to counter smoothly, but the breathiness of your tone gives you away. Alastor's eyes squint, familiar with that lilt of yours. He relished seeing you like this: embarrassed, sheepish... But most of all, you felt an overwhelming desire to have him agree; have him take charge. His ego bloomed right under your nose... He wanted to see just how badly this desire had been burning inside of you.

"Do you recall the nightgown that you wore when we first embraced, love? The white little number with lace trim?" You nodded immediately, a heat rising in your face as you recalled your first night with your partner," Y-Yes... yes, I think I have it with me, actually."

Alastor moves over to your side of the table, kneeling down to your height. He grabs your chin, gently tilting your head to meet his eyes. You couldn't help the spark of desire that shot up your spine as a wicked smile stretches across Alastor's face," Good. I'd like to see it thoroughly ruined once I'm done with you."

You swore you had a stroke, your eyes wider than the dinner saucers that set the cozy, oak dinner table. You were brought back to reality as Alastor patted your cheek, practically singing when he spoke again.

"Now: let's eat. You'll need this to have your strength, dear~ The hunt starts this evening. Once dinner is finished, you'll have until I fully load the revolver to run. And that's when I'll come for you... understood?"

You had all but forgotten how to breathe, a stupefied nod his only reply as Alastor went back to the stove," Ohhh, almost forgot! We still have some bread from last night! I hope that's alright, dear~"

You were almost numb from the overwhelming sensations and emotions that coursed through your body. You were so excited and so nervous that you couldn't even think of eating. But Alastor had worked so hard to make you a fresh, homecooked meal... who were you to let it go cold? Despite yourself, you happily devoured the entire course, and were soon given seconds. Alastor grants you a coy smile, his expression saying what he kept silent: eat up. You're gonna need it.

---

Like the dutiful partner you were, you helped Alastor clean every dish and utensil used to prepare dinner. Ever the vixen, you even smeared some of the broth across his cheek, just to lick it off. The act made Alastor shudder, but he spared you, merely squeezing your hips and giving you a kiss. As for tonight... well, you wondered just how gentle he would be... if at all.

Once you had dried the last utensil, your ears perked up at the sound of a metallic clink. Your eyes widened, head whipping around to see Alastor opening the barrel to his revolver. He glances towards you, a neutral smile on his face," Oh! Sorry to startle you, dear. Just filling the chamber. 'Thought I heard something stalking outside... I might have to investigate it. You can never be to careful, these days."

You gasped, eyes dilating as you shook with anticipation. Now, now was the time.

You sprinted over to your suitcase, throwing it on the bed as you frantically searched for your nightgown. He was eager to start too, it seemed--

Click. First bullet loaded.

"I say, what a strange time of year...," Alastor rambled as he spun the glistening chamber, pushing up his glasses with the wrist of his other hand. The second bullet was clutched in his fingers, the rest scattered on the counter. You nearly shrieked as you frantically tear off your loungewear, exchanging it for the gown that Alastor requested. He would have thought the action was adorable and meek, if it weren't for his desire to fuck you stupid.

A bemused chuckle fills the air, dark and full of promise.

"What do you think is out there right now, love? A little rabbit, perhaps? With a fluffy white tail?"

Click. Second round.

You made your way hastily to the door as Alastor watched you, wiping the barrel of his revolver with the edge of his flannel. He was taking his time and making this spectacle: that you knew for sure. He seemed aloof, unbothered by your accelerated heartrate... but it agonized him to no end. This zesty little suggestion already had his mind reeling, possibilities of how he would claim you crossing over him every time he blinked.

"No, perhaps it's a deer? A doe, even? I hear it's about that time of year... mating season, that is." Your face grew hot at the notion, cursing yourself for not better preparing for this. You made sure to pull on your hiking shoes, tying the laces tightly. You prayed that they'd stay on to protect your feet.

Alastor hums with curiosity, blinking. Another image of you, trembling and moaning under his body, making his nethers pulse with interest.

"Ohh, maybe a bobcat! Something feisty... I wonder how it would taste?"

Click number three. Halfway through...

You turn around, chest already heaving as you made eye contact with Alastor. He saw you for the deranged, desperate animal that you were. His eyes matched your energy, an uncanny smile on his face. Alastor's pupils were mere pinpricks, the overwhelming expanse of amber and caramel brown nearly glowing.

"I don't know, baby... But whatever it is, I hope it runs fast," you grin to Alastor as he mirrors your expression, his tongue running across his pristine teeth.

"I'd hate to think of what would happen if you caught up to it."

With that, you were out of the door, unable to hear the rapid succession of bullets four, five, and six. Teasing be damned, he was making himself impatient. Alastor made a show of closing the weapon with a hard snap and spin, a satisfying weight settling into his hand. With the gun fully loaded, it just felt so... right. A fascination he gained from his father, unfortunately. Though he did appreciate the skills he learned from the sick bastard, that was the extent of his affection.

He'd have a good number of things to thank him for before the end of the night, as he slipped on his own pair of outdoor boots. When he stepped out onto the deck, he had caught a glimpse of you. That delicate little nightgown was fluttering and fleeting, catching the moonlight. It had to have been around 9 or 10 o'clock at night... A perfect time for your little chase to commence. Not to mention, the cool, crisp Fall air had made everything entirely better; not too hot, and not too cold. For all the weather that permeated in this southern state, Fall in Louisiana had been one of Alastor's favorites. It was his favorite namely for Open Season... and how convenient for him that you were added to the list of eligible, wild game...

He inhaled deeply through his nose, savoring the scent of evergreen and pine tickling his senses. He held his breath like this for a while, feeling his chest expand and burn from the denial of oxygen. Once he'd had enough, he exhaled heavily, a shudder running through his entire body. He let you have a decent head start. Now the chase could begin.

---

Your lungs burned from how swiftly you ran, feet carrying you further than you had ever pushed yourself. In that moment, you almost felt liberated, free… as if something had rolled off your chest. You aren't quite sure where this sense of euphoria came from, but you embraced it all the same, laughing breathlessly as your dress caught in stray branches and debris, your boots splashing into the wet, almost marshy forest floor. You breathed in through your nose, feeling a similar pull as Alastor to just take everything in… You were greeted with smells of wood and earth, though, in this part of the forest, you caught whiff of a water source nearby. As if a tether were around your waist, you felt called to it. Your running came to a steady, calm trot, your eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the night.

You stop just by a clearing, a familiar bayou greeting you. You marveled at the scenery before you, scarcely lit up by the moonlight. You had almost forgotten about your little game with Alastor, brushing stray Spanish Moss aside as you stepped fully out into the open. You smile fondly, a memory crossing your mind:

You, frantically shaking Alastor's shoulders as you try to point out a doe and her darling, new fawn. But, in your desperation, the deer were scared away, frightened by your presence. You had been heartbroken, though your partner swore up and down that he saw them, and that even so: your enthusiasm was a much more charming sight.

You walked a few yards from the water's edge, not wanting to chance it; meeting a creature of the night face-to-face was not your idea of "fun"... unless it was Alastor. You were grateful, then, for your hiking boots, as they made navigating the wet earth beneath your feet much easier. However, your foot catches on your next step, causing you to stumble into a nearby tree. When catching yourself, you spy a delicately carved pattern: yours and Alastor's first initials. (You, later on, had added the heart that surrounded them). Initially, you hadn't wanted to deface a tree like this, but Alastor, ever the charmer, insisted that it would become a landmark for you; a way to tell where you were if you were ever lost...

Your hands traced the familiar carvings, the rivets scratching against your fingertips gently. You just felt your heart swell more, the thoughts of your softer moments making your mind fog. Even with someone hot on your tail, your focus waning. You began humming to yourself as you continued your restful stroll, running through moments in your memory that made you feel particularly cozy; safe.

Just when you had felt your safest, a loud SNAP of a tree twig sounded to your rear left. You froze in your tracks, turning feverishly towards the sound. Your once still, content heart was racing wildly, eyes as wide as the moon looming above you. You slowly turned your entire body to face the noise, making sure to keep your eyes focused on the direction you heard the snap. You start to walk backwards, making your way stealthily towards the tree line.

Most animals will attack you with your back turned… facing them will deter an assault, even if for a few moments, you thought… Just before you could disappear, having half a mind to sprint-- a sudden, deafening CRACK rang out, followed by the splintering of wood. You looked to your left again, as you witness the tree next to you receive a battle scar: a bullet wound.

RUN.

You bolted into the thick underbrush, doing your best to stay low to the ground as a set of steady, patient steps pursued you. Had you not had a good distance on him, your hunter's pace would have been undiscernible from your own. It thrilled you; it horrified you. You knew that Alastor had a knack for hunting, and had you known he was THIS committed, you would have asked for a better head start.

A startling thought plagued your mind as you had a moment of clarity, your face paling. You ASSUMED this was Alastor… what if it wasn't? What if this was a wild animal, who had its sights on you? What if it was another marksman, and you were trespassing on their property? The thought made your throat run dry, the instinct to become small and hide winning over your other senses.

You nearly shrieked as a second bullet wizzes past you, less than a yard away, before it strikes the tree to your right. To your horror: it was at eye level. Had this been a stranger… they were going for the kill.

You crouch all the way down to the forest floor, searching frantically until you spy an hollowed-out tree log. You slink your way over, searching for any residents or critters, before diving headfirst into the tree husk. You laid on your back, bringing your legs in as far as they could go. You winced as your knees scrapped against the dead wood. Unable to calm down, you hastily cover your mouth with both hands. You were doing your absolute best to calm your breathing. Think, now, think… you had to think your way out of this mess.

The steady beat of the hunter's footsteps slowed, until they stop entirely. You resisted the urge to sigh in relief, still unsure if you were safe or not. Eventually, you couldn't hear a thing over the deafening stillness, the normal noises of the woods silenced by your escapade. Much like you, other creatures seemed to wait with bated breath. Maybe they were terrified of the hunter… maybe they were terrified of you.

You twitch as you hear the familiar clink of metal, a revolver's spinning wheelhouse catching your ear. You weren't out of the woods yet… this could still be another person. This could very well be a real hunt… A sharp inhale sounds just a few yards away. You nearly jumped out of your skin, eyes slamming shut. When did that hunter get closer!? Had you misjudged how far away you were from him?!

"Only 4 more bullets, Little Cottontail… let's see if you can evade them all~"

Relief and terror washed over you simultaneously: Alastor. Your body was paralyzed with conflicting emotions, breath picking up as you hear footsteps stirring closer. You could feel the panic rising in your face, blood pressure raging; but you can also feel the traitorous, hazy heat that engulfed your core. Either way, Alastor had you completely on edge, your fragile mind was on the verge of caving in either way. Should you run away, or run to him? That was your conflict…

Knock knock

Your eyes fly open as you dare to look between your bent legs, spying a pair of steely, hungry brown eyes. Pupils mere pinpricks, the whites of his eyes were nearly glowing under the light of the moon.

"There's that sweet, little rabbit!"

You shrieked as you were pulled out of the log, knees and back scrapping against the wood of your shelter. When you met solid earth, you kicked and fought, eyes wide and animalistic. Your body still fell into conflict; you wanted this to be a real chase: FIGHT BACK. Alastor was quick to avoid your kicks, straddling your hips as he tried to restrain your flailing arms. Never did you make contact, but Alastor was cautious to avoid any accidental hits, all the same.

"Oh dear, was I wrong after all? Am I really still chasing a scared, feral little rabbit~? Or something bigger…" Alastor teased, managing to seize one of your hands. It was immediately pinned above your head as you thrashed, grunting and groaning in your efforts to escape. Alastor pressed further into you, eliciting a tight -lipped moan as you felt an unmistakable hardness rub against your core. He was enjoying this much more than his face allowed him to show…

"Be a good little pet, won't you? Won't you let me take you back to my cabin? I promise I'll make this quick and painless~"

You thrashed your head back and forth. You didn't want this to be quick. You didn't WANT it to be painless. You wanted more. MORE of this.

In a daring fit of heightened hormones and rushed decision making, a loud SLAP filled the air. You panted as your hand stung, Alastor's face now jerked to the left, looking away. A flushed, red print was painted across his handsome face, his eyes wide with disbelief. He sat there like this for a few moments, his grip on your hand all but gone. You took this opportunity to slink out from under him, using his dumbfounded expression as a gauge. Truly, how long did you have until he was grounded?

Sadly, it wasn't long, a slender hand cupping the offending, fading mark. You looked down as you saw something move, your mouth watering: his cock was even harder than before, twitching from the sudden outburst. A shaky, broken sigh left Alastor's trembling lips as he slowly looked back towards you. A deep dusty rose flooded his cheeks as he chuckled, his voice full of a wicked venom. His free hand fished for his revolver, the barrel now pointing straight at you.

"Alright, then… no more playing nice."

You immediately vaulted out of the way as a third shot rang out, impacting the earth you had just been sprawled upon. Alastor elegantly got to his feet, like a regal vampire exiting his coffin. He pressed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, pupils wide with desire as he watched you bob and weave into the trees.

"Three more to go," he growled, his grin widening madly as he broke out into a frenzied sprint.

The panic was steadily rising, as did your burning desire. You realized, with horror, that Alastor's pace nearly went in double time, and he was steadily gaining on you. And so, you figured if you were truly to get caught, it might as well be a trap for him too--

BANG

Shot number four rang out, a terror-filled scream igniting the night; this shot was less than a foot from your trembling, straining right leg. You muscles were scorched from the effort you put yourself in, core fully engaged as you tried to focus on breathing. You were unsuccessful, already far too overworked and overheated. You came to the harsh realization that you couldn't run much longer.

You started charting your course carefully, taking dips and turns in hopes to throw Alastor off of your trail… but ever the clever man, he never lost sight of you. And, despite your best efforts, he was nearly on top of your imaginary cottontail. You dared to look behind you, searching for the madman coming for you, only to see he was no where in sight. Your pace slowed down, confused as his footsteps cease. You came to a dead stop, spinning around wildly to find any sign of your darling partner. Your mouth ran dry as you panted, legs nearly giving out from under you. As you took in your surroundings, you feared that you may be lost… truly, genuinely lost.

"A-Al… Alastor? Baby...?" you rasp between pants, a hand coming up to your heaving chest. You take a few, cautious steps back towards the direction you came from, squinting harshly. Your eyes still had not adjusted to the low visibility of the dank, dark forest.

"A-Al… AL?!" you call desperately, scared that you may have lost him, or worse: maybe he was injured... You go to take off again, before a hand snakes around your throat. You couldn't scream as the hand squeezes your pulse, a cold, metallic object pressed into your lower back. Your fear transformed into relief, which transformed into desire, all within a span of few seconds. Familiar, heated lips brushed against the shell of your ear. Alastor's breath was heavy on your skin.

"I guess I didn't need all of my rounds, after all." Alastor nearly purred, despite his labored breathing. His warm breath followed his lips as they came to the junction of your jaw and neck, three fingers unfurling from your pulse. This left him just enough room to litter the bared skin of your neck with short, open mouthed kisses, your eyes fluttering closed. Even with only two fingers squeezing your throat, you still felt lightheaded, unable to escape. You shuddered under his grasp, your body instantly surrendering to his desire. It was official: the chase was officially over. Alastor knew that the moment you sighed into his touch.

"Good girl~"

In a rapid succession, you were grabbed and hauled over Alastor's wide shoulder, his free hand tucking his revolver away. Your hands flew down to grope and run over Alastor's body, your lungs still exhausted from the strife of running away. Alastor allowed your hands to explore, appearing unphased as he carried you out of the woods. He resisted every fiber in his being to not bend you over and fuck you into the damp earth; a filthy act for a filthy-minded girl like you. But, he had at least some modicum of class… he needed to make this last; he would ensure this was something you wouldn't soon forget.

-- You felt embarrassed by how rapidly your heart beat, how frantically you were tugging at Alastor's flannel, but when your eyes looked up to a different building, your heart nearly stopped. You were walking toward 'the shack', Alastor called it… THIS was where he took all of his wild game after hunting them down. Seeing your unease, he slapped you on the ass, hoping to chase away your nerves," Don't worry, darling… I told you I would be gentle~"

His words contradicted his actions as you were practically thrown into the shed, sprawled out onto the floor. Your eyes tried taking in your surroundings, but it was far too dark to see. You yelped as both of your hands were seized and tied with a coarse jute rope, the fibers pricking your wrists. When you felt Alastor leave you, your legs came together, heat still pooling in your lower abdomen," S-Sooo, Mr. Huntsman~ You've caught me~ What do you plan to d--" Your questioning was cut short as you were suddenly jerked onto your knees, your hands now taunt over your head. A few more tugs on your rope, and you were standing upright, struggling to balance on the balls of your feet. You wobbled as you heard shuffling behind you, rope being fastened, and the clink of Alastor's revolver laying on a flat surface.

Alastor left you in suspense like this for a few moments, as he brought his hands together with a satisfied hum. The crisp sound made you jump as if it were gunfire, your cunt nearly drooling as you strained to look for Alastor in the pitch.

"Now then… 'can't see very well like this, can we?"

A lantern was lit just in front of your face, startling you. You realized that Alastor had all but held his breath to get closer to you, those same, silent footsteps deceiving you again. You couldn't find the words to speak, eyes wide with disbelief and desire as you stared back at Alastor's shit eating grin.

"Ahhh, yes… Finally managed to capture you, you tricky thing~," he mused as he flicked the tip of your nose. He chuckled when you wiggled it back and forth and recoiled, almost mimicking the animal he claimed you to be. "No, I don't think you're privy to know what I plan to do to you, with words… But, I can certainly show you." He seized your cheeks roughly with one hand, puckering your lips as he closed the distance between your bodies," But you might enjoy that too, wouldn't you?" Alastor's other hand ran dangerously up your trembling thigh, his face cool and collected as you were practically panting under his touch.

"P-Please…"

Alastor sends you a questioning look, before grinning maliciously," I didn't realize animals could speak, let alone have permission to." A harsh grip on your thigh anchored you to Alastor's pelvis, and you felt the familiar, hardened length on your core. You whined, obeying in silence as Alastor ground against you. His mouth fell open as he pressed his hips again, eager to seek some friction.

"You'd like me to use you, wouldn't you…? Breed this body like a deranged rabbit while you're helpless, defenseless under my touch…" Your mouth watered at the idea, your eyes fluttering as his hand shifted to palm your ass. His smirk was very telling, both hands moving to spread and palm your backside properly. His touch was slow and sensual on your trembling, supple body.

"Or maybe I should lay my claim here… Uncharted wilderness is quite thrilling to explore, don't you think?" His breath was so low it rattled his own ribcage. Without warning, a groan was torn from both of your throats as you bucked into Alastor's hips. Your eagerness was not unwelcomed...

Alastor was rewarded with another broken, wanton moan for his scandalous ideas and his wandering hands. He realized, in that moment, he was telling you exactly what he wanted to do to you. And, in that same moment, he decided that he didn't fucking care.

"Or maybe… maybe I can't wait--" Alastor starts to drag his lips down your form, kissing down your neck, then the valley of your breasts, then your abdominals… before landing at the hem of your still-concealed underwear. "I'm quite parched, love… Surely you won't mind if I quench my thirst, first?" Alastor's hands snake up your thighs as your nightgown is pushed up, revealing his current target: your clothed loins. His pupils shrink as he inhales, almost nuzzling into your inviting cunt. You whine weakly when he gazes up to you with mesmerized eyes; he was as bent out of shape as you were, and he was struggling to keep it concealed… Was he really going to enjoy himself, or sink his teeth in? Your heart stuttered at either possibility.

You nodded down to Alastor, wobbling as you spread your legs as far as you could. Your wrists were reminded of their predicament as you tried to move, thrashing in your restraints. You didn't speak, a firm nod your answer and consent. As Alastor kissed your awaiting heat, he shifted your legs onto his shoulders, alleviating the pressure on your feet. Had you not been so aroused, you would be heavily flustered by this gesture: a kindness yet something so brazen, even for your sweet beau.

He squeezed the meat of your thighs, humming as he licked a warm, wet stripe between your covered lips, the fabric of your panties already drenched with your arousal. You swore you saw his eyelids flutter as he sighed against you, diving in more earnestly. You wailed with frustration, unable to feel the full effect of his tongue just yet. You cared very little, however, as some attention was better than none. Your struggled against your restraints once more, warning hands digging into your thighs. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it simmered into a moan with each wave of pleasure. You wanted to scream as Alastor continued to tease you, unable to regulate your breathing or your moans.

He wasn't kidding; he wanted to eat you out like a man starved, his tongue dancing along your drenched panties wildly. He left no surface unmarked by his sinful, silver tongue. Alastor practically moaned around your sensitive bud, your mind reeling at the sensation as your hips bucked subconsciously. Whether it was because he was enjoying himself, or strictly to stimulate your clit, you weren't sure… but that little noise sent jolts of electricity right to your core.

Despite this: you were rewarded with a nip to your pearl, a whiney, breathy moan your weak rebuttal. You secretly hoped he would tear you apart, just to put you back together and break you again.

Your mind refocused as you felt your underwear being moved to the side, a bold, eager tongue now attending to your bare, puffy folds. You shrieked his name, whimpering from the stimulation. His tongue worked dexterously, licking and coddling every curve, dip, and crevice. Alastor's movements were now raw and unfiltered, MUCH to your delight.

Your legs caged his head, squeezing him closer to you as you felt your orgasm forming at an alarming rate. You couldn't help but mewl, head falling forward and limp as Alastor buried his face into your mound. His straight, rigid nose prodded your clit as he drove his tongue into your aching entrance, your taste and scent engulfing his thoughts. You let out a long, satisfied moan as he began to pump his long tongue in and out of you, working both his spit and your arousal in and out. The slick skin-on-skin squelching did nothing to calm the fire behind your eyes, toes popping with how violently they curled. Alastor continued his brutal pace, unable to get enough of your taste, scent, and special, little cries that were made just for him.

"F-fuhhh~ F-Fahhh--! Ahh! A-Al!" you cried, wanting desperately to use your words; you tried to give him a warning. You were near your climax, tears pricking your half-lidded eyes. You heard Alastor grunt into you, hands rubbing and kneading your thighs, as if asking you to crush his head more. You obliged, bucking into his mouth as your release started to approach. He had his mouth full, no doubt! Even so: you swore you heard Alastor moan and whisper into your folds hastily, suckling and swirling your clit to make you cum.

"F-Fuck-- Oh fuck, cum for me, then--"

Your body spasmed, head tossing back sharply,"F-Fuck, Al-- Al!!! Fuck, cumming--"

The dizzying affect swam over you swiftly, a scream that could be mistaken for pain filling the tiny shack you were in. The force and sudden rise in pleasure was overwhelming, almost maddening as Alastor wound you back down. You were gently set back onto your feet, legs shaking... All the while, his tongue never stopped, making you whine from overstimulation.

"A-Al… please, that's-- G-God! You can stop now-- Ahh~" You would have doubled over if your hands weren't restrained, your tongue lolling out from between your lips. The delightful slurping from below didn't cease, and seemed to become even more feverish. Alastor smiled up at you, parting for just a moment before licking his slick-covered lips.

" Am I not allowed to have seconds, dear?"

Your face seemed to catch on fire as you try to formulate a reply. However, Alastor's mouth knocked it out of you, head vacant as he continues to ravage you. He suckled on your abused clit, hands holding your hips in place as you tried to squirm away from his devious touch.

"F-Fuck! F-Fuck, Al, please--!!! T-Too much-- Ahhn-- T-Too much!!" you cried, your wrists chaffed against the rope that bound you.

Alastor did not relent, instead pressing you further into his face as he feasted upon you. His slurping and gulping nearly doubled with a grotesque volume, his eyes wide and watching you. You trembled under his intense gaze, rushing towards a very intense, unnecessary second orgasm.

"F-Fuck-- Alastor!! A-Al! Fuck, don't--" you whined, tears streaming down your face as the searing heat of the new orgasm washed over you," Pl-Please-- FUCK--"

Another shriek bounced off the walls as a hasty, overwhelming feeling flooded your loins. You winced with embarrassment as you felt a sudden gush of warmth coat your sex and thighs. Of course, Alastor was on the receiving end, but didn't seem to mind, his tongue only slowing when you were practically sobbing into the afterglow. Your legs completely gave out on you, wincing as your arms held your entire body aloft," F-Fuck… Fuuuuckkk…" you whined as your head spun, your eyes blurry from the pleased, hot tears that stained your face. A sweet, warm hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to look Alastor's way.

"An absolutely breathtaking meal, darling…," Alastor panted, his eyes warm but still full of a lusty haze," Please… if you'll have me, I simply can't stop there."

When you gave him a weak but sure nod, Alastor nearly bolted to the secured rope, allowing you to descend to your knees. The warm wooden floor dug into your legs as you waited. Alastor was quick to resecure the rope before looping back to you. " If I were to ravage your pussy now, I'm afraid this little show might end early… So for both our sakes…" Alastor swiftly freed his aching cock, a hand lazily pumping his flushed member. Despite his aversion to touching himself, he sighed into the relief his hand provided.

"Won't you please… allow me to use your sweet lips instead, pet?"

How could you say no, with his words tumbling out sweetly?

With a speed that made Alastor dizzy, you beckoned him to you, tongue first. He allowed you to kiss the head of his flushed cock, eyes drinking in your expressions and your body. He had half a mind to cut the rope holding you hostage, but decided against it when you took him into your warm mouth. Alastor hastily covered his lips, stifling a groan as his other hand fisted your hair. You didn't mind, hollowing your cheeks as you took as much of him in as you could. His public hair tickled the very tip of your nose, his musk invading your senses. Had his mind been clearer, Alastor would've worried about your ability to breathe... but he had to focus on not throat fucking you first.

"Shit-- so warm--," Alastor groaned, his voice still muffled. Despite this, his words reached your perked ears, and causing your wet entrance to flutter around nothing. Alastor flinched, his hips spasming as you took him down to his base. He was jammed far into your throat, your eyes rolling back as you tried to relax around his engorged member. A choked noise and a sputter erupted around his cock, a pleased moan eagerly following. As much as Alastor was enjoying himself, you would be lying if you said choking on Alastor's cock wasn't fun for you.

"Fuck, don't hurt yourself, darling-- I don't need-- FUCK--" The moment you started to bob your head, all words and worries flew out the window, the hand in your hair beginning to guide your descent. Alastor felt like he was being incinerated, his body electrified by your wriggling tongue and tight mouth. His restraint was beginning to wane, hair fanning across his sweat-slicked forehead," Fuck, you take this so well-- Take ME so well--"

Alastor panted, hardly able to keep his eyes open as you whined around him. His grip in your hair grew harsher, his hips beginning to stir.

"So malleable, so eager-- Good God--" Alastor's head fell forward as you created a delicious, tight suction around his dick. The sensation nearly drove him to bellowing, your name tumbling clumsily from his parched lips. He stared at the point where his cock disappeared into your mouth, then up to your teary eyes. Fresh tears spilled over your flushed cheeks, his words causing a shiver to run up your spine. Alastor, completely enthralled, felt his cock throb at the sight of your desperation, gritting his teeth," FUCK-- Damn it all--!"

Straining to reach out of sight, his hand ends up landing on a carving knife. Once he could grip it properly, he hastily swings above you. You flinch for a moment, before your arms relax and fall to your sides. You realized he cut you loose, but you had no time to dabble on the thought. Alastor's cock slid out of your mouth, your jaw setting into a neutral, open shape. Alastor started to stroke himself hastily, using his other hand to gesture in a circle," Turn around-- on all fours. NOW."

You didn't hesitate when that dark, brisk command was thrown your way, clambering like a newborn deer. You turn to look back at him, wagging your hind in a teasing way," Don't want to waste a drop, huh?" you teased, a coy smile on your face. Alastor laughed, breathy and high, as he fell to his knees. He easily towered over you as he aligned himself to your dribbling, plush entrance," You know me too well, love."

The plunge of his cock nearly knocked you onto your stomach, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. To your pleasant surprise, Alastor had bottomed out inside of you. There was a slight discomfort from the sudden intrusion (one that wasn't unwelcome) as a strong arm wrapped around your torso.

" B-Bear with me. I'll fill you up soon, dear--"

You nearly cried as Alastor began to move, hips already hammering into your most intimate place at an animalistic rate. You were truly fucking like rabbits, unable to do anything but chase your own desires. Alastor buried his face into your neck, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his grunts. You were unable to stifle your own, the sounds of your ecstasy bouncing around the room. The steady, rhythmic squelching of your privates were almost drowned out by the steady plap, plap, plap against your ass with every brutish press. You were getting close... And as Alastor's voice rose with yours, you realized he couldn't be fa behind. You allowed yourself to fall forward, cheek smashed against the grain of the floorboards as you arched your back," F-Fuck… fuck me, Alastor-- Hah-- Oh god, please--" Your eyes slammed shut as Alastor's pace only increased, his hips angling in a way that stroked your g-shot with every press.

"Yes, love-- fuck yes, you want this? Harder? Faster? Fuck--" He accented your mental demands with more energy, a hand cupping your bouncing, right breast as the other caressed your stuffed pussy. He sought your puffy pearl at the apex of your cunt, and drew quick, deliberate circles into it.

" Fuck, fuck! I need you to cum-- Want you to cum--," Alastor begged, his breath hot and heavy in your ear," O-One more time, please-- then I'll make sure to fuck my-- Oh fuck! I'll fuck you full of my cum--"

Your mouth hung open, drool pooling under your cheek as you felt your orgasm building for the third time that night, your hands clawing into the wooden floor," F-Fahh-- ahh! Yes!!! Fuck me, shit-- fuck me stupid, Al!!!" you wailed, eyes flying open as he pinched your clit. You clamped resolutely around his cock, your body locking up-- Yes, yes, just a few more thrusts--

"FUCK!!!"

You came with a wail and a tremor, your lungs screaming for air as it was fucked right out of you. Alastor, watching and feeling your body unravel under him, was unable to last any longer. He pressed his forehead into your shoulder, humping once, twice, thrice until he delivered a deep, devastating thrust. Your name became a debauched mantra as you milked his cock, spurts of hot, white seed painting your core. You trembled as you felt it being fucked into you, Alastor sighing into your shoulder.

"Sh-Shit… Shit, I love you. God, I fucking love you--" Alastor cursed into your shoulder, his hips stirring again," I-I can't stop-- fuck, you keep sucking me back in--"

You whined as Alastor started to rut into you again, his hardened length not wavering in the slightest. Like an animal in heat, he proceeded to fuck you through his own climax, eager to fill you up again," F-Fuck, I'm sorry-- You feel too good. Fuck, this is--"

You did your best to look behind you, lips clumsily kissing his temple, his forehead-- whatever you could reach," H-Hahn… hah, it's okay! Pl-Please, use me… F-Fuck, you can use me again! I wanna feel you cum in me again, Al!"

Alastor needed little convincing, his overstimulation outweighed by his desire. The cries that dripped from your mouth were sweeter than the honey and slick between your legs," G-God-- God, mon amour-- FUCK!"

You were smiling deliriously as Alastor used your sensitive cunt to chase another high, head foggy and vision blurry. You could do nothing but whine and shake as you were not only fucked through your orgasm, but felt your loins boil with an impending, new release. You couldn't say a word as each thrust pushed a scream from your diaphragm, Alastor's own throes of pleasure mirroring yours. The both of you made eye contact, and for the first time in a long time you saw… Alastor wasn't smiling?

Alastor's brow was knit together, face hard and yet so flushed as his mouth hung open in a wide, desperate "O". You felt your walls flutter around Alastor, the sight almost as beautiful as his trademark smile. Hastily, Alastor pulled you up by your throat, squeezing as you were forced to face away… The growl that was rumbled into your ear did little to slow down your peak.

The smile that danced across your face was unmatched; you had gotten Alastor to completely melt into you, unable to keep his 'armor' on. He was drunk off of your body, and he was unable to hide just how much he wanted both of you to cum. You mentally cheered, unable to shake the feeling of victory as that tension in your belly snapped. You unleash a broken, primal scream as Alastor fills your womb with another load, his semen spilling out from your writhing cunt. Completely out of breath, both of your collapse to the floor. You were left gasping and wheezing as Alastor sunk into you deeper, fully sheathed and pressing into your cervix. The sensation just made you whimper into your afterglow, lips twitching as you both wound back down…

You both lay on the floor like this for a few moments-- hell, maybe for an hour-- trying to regain your bearings. Trembling hands caressed your body, while your own reached up to pet and stroke at soft, chestnut brown hair. A tired chuckle fills your ears as Alastor closes his eyes, a content sigh rolling off his chest.

"You never fail to amaze me. And, of course… you never fail to make me cum either," Alastor admits, a sheepish blush creeping across his face. You nod, your laughter just as meek," Y-Yeah… fuck, you… you did all the work," you quipped, feeling Alastor shake his head. He kissed at your shoulders, trailing them up your neck and to your heated cheeks.

"Darling, if anything deserves the praise, it would be your nethers… She put on quite a show." You lightly elbowed him in the ribs, the both of you laughing like teenagers," Or maybe your brain… for coming up with a delicious roleplaying scenario?"

You hum for a moment to contemplate, before sighing," Fair enough… I'll take that," you profess, looking up and back towards your exhausted partner," Alastor?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Thank you again, for all of this... and-- sorry about slapping you earlier," you chuckle, your face burning under Alastor's sweet gaze. He seemed entirely unbothered, shrugging," Ahh, nothing but a passionate act in the heat of the moment. Think nothing of it-- as long as you don't mind me slapping this again~" You squeaked as your ass received a playful tap, like a friendly, sportsman’s slap of approval.

"Good job~"

You rolled underneath Alastor, his cock finally freed when you sprawled out onto your back. You invited him to lay his head on your chest, which he gladly accepted. You could feel the tension in his body dissipate the moment he laid down, his eyes fluttering closed. You brushed the hair away from his face, giggling at the adorable sight of your dopey, sleepy lover.

"Alastor... don't fall asleep on me, now. We still need to get back to the cabin." Alastor groaned, brow furrowing. Stubborn as a bull, he nuzzled into your chest face-first, sighing as your heartbeat lulled him," Just a few more minutes, dear… I don't believe either of us could stand, even if we wanted to."

You hummed, patting Alastor on the head as you conceded," Touché… But I blame you for that."

"And not our heated chase, dearest?"

You snort as you try not to laugh, belly aching from holding back," Fuck, that's fair... Maybe we can play a little closer to home next time?" You smile down at your partner as he adjusts himself. Finally, he came up for air as his chin settled between your breasts, his eyelids still heavy from exhaustion. 

"Oh sweetheart, where would the fun be in that? You know I love a good chase~" 

He moved further up, caging your body with his as he gave you a tender, quick kiss," You can run, hide, do whatever you like... as long as we both have fun, that's all that matters– our legs be damned..." You can't help but nod and laugh, pushing Alastor back into your bosom. Your sleepy beau can't help but hum in approval, your chest a warm, welcoming pillow. 

"You're right... that's all that matters. But really, I-- I love you, Alastor. I can’t help but thank you again. For all of this…" Your partner stills for a moment, a dark, intense flush coming across his face and neck. You can't help but laugh as he hides his face into your chest again, sighing dramatically," I love you too, mon ange... For now, I'll settle for saying it, as I'm far too tired to show you again right now..."

You chuckle as you crane your neck down, kissing his crown before letting your head thunk against the floor," You already show me more than enough, baby... More than you know." 

The silence is calming, even comfortable as the two of you find yourselves drifting off to sleep. Thankfully, the autumn heat and the union of your bodies was more than enough to keep you warm. Both of you allowed yourselves just one, brief nap while the crickets and cicadas harmonized outside the window... A perfect, peaceful conclusion to a passionate, relentless hunt. 

[asjjohnson]

Part 16 of my poll adventure fic. Links: the beginning, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15.

---

Danny logged into Doomed, and found FRYERTUCK and CHAOS waiting for him.

Despite the online game's multiple upgrades, it still didn't have a way to permanently store player's progress, so they had to start over at level one each time they logged in.

"Hi guys, I'm here," Danny typed.

"Hi, GHOST BOY."

"Finally! Let's get started before you have to stay up all night again."

"Hey, I've been better about that lately."

The three of them ran into the level, entry-level weapons ready.

And then all three of them stopped to stare at the scene before them.

"Uh... who's that?" FRYERTUCK asked.

Up ahead, a player was in the air shooting at everything around him.

An axe-welding gatekeeper re-spawned in front of the player, but was quickly killed again. Then a building reformed, and the player shot at it, too.

As Danny got closer, the player's public chat box appeared on the screen.

"hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha—" GAME PHANTOM said.

...And continued to say.

Danny asked in his private chat, "What's his deal? Who would continuously type a wall of text while playing?"

"Someone having a lot of fun?" FRYERTUCK asked.

"And why is he sticking around, anyhow? The portal's right there," CHAOS added.

Like Sam said, the portal to the next level was already open, but GAME PHANTOM was ignoring it.

Danny switched to his public chat box. "Hey, are you new to this game? The goal is to go through the levels and gather the keys. That's the door to the next level beside you."

"—hahahaha." GAME PHANTOM turned to look at Danny. "I know. I'm just not interested."

Another player started to approach the portal.

GAME PHANTOM turned around and shot him, before turning back toward Danny.

"Did this guy just take over the role of gate guardian?" FRYERTUCK asked.

"Looks like it," Danny typed back.

If GAME PHANTOM held them up on level one, they wouldn't have enough time to get to the last level today. And Danny really didn't want to stay up all night again—and especially not force his friends stay up with him.

So what should he do about this?

---

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[circusgoth-dotcom]

Rough Beginnings

Ship: Bill Fang x Sweeney Todd

Word Count: 1254

Summary: The day Bill and Sweeney met each other. A remastered fic, no clue where the original is on my old blog but either way this rewrite is probably leagues better. Ask to add CWs, I don't think anything is too bad in this fic but let me know. (Genuine)

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @rexscanonwife @dudefrommywesterns

It was an early, grey, and foggy morning when Sweeney returned to his home city of London. It was just as he left it; disgusting and derelict, yet certainly far more lonely without the company of his dear wife Lucy and daughter Johanna. How he longed to return to them and make everything right once more. It was that longing that drove him forth down Fleet Street once he had left the piers, and his young saviour, behind. He stopped and stared outside of the building he once called home.

The top floor contained what used to be his apartment and the space in which he did business as a barber, well-liked by his regular customers. Below lived his neighbour and her pie shop. Dust and grime were caked onto the windows, even though there appeared to be some sort of effort to clean, and the building generally looked unpopular compared to other businesses on the street. He would’ve ignored this and pressed on if it weren’t for the fact an unfamiliar face was sitting on a bench outside of the pie shop, adding paint to a wind-weathered sign.

Cautiously, Sweeney approached. “Pardon me, sir, but you wouldn’t happen to know who owns this building, do you?”

The man looked up, showing a young but tired face, marked with porous scars. “Ah, yes sir, that would be my boss, Mrs. Lovett.” He frowned. “You’re not thinking of buying us out, are you?”

“What…? Oh, no, no,” he waved his hand dismissively, “that is far from the reason I’m here, don’t you worry about anything of that sort. Has anyone else resided here in your time?”

The man thought for a moment. “No, sir, just myself and Nellie… who are you?”

Sweeney cleared his throat. “I’m… no one, no one you need to worry about, anyhow. You?”

The man adjusted his newsboy cap. “Bill Fang. I’m Mrs. Lovett’s assistant.” He returned his attention to painting the sign. “Well, Mr. No-One, it would at least be appreciated if you stepped inside for a pie. We’re barely staying afloat. Nobody wants to come in because we use such cheap ingredients, but we can’t afford anything better because nobody’s coming in. That and people keep saying the shop upstairs is haunted. Tch, sir, I’ll tell you, I’ve slept up there myself and there isn’t a thing wrong with it, not a thing!”

“Have you, now?” Sweeney barred the defensive feelings rising in his chest. This stranger before him had slept in his own bed and neither Lucy nor Johanna seemed to be remembered, let alone still around. “I suppose that makes you a brave man. Lucky for both you and your employer, I haven’t had a proper meal yet.”

He nodded at the man and let himself in, the tingling of the bell overhead immediately giving away his presence. Once the door closed behind him, Bill set aside the sign on his lap and hopped up from the bench, peering through the dirty windows to catch a glimpse of how the stranger interacted with his boss. He watched him half-heartedly try one of the pies, shortly being instructed to spit it out. He watched as a lengthy, animated conversation took place. He watched as a thunderous rage came upon the stranger and he slammed his fist onto the counter, prompting Bill to rush inside.

“What’s going on??” He asked quickly, recklessly wanting to defend his employer with nothing on him but his bare hands.

“Don’t fret, William, it’s just…” Mrs. Lovett began before the both of them looked over at Sweeney as he released a great gasping sob, torn between being completely livid and utterly despaired. “Mr. Todd’s been dealt a great hand of bad luck. Wait here.”

Bewildered, Bill remained where he stood as Sweeney shakily sat at one of the dusty tables, burying his head in his hands. He looked far more miserable than when he had walked in. Before Bill could say anything more, Mrs. Lovett had returned with a handsome black case.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be the sewers or the plague hospital-- you can be a barber again!” She insisted, opening the case and setting it in front of the distraught man. The inner lining was rich, red velvet, cushioning a set of silver razors with intricate, chased handles, looking almost completely untouched. Even Bill had to gasp a little at the reveal.

“You had these all this time??” He asked, a bit outraged. “These would sell for good money, why would you…?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Mrs. Lovett insisted through clenched teeth, lightly swatting at him with a rag before waiting for Sweeney’s reaction as he examined the beautiful tools set out for him.

“My friends…” He muttered softly, holding one of the razors up to the light of the gas lamp on the table. He swallowed as he contemplated the familiarity of the tool in his hand, the sharpness of its blade. Where one door closes, another must open. He stood and set the razor back with the others, turning to Mrs. Lovett and Bill. “Yes. I’ll resume my work upstairs, however, this means I will need my room back.”

“William can bunk with me, I’m sure.” Mrs. Lovett flashed him a particular look- no arguments -before fishing a set of keys from her apron pocket and handing them to Sweeney. “Well, go on. We keep it locked up during the day to discourage vagrants.”

Without hesitation, Sweeney left the pieshop to get a proper look at the current state of his parlour and apartment, leaving Bill to stare at his employer.

“Nellie, do you know that man???” He asked, exasperated.

“Yes! Sit down, I’ll pour you some ale and tell you the whole story…”

When she finished, Bill was suddenly struck with the same nauseating outrage he knew Sweeney was feeling at that very moment.

“How do you suppose he’ll get his revenge?” He asked lowly. Mrs. Lovett regarded him silently for a moment.

“I suppose we’ll just have to see.”

It did not possibly cross Bill’s mind that Sweeney was prepared to kill due to the injustice thrust upon him as he tread upstairs. Sweeney startled as his own greeting bell rang, only to be relieved when it was just Bill.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Well, I thought you might appreciate it if I removed my belongings from your apartment.”

“Right…” Sweeney nodded, turning back toward the single window, slotted in the roof and showing a view of the terribly drab sky. Bill walked across the room and slipped into the tiny apartment, which consisted of nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and a kitchen. He pulled what little belongings he had out of the dresser, folded them neatly in his arms, and exited back into the parlour.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?”

Sweeney looked over his shoulder at him. “It tends to, in this city, if my memory serves me correctly. You know, you don’t need to make small talk with me, Fang.” He paused. “Though I do have to ask why Mrs. Lovett calls you…?”

“William? Yes, well, I made the mistake of giving her my full name and now she won’t drop it.” Bill shrugged. “As for the small talk, I’m only trying to be friendly. And just because I’m Mrs. Lovett’s assistant, don’t think I’m off limits. If you need help with anything once you get settled, just find me, alright?”

“Right.”

“Good day, Mr. Todd.”

“Good day, Fang.”

[izzyizumi]

Meanwhile w/Digimon Taishiro

Taichi, staring at Koushiro's ... 'shoes'?:

Koushiro:

Taichi:

Koushiro: ('what is he--')

Taichi: ('hE'S WEARING')

Taichi: ('ORANGE') ('SOCKS') ('??')

Koushiro, realizing:

Taichi: ('that match with his')

Taichi: ('ORANGE') ('TIE') ('??')

Koushiro: .. Taichi-san ?

Taichi, mentally sOBBING: (' I LOVE YOU !!!! ')

Koushiro, trying to get Taichi back to normal so Koushiro can get back to work: ('...Maybe this WAS a bit much.')

... also Koushiro: ('...but, he likes it, so ... ....')

[jimlingss]

(sorry my tumblr app glitched so im not sure if this was sent twice) taking a chance for the requests! how about a seokjin or namjoon arranged marriage au with this: “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 🎄 happy holidays!!

↳ Playground Promises

1.9k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

The bell rings.

Moments later, children are sprinting from the doors and flooding the playground. You watch in fondness as some climb the monkey bars while others sit and dig into the sandbox. All of them were forging their first friendships they’ll remember forever and you were their witness.

This is one of your favourite times of day. You enjoy seeing the kids have their fun, listening to their laughter and giggles, watching their games of tag to play pretend. But today, your enjoyment is interrupted by a certain male teacher that comes to stand behind you.

Tall. Dark. And handsome. His broad shoulders carry the weight of the third-grade class and practically the entire elementary school. But you’d never admit that out loud.

“It’s a bit chilly out today. You should’ve brought your coat with you.”

You hum.

Every staff member, married and single, swoons over Kim Seokjin. It’s hard not to. But if others knew what your relationship was with him, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it. The kids would make a big fuss and so would all the staff and faculty, and you’d rather avoid that.

“I didn’t know you were on playground duty today.”

“I switched with Sana,” he says and leans over to smile. “Thought you could use some company.”

You scoff. “She’s perfectly fine company.”

The corner of his plump lip pulls. “If you want to talk about the mathletes program. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

Before you can respond, a boy approaches the two of you with pink cheeks and wind-swept hair. “Mr. Kim, can I go to the bathroom?” the third-grader asks in the midst of catching his breath and the older man nods.

“Go ahead. But don’t run in the hallway, Lucas.” 

Said boy grins and dashes off.

Seokjin turns to you and lowers his voice. “My mom’s been asking about the kids.”

Your brows furrow. “Why? They’re a good bunch.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean your class’ kids, I mean our kids.”

You blink owlishly. “There are no our kids.”

“That’s the problem.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Wasn’t getting married enough for them?”

Seokjin shrugs with a faint, mischievous smile. “They want to go out for brunch with your parents this Sunday. Are you free?”

“When am I not free?” you retort lightly, but slip your phone out of your pocket to check your calendar anyhow. Seokjin glances over to your screen and once you finish, you slip it back into your pocket. “I have some marking to do, but I’ll probably finish by then.”

“Okay.” The pair of you turn back to continue monitoring the children playing and you’re glad to revel in the silence that’s been created between you. But after a beat, Kim Seokjin pipes up again. You don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s quite the talkative guy. “Hey, Y/N.”

You look over and he meets your eye.

He asks, “Am I your lock screen?”

Your face heats. If you were once cold, now you were warm from head to toe. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you mumble. It was just a picture from the other day and you wanted to change things up on your phone. You had nothing else to use. It was convenient. That’s it.

Your entire relationship with him is built on convenience. At least...on his side it is.

Still, Seokjin grins and fortunately, he doesn’t tease.

You rush to change the subject. “A-Anyway, yeah, Sunday works for me. But we should probably talk about this after work.”

“Why? No one’s around.” His smile is spread from ear to ear and he leans in, whispering, “Are you that scared of people finding out we’re married?”

Immediately, you whip your head in all directions. Luckily, there’s no kid or nosy faculty member. You turn back to him, glaring. “I already said, I like to keep my private life under wraps.”

“I remember. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were embarrassed of me.”

You scoff and a murmur unintentionally spills out of you, “That’s impossible.”

You don’t notice Seokjin’s smile.

It’s been three months since you got married. It was a summer wedding. More importantly, it was an arranged marriage. And not because you were both wealthy and needed to be wedded to get the inheritance under some arbitrary contract rule or because it was your grandmother’s dying wish. No. You live a much more mundane, normal life than the dramas, movies and books.

It was your mom who threw a fuss. She was scared you’d be alone and unmarried, an old maid like your aunt — you didn’t say it, she just heavily implied it. But following her practically senile meltdown, you agreed. Partly to appease her worries and partly just out of curiosity.

You always wanted to get married. And deep down, you always wanted your own kids. But at the rate you were going, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to meet someone on your own.

What you didn’t expect on that blind date was for the other person to be Kim Seokjin, third grade teacher. Down the hall from you at the school. Someone across the room every lunchtime. Your dads were apparently long time colleagues, but Jin was still as equally shocked as you were during that first meeting. Yet, he easily agreed to getting married when you brought it up. Even when it was only after two months of occasionally seeing one another outside of your workplaces.

You still don’t know why he said yes.

“Ms. L/N!”

You’re torn out of your trance by a little girl at your knees. 

She pouts. “Jennie won’t let me play on the slide!”

“Did you ask her to share?”

“Yes!”

Before any more can be said, she drags you over and Seokjin trails after you. There’s another girl with brown braided hair climbing on the slide, and she swivels her head over as the two of you approach, eyes the size of saucers. 

“Are you taking turns, Jennie?” you ask her, and she vigorously nods.

“I am!”

“Well, you’ve been on it for a while. How about Lisa takes a turn next.”

“Okay,” she draws out and gets off of the slide before turning to her friend. “Here you go.”

It’s always little problems you have to solve — from sharing to knee scrapes and monkey bar accidents. Sometimes it’s difficult for the children to compromise, difficult for them to apologize and difficult for you to find a good solution. But you undoubtedly wish your own issues were this simple.

While you’re stuck in your thoughts, you miss Jin watching you fondly. 

“You’re good with kids,” he says as you move out of the way of running children and walk back to the perimeter.

“I wouldn’t be doing this job if I wasn’t. But I deal with older kids much better.” There’s a reason you teach fifth graders and not any lower than that. Seokjin knows it too.

“Remember when we had to supervise that kindergarten class together?”

You shudder. “It was a nightmare.”

“You weren’t that bad,” he tries to say but then laughs. You feign a glare, and he adds on, “Okay. I’m sorry, but I still mean it. It’s not as terrible as you thought. You’d make a good mom.” 

At that, your glare vanishes in favour of furrowing brows. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t help it when curiosity pries — so you break your own rule against discussing private matters at work. 

“Do you want my kids?”

Seokjin is wide-eyed and he turns to you. “Why not? We’re married.”

“Yeah….but…”

“But? Do you not want kids?” 

“No! I definitely want them,” you declare, almost a bit too boldly. He nods and you explain, “It’s just...I don’t know if you’re serious.”

Seokjin blinks. “I’m being perfectly serious.”

“I mean I don’t know if we’re serious.” You add, “Enough to have kids.”

“What’s more serious than being married?” Jin has a genuinely inquisitive and amused expression, head quirked to the side. 

You inhale a sharp breath and his gaze coaxes you to go on, so you do. “It’s just that you agreed so quickly to be married to me. It doesn’t….feel real. I don’t know if you wanted to marry me, if you did it on a whim, if this is some kind of joke—”

He frowns. “This isn’t a joke, Y/N. I wanted to marry you.”

Your mouth hangs open. Your eyes are rounded.

“Wh—”

“Mrs. L/N!” You’re interrupted by your fifth-grader, Park Jimin. He sprints to you, huffing and puffing, before leaning his hands onto his knees to catch his breath. “Have you seen Taehyung?! We’re playing tag!”

“No, I haven’t.”

Jin suddenly points to the left. “He went that way.”

Jimin books it.

Silence fills the spaces between you and Seokjin again, but it isn’t like normal. It’s filled with unanswered questions and the suspenseful cliffhanger of an unfinished conversation. The laughter of kids on the playground and field resound around you, but for the first time, you don’t listen to it. 

It fades into the background as you turn to Seokjin, wanting to know more. “What did you just say?”

The man smiles softly. “You have to know.”

“I don’t,” you assert. “So tell me.”

“I’ve always liked you.”

You blink and he continues, “Since you substituted for the art teacher and I saw you squirt red paint all over yourself. It’s something I couldn’t forget. Plus, the way you draw those stick people.” Seokjin laughs heartily and you’re trapped in your spot, unsure of how to react or what to say. He reads your expression and softens. “Did you really think I would rush into a marriage if I didn’t have feelings for you?”

“I…” Your mouth is agape. “I don’t know. Why did we never talk about this?”

Seokjin shrugs. “You never asked and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way. I knew you married me for convenience.”

“That’s not true,” you retort within a beat. This whole time, you thought he married you for convenience sake. But it wasn’t entirely like that for you.

Seokjin’s eyes are big and you swallow down your embarrassment. “Isn’t it obvious every single breathing person loves you? It’s hard not to.”

Slowly but surely, a grin spreads into Seokjin’s puffy cheeks and he’s smiling from ear to ear again. “Well, you’re very good at hiding it then.”

Suddenly, the bell rings.

All the children reluctantly climb off the equipment, some dusting their hands while others grabbing their friends, and they rush into their lineups. There’s a few stranglers lugging their legs while groaning. But busy in their small playground worlds, no one turns around to notice you leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Seokjin’s mouth. It’s shy and brief, like the first peck exchanged between two for the first time. And you pull away just as fast, lips left tingling.

“We can continue this later, Mr. Kim.”

You stride off while Seokjin’s left smiling. After a breathless moment, he chases after you like children who have just made promises of their first love on the playground.

[tryingmyves]

Girl All the Bad Guys Want

okay i won’t lie, i remembered this song exists and i could not get the idea of a badboy!iida out of my head

this is a bit self indulgent because i was definitely that girl in hs lmaoooo

anyhow hopefully y’all like it too

PAIRING: Iida x Y/N

cw: badboy!iida

✨ tagging the iida army: @coleluuviida + @saturnity + @peachiileaf ✨

You have a reputation at UA, mostly with the male students. It isn’t something you put effort into maintaining or even something you cultivated on purpose, but you’ve gained some notoriety amongst your peers. At first glance, you don’t seem too different from your female classmates. You certainly don’t feel superior or disparate from them, but you’ve also never quite felt like you belonged with them. You don’t excel at being soft and demure, and you refuse to shrink yourself down in order to make others more comfortable in your presence. You spit in the face of all the things typically expected of a lady. And frankly, you’re more than a bit awkward when you hangout with the girls from your class. They always invite you to their sleepovers and shopping trips, and try to engage you in their conversations, but you’re always worried about saying the wrong thing or accidentally offending them. You’re never really able to add anything of value when they talk about the boys in your class - a recurring subject. Mina knows everything about everyone in class; she loves to gossip. It’s like her horns serve as antennae and pick up on all the juiciest secrets. She is always interrogating the other girls about their crushes but you just never really felt that way about anyone. Honestly, you find the conversations about who likes who to be a bit boring. You typically end up hanging out with Bakugo, Kirishima, and the rest of that squad. Boys are just easier to be around. They don’t get offended at your crass comments and your sometimes gruff disposition looks outright friendly next to Bakugo. 

Your undeniably attractive appearance, unquestionable skill with your quirk, and nonchalant attitude have landed you in the sights of several of your fellow UA students. You are the embodiment of do no harm, but take no shit and something about you is intoxicating. Mina frequently jokes with you about how the entirety of the Bakusquad is duking it out to see who gets to ask you out first. You roll your eyes at her, convinced she’s imagining things. But in reality you’re just clueless. As cliché as it is, you really are the girl all the bad guys want. Too bad you didn’t want them back. 

What you didn’t expect with your tough exterior, competitive nature, and tendency to slack off on class work is that class rep, Tenya Iida, would want you too. God, not even he expected it but he had fallen hard. You frustrate him. You’re just as smart as Yaomomo or Todoroki, but you skate by in class. You don’t outwardly disrespect authority, but you won’t blindly accept orders just because someone says so. He thinks the rap metal music you listen to while training is abrasive and doesn’t understand why all your favorite artists sound like they’re mad at their fathers. He finally gave up on lecturing you on the fact that the fishnets you wear with your uniform are not regulation and he was still wrestling with how he felt about learning you were one of the students caught at a dorm party with alcohol a few weeks ago.  More than anything he hates that you’ve so effortlessly got him pining for you and you haven’t even noticed. Iida loves the rules! Order, structure, regulation - these are the things that Iida covets, so why was he craving the taste of your lips on his?

He is tired of silently lusting after you, and decides he’s going to try actively pursuing you instead. Tenya thinks that you like “bad boys” so as foreign as the concept is to him, he concludes he’s going to have to take on that persona. He starts off simply, making a playlist of songs he’s heard you blaring from your dorm. He eases himself into your music, starting with Linkin Park and Korn, before adding Incubus, Machine Head, and even some ICP to the mix. He’s hesitant at first… the music just sounds so hostile and aggressive to him. But soon he finds himself relishing the fierce energy the songs give him. Tenya gets why you train to this sort of music, his workouts becoming more intense than ever. They end in his chest heaving and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His muscular calves throb vigorously after every run and he feels powerful. It gives him a new found confidence that he strategically channels into his interactions with you. For class today, Aizawa simply instructs you all to pair off and spar. You’re about to ask Sero to partner with you when he approaches. 

“Y/N. You’re with me.” Tenya doesn’t ask, he’s telling you you’re his partner. 

A small sound of surprise leaves your throat at his unexpected forcefulness, but you don’t question it. You just nod, giving a small shrug to Sero before following the class rep to a vacant spot of the training gym. 

You look over your challenger, rolling your head on your shoulders a few times to loosen up. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you. You asked for this,” you smirk, bringing your fists up in a defensive stance. 

Before you can even blink, Tenya has closed the 10 foot gap between you, sweeping a long leg beneath yours in a circular motion, knocking you off your feet. You land with a thud on your back and the air in your lungs is forced out with a nmph. 

“Just try to keep up, Y/N.”

Oh, it’s on. Previously you found Iida’s flustered demeanor around you endearing. But this new, assertive, almost cocky disposition is irresistible. His momentum propels him in a circle while he stays anchored in place on his massive left thigh. As he finishes turning through the motion he reaches forward hoping to pin your arms to the ground, but you’re just getting started. You plant the palms of your hands on either side of your face and kick up from the ground with a boost from your quirk. The added flow of air thrusts your legs up and over your head so you are now standing once more. You are sure that the soles of your shoes connect with Iida’s face during your arch through the air. 

“It’s not going to be that easy, specs,” you taunt. Now it’s your turn. 

You launch yourself at Tenya, closing the small gap between the pair of you in an instant. He extends a locked arm to block your approach but you simply dip your head, gliding underneath and down the length of his limb until you are just one step behind him. You pivot on your right foot as you swing your left arm across your body. Your open palm lands just between Tenya’s shoulder blades, your natural momentum accompanied by a gale force wind. The impact knocks him off his feet and sends him toppling forward. Tenya’s speed is unmatched and his large frame is covered in tone muscle, but with the addition of the very air around you, your strikes are ferocious. Your air quirk aids in your mobility, but you’ve used it to master hand to hand combat. You dominate in tight quarters, so you just need to keep Tenya close. He’s already returned to his feet, calculating his next move. The moment ‘s hesitation creating an opening for your right shin to collide with his side. Tenya growls through gritted teeth in response to the blow and the feral vibrations send shivers down your spine. Instead of recoiling from your attack Tenya’s hands clamp onto your shoulders like vices. His brows are furrowed in smug determination, and he practically sneers “Recipro Burst!”

You are propelled backwards rapidly, the gym surrounding you flashing by in a blur, the only thing you're able to see clearly is the dark glint in Tenya’s eyes and the zealous grin on his lips. You try to activate your quirk to counter his momentum, but it’s futile, he is pushing you backwards so quickly you can’t manipulate any of the air whizzing past you. Your back is suddenly pinned to the back wall of the gym, Tenya’s large hands holding your slender wrists to the concrete wall. He places a muscular thigh between your legs so his left knee is pressed to the wall as well - he has you completely immobilized. Both of your chests are heaving, your faces no more than three inches from one another. You don’t know what possesses you but you smash your lips to his, desperate to close the miniscule gap between you.

Tenya’s body stiffens in shock for a moment before he opens his mouth, snaking his tongue past your lips. You wrench your hands from his grip, placing one on the back of his neck and tangling the other in the mess of his navy hair. You didn’t expect the class rep to be such an amazing kisser, but when he catches your bottom lip between his teeth you can’t contain the soft moan that escapes you. Tenya swallows your noises and begins to pull away. Your lips hungrily follow after him, but you’re stopped when one of his calloused hands rests on your neck with just enough force to hold you in place. 

“Such public displays of desire are unbecoming of future heroes, Y/N. Come to my room this evening and we can finish this privately.” And with that, Tenya separates himself from you completely, already settling into a stance that signals he is ready to continue sparring.    

[morbid-mary]

Upside Down

Chapter 2

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took so long. I originally stopped writing because I needed to take a break and then I just forgot about my stories for a while if that makes sense. Anyhow, this is chapter 2 of Upside Down! I hope you enjoy it there’s so much more to come...

Italics: Caspian’s thoughts

Warnings: None

Tags: @realm-of-kearstenia​ @animallover81​ @rebel-soldat​

~~🖤~~

Caspian stares at the little girl with wide eyes. Lucy. He blinks at her, dumbfounded. “Lucy?... No that can’t be…she’s…” he trails off. They’ve grown up. He stares into the little girl’s eyes. They hold a familiarity he begins to recognize. They’re as blue as the eastern sea, much like her mother’s. They hold the same brightness and warmth Lucy always seemed to radiate. Can it be?

“Annabelle?” a voice calls.

The little girl turns, “Coming!”

Her name is Annabelle.

“It’s time for you to say hi!” Annabelle grabs Caspian’s large hand and pulls him up the platform.

“Annabelle wait” She stops, letting go of his hand.

“Why, you scared?” She asks, a playfulness in her tone.

Caspian squats down again. “No” he states, but he can’t help but smile at her.

“Then let’s go! The train will be here soon!”

“Annabelle!”

Caspian stands up quickly. That voice… A blonde man about Caspian’s height pushes past the family in front of them.

“Annabelle, there you are!” He squats down by Annabelle, gripping her gently. “Don’t you ever run away like that again, do you understand me? Your mother is worried sick!” The man scolds.

Caspian stares at the man, recognizing him immediately. “Peter” Caspian breathes out.

Peter’s head shoots up and the frown on his bearded face quickly disappears at the sight of the Narnian King.

“Look who I found!” Annabelle says, cheerily.

Peter slowly stands, pulling Anabelle close to him. He’s aged. His face is bearded, his eyes held a wisdom and strength that was not there the last time they had met, but one thing that hasn’t changed is the air about him that gave off an entitled authority.

“Go to your mother” Peter says, not breaking eye contact with Caspian.

“But-”

“Obey” Peter interrupts firmly.

Annabelle looks at Caspian one more time before disappearing up the platform.

“What did you do? How- how are you here? In England?” Peter asks, baffled by his fellow king’s presence.

“Hello to you too, Peter” Caspian says, a smile spreading across his face. He hasn’t changed much at all.

Peter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Right.” He straightens up and extends his arm to Caspian. Caspian smiles, gladly taking it. Peter pulls him into a quick hug, clasping him on the back, warmly greeting his friend. “It’s good to see you,” Peter says before letting him go.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“I’m not entirely sure. One moment I’m in my chambers and the next I’m…here.” Peter nods.

“Probably an overlap of our worlds…” Peter trails off, eyeing his friend for a moment.

“What?” Caspian asks.

“I thought you’d be older” Peter admits.

“If you’d like I can come back in a few years” Caspian says.

Peter chuckles, remembering that little retort he threw at Caspian when they’d first met.

“Speaking of older-”

“Shut up” Peter interrupts.

Caspian smiles at his friend.

“Come on” Peter says, throwing an arm around Caspian’s shoulders. “It’s time you meet the family.”

Peter guides Caspian up the platform. They spot little Annabelle standing amongst a group of people.

“I’m telling the truth!” she exclaims, stamping her foot.

“Annabelle stop it! Your overactive imagination is getting the better of you!” the pregnant woman says.

She sounds like Susan.

Peter and Caspian approach the group.

“Look who Annabelle found wandering around the station” Peter announces, grasping the family’s attention.

Caspian’s eyes land on the pregnant woman sitting on the bench who’s head snaps in their direction along with everyone else’s. It is Susan.

“It can’t be” the woman next to Susan stands.

It’s Lucy. Her hair is longer than he last remembered, and she looks to be a little older than himself. Lucy is older than me. His eyes then land on the man off to the side who couldn’t be anyone other than Edmund. Jaw slack, pointing at Caspian, in utter shock. He looks almost exactly the same as he did on their last journey.

“You’ve got to be joking” Edmund says.

“It’s been so long!” Lucy says, rushing over to Caspian and pulling him into a hug.

Caspian wraps his arms around the youngest Pevensie tightly. “So it seems” he says.

“It’s good to see you” Lucy says as she pulls away.

Caspian smiles at her warmly. Caspian then reaches over pulling Edmund in for a hug as well.

“I never thought we’d see you again” Edmund admitted.

“Neither did I” Caspian says, patting Edmund’s back.

When Edmund lets go of his old friend, Susan was standing behind him. He moves out of the way so she can greet Caspian as well. She smiles at the young King.

“Susan” Caspian says, his eyes traveling down to her swollen belly.

“Hello Caspian” she says, surpressing a laugh at his shocked expression.

“You’re…” He trails off.

“Yes, I am” Susan says, unable to contain her laugh.

After they all greeted Caspian, each Pevensie introduced him to their families. Peter’s wife, Savannah, a gorgeous red head with warm brown eyes. His two daughters, Lily and Moira. Lily is eight years old and the spitting image of Peter with her blonde hair and her father’s blue eyes. Moira is six years old and has red hair like her mother and is very shy. Edmund’s wife, Constance, a sweet brunette with green eyes and a lovely Irish accent. And his son, Benjamin, who is four and could be Edmunds twin, but with green eyes like his mother. Susan’s husband, Robert Moore, a strong tall man with dark hair and pale blue eyes with a soft smile to balance it out. She also has a son, William, who is five years old and looks much like his mother. Lucy’s husband Michael Pierce, who is not present at the moment and Annabelle, who Caspian has already met.

“So, Caspian is an actual real…person?” Constance asks.

“He’s right there” Lily says, pointing at him.

“Lily!” Savannah scolds.

Caspian smiles, passing a wink to the little girl.

Lily turns to Annabelle and they giggle.

Caspian grins, watching them for a moment.

“I thought those stories of Narnia were just…stories” Robert chimes in.

“Did you think we were lying to you?” Edmund asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ugh, here they go” Lily says, shaking her head to Annabelle who rolls her eyes in turn.

“No- well…” Savannah trails off. “This is a little hard to grasp, I apologize” she adds.

The other spouses nod in agreement with Savannah.

Peter presses a kiss to his wife’s forehead, whispering something to her.

Savannah visibly relaxes at his words.

“What’s hard to grasp?” Annabelle asks.

“They weren’t lying, and you have walking proof right there” Lily adds.

Moira gasps, “You can’t call him ‘walking proof’ he’s a king!” She says, worried that what her sister had said might’ve been offensive.

“But he is!” Lily defends.

“He’s a king?” William asks.

“Yes, don’t you remember?” Annabelle asks.

“Not really” he says.

Moira and Lily giggle.

“We can discuss this further on the train” Peter says, closing the subject.

“He’s coming with us?” Annabelle asks.

“Well yes, we can’t very well leave him here” Lucy says, running a hand over her daughter’s hair.

“Yay!” she exclaims excitedly.

“What?” Caspian says.

“You’re coming with us!” Annabelle says, walking back over to him.

“And where are we going?” he asks her, glancing over at Peter and then Lucy.

“Our annual beach trip we take. It’s sort of like a family reunion.” Edmund clarifies.

“I see” Caspian says.

“Will you come?” Annabelle asks. She wraps her arms around his waist and looks up at him with the most pleading look in her eyes. “Pleeasse!” she begs, squeezing his hips.

Caspian stares into the little girl’s eyes. They’re so bright and affectionate and the pleading look she’s giving him now could crumble any resolve he would ever try to muster. She purses her lips saying ‘please’ in the sweetest way, again. Caspian glances over at Lucy who’s smiling as she watches the interaction. 

Caspian lifts his head, his heart hammering inside his chest. He’s dreamed of this moment, being reunited with the Pevensie’s for two whole years. But the Pevensie’s he loves dearly have changed so much. They’re all grown up. More than he has. They have lives of their own, spouses, and even children. It’s all so different and he’s missed everything. 

Caspian sighs, look around the train station. He’s here for a reason. He just knows it. He never thought he’d be given the opportunity to join them in their world. It’s always been the four of them to find their way to Narnia. Now it’s his turn. 

Caspian swallows the lump forming in his throat and summons the courage to look down at little Annabelle. He takes in her pleading expression and softly smiles. “I will come.”

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader

(A/N: Hello all! This is my first post on tumblr and I am so excited to share my fic with all you lovely people!!! I used to write alot, but haven’t in some time. Since I am renewing my love for star wars, I thought that I would do a little something for my favorite man of all time: Vader!!! A big thanks to Kenna for helping to inspire me to write again (you know who you are :))) ). This is chapter one of a series of about 10 chapters I plan to write. Please enjoy and feel free to ask to be added to the tag list!! also, not my gif)

WARNINGS: mentions of a TIE crash, some cursing

Key: (F/N) = first name  (L/N) = last name

Word Count: ~3600

Edit: Link to Chapter Two: [x]

Life on the Super Star Destroyer was exactly the same as the ship looked on the outside: cold, dull, and gray. Color? What’s that? Life? Never heard of it. 

No one ever really stopped to mingle with one another, even for a brief, courteous “hello!” or “hey, how’s it going?”. These types of action were seen as unnecessary and not impactful to squashing out the rebellion, as well as to eliminating any sign of hope that one day the Empire will just cease to exist, leaving everyone alone. Everything and everyone had a purpose within the Empire. Everyone had their own job, and heaven forbid that you are somehow unable to do that job. Any failure was seen as weakness, and the Empire had no use for weakness amongst its ranks. These were the fundamental truths of working under the Empire.

Being a mechanic wasn’t so bad. You got to do what you loved to do, so what’s so bad about that? Sure, you had very little contact with the outside world (aside from the occasional news briefing or smuggled-in holovid), you had very few acquaintances, and you were always just referred to as last name only, but all of these could be overlooked. You wake up, put on your drab, gray-green uniform, go to work, then go back to your quarters, rinse and repeat every day of every week. A nice little routine for your nice little job on the nice little imperial vessel. 

To say you blended in with the crowd was wrong. Everyone blended in with the crowd, so to say you blended in with the crowd was diagnosing yourself with special-snowflake syndrome. There was no individuality within the Empire. There was only the Empire, the usage of names only a formality or a way to get one’s attention. Despite this, due to human nature, those serving would often try to attempt some sort of individuality. Female officers would have a signature way of pulling back their hair, troopers would talk in different made-up accents, and some even gave themselves tattoos. You, however, found your individuality within your work. 

When fixing something, you would often put  your own spin on how you bring said thing back to its former glory. Fixing a speederbike? Lets rewire the wires so that they make a nice, pretty zig-zag pattern. This will help it steer a bit better, anyway. Fixing a blaster with a faulty trigger? Why not add a new cooling system just to be nice. Fixing a TIE? Oh boy, the possibilities are endless. 

This may be what has allowed you to rise through the ranks so quickly as a mechanic. There was seemingly nothing that you couldn’t inflict your midas touch upon. Plop anything down on your workbench and it's a guarantee that it will be fixed. 

On the other hand, it may just be dumb luck. This is ultimately what you thought. You were just merely doing your job, trying to not cause any trouble for yourself, just like everyone else you worked with. It just so happened to be you that the Empire had noticed. 

It was this attention that landed you this new assignment.The news had come suddenly and almost unexpectedly. Pack your bags, (F/N), you're out of the Endor research station and now on a one-way ticket to the Super Star Destroyer. Of course, there was no one around to pat you on the back when you got the news, and certainly no one to say congratulations. You did that yourself that night by treating yourself to an extra ration. 

If you were anyone else within the Empirical army, you would be over the moon about working on this ship. But, you felt no emotion towards the subject. It was just another job, what’s so special about it?

You quickly learned the answer to that. 

Him. 

He made the entire aura of the ship much tenser than any other research station or star destroyer that you had ever been on. People were not kidding when they said that his entire presence dripped with authority and power. To defy him, was to defy the Empire. To fail him, was to fail the Empire. It also always meant a loss of your life by the point of his saber. 

You remember the first time that you saw him with your own eyes, not just an image from a news briefing or the picture you formed in your head when you heard the stories. You were lined up along with all of your new fellow troopers, officers, and mechanics, your hands firmly by your sides and your chin held up high, your eyes the only part allowed to move. He had been returning from some sort of escapade, and it was time for another customary formal greeting for him.

He was hard to miss when the door to the shuttle had touched the cold, hard ground. Everything about him was massive, intimidating. Dressed head to toe in black, his frame resembling a man but his features that of a droid. Despite the layers upon layers of armor and clothing, you could tell his muscles were nothing to bat an eye at. His shoulderspan looked like it could be twice your own, and his hands look like they could wrap around your waist and crush you in to a million tiny pieces at any second. Hot. 

As he walked past you, you could feel the floor vibrate with menacing trembles as he took each step. His breathing was enrapturing, filling up your ears like it was there to live rent-free. When he finally spoke (a simple “Good, admiral”), you could feel the bass right in the middle of  your chest. His voice was encapsulating, surrounding you with it's deep, authoritative, encompassing demeanor. Even hotter. 

Yes, Darth Vader was quite the interesting character. But, he was not the one, you had decided, to try and become buddy-buddy with. Far too risky. Instead, you would carry on as normal: do your job, and don’t get in anyone’s way. You have done this for years, and a change of scenery with a far more intimidating boss wouldn't change that. 

Except when it did. 

The day (you believed that it was day, at least. It was hard to keep track of time in the middle of space on a giant floating mouse cursor) was as simple as ever. You woke up, ate your breakfast rations, then went straight to work. They had you fixing a few blasters and comms that day. How exciting. 

You almost didn't hear the sound of the sirens when they went off, nor how the room suddenly was flashing red. When you had finally came-to, the sound of a highly distressed officer was over the hangar’s comm system. 

“Everyone clear the bridge now! Lord Vader is coming in hot!”

Coming in hot? You wondered what that had meant. Of course, you knew what that meant, but this was Lord Vader we were talking about. He was the best pilot in the whole Empirical fleet. He never crashed, you had thought. 

Despite your judgement, you put down your tools and started to run along with the other mechanics. They seemed just as confused as you were, awkwardly trying to shuffle out of their stations into somewhere safe. Quietly slipping past the small crowd, you found refuge on the other side of the doorway you were in, finding a place to watch within one of the windows. 

Looking up to the stars that made up the tail-end wall of your workplace, you were almost shocked to see that the officer over the comm wasn’t hallucinating. Lord Vader’s TIE was, indeed, coming in hot. A noticeable plumage of smoke followed in his wake, as well as the occasional burst of sparks and the odd chunk of metal falling off. The noise that TIE made when it passed through the barrier was unholy, making you wince right before you had jumped in your polished boots. Lord Vader’s TIE crashed right on the floor of your workspace, skidding along and spinning not before crashing into several unfinished projects and stopping just before the doorway you had been standing in.  

Oh, maker. He’s dead. 

That was your only thought as the smoke and dust around the TIE settled in the air. The smoke was occasionally illuminated by the sparks coming out of the ship. This was definitely not a pretty scene. That TIE was busted. 

A twinge of some sort of odd emotion rippled through you as you saw the tip of a red stream of light pierced through the metal of the broken TIE. It made a large circle motion before shrinking back inside. Moments later, the circle had been thrown off, flying past the group of mechanics that had begun to shuffle awkwardly back into the hangar to inspect the scene for themselves. You had joined them as the circle was discarded off of the TIE, the wind making a strand of your hair raise. 

He stepped out of the burning pile of metal mess moments later. A small amount of smoke radiated off of his body as his boots collided with the ground. His shoulders were raised, his left fist in a ball as his right held on firmly to his weapon. He offered no one any explanation as he marched his way to the medical bay, an air of contempt and loathing following him. 

They had let you off to lunch early that day. The smoke from the TIE could be toxic, and they needed some time to clear out the hangar before everyone could get back to work. 

You ate your ration in silence as everyone around you murmured their theories and rumors about the incident that had occurred about an hour earlier. There was no need to speculate, in your eyes, and the only people you talked with were out on some other assignment. Silence kept you company, anyhow. 

Your peaceful lunch, however, was eventually rudely interrupted by some rude, old geezer. His uniform adorned many different patches and pins, so you figured he had to be some sort of presiding, know-it-all, experienced officer. The lines in his face only made him look more stern and stuck up than he sounded, his lips pursed as he eyed the datapad he held whilst he stood in front of your lunch table. 

“(L/N), I presume, yes? Our newest mechanic from Endor?” the old man questioned, his dark eyes flicking back and forth between you and your glowing blue picture. 

“Yes, sir. That’s me.” you responded, sitting up to offer some sort of respect to the officer. 

The old man turned off his datapad with that, folding his arms behind his back as he addressed you fully. “Well, Miss (L/N), I do hope that your current assignment holds no sentimental value to you. You are being reassigned with a very important alternative, effective immediately.” 

“Immediately?” you questioned, “I apologize sir, I don’t quite-”

“Your new assignment, Miss (L/N), is to repair Lord Vader’s TIE. I assume you bore witness to his entrance earlier today.” said the old officer, cutting you off. “Lord Vader’s ship is of utmost importance to the Empire, and we only assign our best to repair it when needed. We have already removed your previous assignment from your station and place Lord Vader’s TIE in its place.” 

Before you could get another word out, the officer turned on his heel to leave, only giving you a side glance over his shoulder as he continued, “You should be pleased, Miss (L/N). You just became one of our finest mechanics.” 

~~~

You only saw a heaping pile of garbage that was vaguely shaped like a TIE Advanced x1 at your station when you returned. The ship was mangled beyond repair. Aside from the gaping hole in the center of the fighter, the wings were gnashed beyond recognition, many of the metal plates lining the surface either gone or melted, the wires that snaked along the inside of the craft were now on the outside, and it still hadn’t stopped smoking completely. 

You couldn't hide your expression as you walked around the TIE. Why the hell would you even try and repair this hunk of shit? you thought to yourself, Just get a new TIE, I’m sure the Empire can afford it. 

You contemplated on going back and finding that old man that gave you the assignment and asking him to repeat it back to you. Whoever wanted this thing repaired was a madman at best. Sighing, you reminded yourself of your virtues. Do your job, don’t get in the way. And, this was your new job. 

You had no idea on where to start. 

~~~

It was long past quitting hours when you heard the doors to the hangar open. 

You were perched on top of the broken down TIE, your jacket long since discarded. You were left only in your boots, pants, tanktop, and goggles as you heard heavy footsteps draw closer to your station. 

You paused briefly from your welding to listen to the footsteps for a brief moment. You pondered for a short time on whether or not to address the person walking towards you, but decided against it. You figured that they were just some trooper or other mechanic sneaking out for a midnight walk or snack. Although you were loyal to the Empire, you were no snitch to your fellow troop. You resumed your welding after your judgement had ended. 

You continued to listen, however, and noticed how the footsteps had ended very close to your station. Listening past the sound of your welding, your heart almost jumped out your throat and hitched a ride to the outer-rim when you noticed an all-too-familiar sound. 

That breathing. 

To make sure that your ears were not playing tricks on you, you stopped your welding and peeked over the top of the TIE. Sure enough, there he was, staring up at you without a word, without even moving one muscle. Your blood ran cold. 

“L-Lord Vader!” You called down as you scurried to put down your tools, pushing your goggles up to rest on your sweat-gleamed forehead. You landed on the ground with a thunk as you slid down the TIE, hurriedly walking over to address the Dark Lord properly. 

Standing so close to him forced you to notice the height and size difference between the two of you. He was tall, so tall that you had to almost crane your neck to look him in the eyes of his mask. His frame dwarfed yours in every way, making you feel so, so small and weak compared to him. As the sith looked down at you, you couldn't help but feel his real eyes behind the mask bare into you, almost as if he were looking right into the fiber of your being. You swallowed thickly but silently, forgetting that you were out of uniform in front of the Emperor's right hand. 

“I-I apologize, my Lord, I did not hear you come in over the sound-” 

“Is it not past active hours for your department, mechanic?” He interjected, interrogating you. You felt your cheeks gain a touch of rouge out of embarrassment. You had barely even noticed that it was so late, that almost all of the lights in the hangar had gone dim. 

“Yes, my Lord, it is. But, I had-”

“You need not explain yourself to me, mechanic. I have come here for a report on the damage to my ship. If you will so generously supply me with that, perhaps I will overlook your discrepancies tonight.” He said to you, his head tilting to the side. The eyes of his helmet never left your frame as he spoke to you. His authority made a shiver run down your spine, your breath hitch. He could kill you at any moment's notice, and you both knew that. 

“Yes. Yes, of course, my Lord.” You responded quietly. It was then you finally dared to let your gaze fall off of the menacing, tall figure before you. Turning on your heel, you looked up at the broken down craft before you, pressing a hand against the cool metal. “Well, my Lord, I will not dare lie to you. This fighter is in real bad shape. Her left wing is almost completely non-existent, her guns are unrecognizable, and her central computer has been totally fried. Her engine received a great amount of damage as well, and it looks like all of her spark igniters and thrusters will need to be replaced. This is all, of course, not to mention the damage to her framework.” 

You had circled around the TIE absentmindedly as you spoke, your hand gliding over the jagged surface of the craft. Vader’s gaze followed your diminutive frame as you paced about. You could feel the eyes of his mask follow you with every footstep. Were it not for the continuous babbling on about damages, you would be shitting a brick right about now. 

“And how do you plan to proceed with these repairs, mechanic?” He asked you, a hint of his temper and curiosity poking through. 

“Well,” you retorted, looking at him once more, right in the face, “In order to proceed with anything, I have to get the central computer back online and running. That way, I will be able to talk to her better, and maybe even run a diagnostic for any damages that I haven’t caught yet. After that will be the repairs to the wing, which I will likely have to build from scratch from other scrapped TIEs. Once that is complete, repairs to the frame will begin, then onto the guns and engine. This may change, however, if I am able to run that diagnostic, my lord.” 

The way you held yourself in front of the sith lord was certainly a pleasant surprise. Lord Vader was used to his subordinates making a vain attempt to make the situation sound better to him so that he would be pleased. You, however, did not shy away from cutting to the chase and telling Vader how it was. He felt a twinge of appreciation bubble deep, deep down inside him. He always did value someone who truly knew their way around a ship or two. 

Vader took a glance at the mess of his TIE Advanced then back to you before he spoke again. You had refused to take your eyes off him again. 

“I understand,” he rumbled out, placing his large hands on their respective sides of his belt, “I presume that these repairs will take a small while.” 

His words were spoken as a statement, but you knew he was asking. 

“Yes, Lord Vader,” you said, nodding in affirmation, “They indeed will, but I will do all in my power to have her running again just like new.” You couldn't help but flash a small, quick smile at the end of your positivity. 

Vader stared down at you for a brief moment before speaking again, the sound of his steady breath winding around you once again. 

“Good,” he finally said, “I expect no less from you, mechanic. I will come here again periodically, and I expect a full report of progress for each of my visitations. Do I make myself clear? Do not fail me.” 

“Of course, my Lord. I will do exactly as you wish” you replied, giving him a firm nod as you stood at attention. Quickly, you relaxed your pose, letting your gaze fall once more and your body to turn to resume your work. 

Vader, however, stood completely still. He was not done with you quite yet. 

“Your name.” Vader said flatly, with a hint of demand. 

This sent a jolt through you. You shot your gaze back to the sith, your hand gently clutching one of your tools, applying just enough strength to keep it from falling. 

“P-pardon, my Lord?” 

“Your name, mechanic. I wish to know your name.”

You licked your bottom lip hurriedly. You prayed that he couldn't notice your cheeks tint pink. 

“It's (L/N), my Lord-”

“I know that, Miss (L/N). I wish to know your full name. Do not make me ask again.” 

You almost burst out laughing. He had to be joking. This was the first time in years that someone had asked you for your first name. You were surprised that you even still remembered it. 

“It’s… It’s (F/N), my Lord. (F/N) (L/N).” 

Another pause from him, along with another long staring contest between the two of you. Was his breathing always this loud?

After an eternity, he spoke once more, “I have full faith in you, Miss (F/N) (L/N). It is not everyday I have the privilege to converse with one of your skill level and courage.”

With that, he was done. He stepped to the right, turned, and walked to the door, leaving without another look or word. You stared at the door for a long moment before looking at the floor, replaying the past events in your head, letting his words plague your mind over and over like a broken record. 

Was that a compliment?

No, of course not, you had convinced a majority of  yourself. 

With a sigh, you climbed back up to the top of the broken TIE, seated on your perch again. You adorned your goggles once more, telling yourself just a little more before you retired for the night. 

Little did you know, this was only the first interesting night of many to come. 

[damn-stark]

Snips

Chapter 3 of Dark Temptations

A/N- I really love how this chapter turned out! I’m so excited to continue this series!! I really am loving how it’s turning out :) hope you all like it too! :) also you can’t tell me Luke wouldn’t be the softest dad. Because he would! Let me know what you thought?!

Warning- swearing, angst, slow burn, long chapter, slight violence

Pairing- Dark!Poe x Skywalker!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“Hey, Snips.”

A smile grows on your lips at the sound of the soft and familiar voice greeting you, at the incredibly strong and positive force that surrounded you, vibrating off like calm waves from one single person.

Your eyes drifted up to see her striped montrals come to view first, before you sat up and took in her whole ghostly being. Noticing the same, familiar warm grin plastered on her gentle and orange features. Showing that even if she was a ghost, that one could look so lively. Glowing with a happiness that was yet to be matched by any living person. While her eyes shone a brighter and deeper blue than that blue hue that permanently surrounded her whole being.

Your grin widened and you instantly matched her soft and excited tone; “Hey, Master Tano.”

“Sunbathing?” She queried.

You sigh and fall back on the grass, “more like waiting. Patiently. Very patiently.”

“The new Padawan not here yet?” Master Tano—Ahsoka, asked—her name was still hard to get used to. Even if it has been years since she’s been correcting you, almost begging you to call her Ahsoka. Saying that your relationship was that much more than one of a Padawan and Master. “We’re friends. Best friends.” She would say. “No need for formalities.” She was right of course, but it was formalities that were permanently engraved in your mind.

Thanks dad.

You shake your head and from the corner of your eye watch as Ahsoka leans back, resting her hands by her sides on the grass. Looking as if she was and could take in the warmth of the sun on her face, her eyes on the sky, but her attention solely on you as you continued speaking. “No, she’s late.”

“She’ll show. Just got to be patient.” She chuckles, “more patient.”

You scoff, “Hmm, aren’t you supposed to be busy doing...I don’t know ghost stuff? Y’know instead of stalking me?”

Ahsoka giggles and snaps back with equal the attitude, “aren’t you supposed to be training?”

You chuckle and sit up to fully face her and quip. “I have a schedule, remember?” Ahsoka meets your gaze and the white marking on her right eyebrow bone lifts, shooting you curious look; “early morning, get up, get ready for the day, meditate, then join dad, Jacen and Ben for breakfast with the other Padawans. After that chores, then annoy Jacen. Not done yet, because this Padawan was supposed to come, so, that’s still on hold. But after that it’s talk with my favorite Jedi Master. Check.”

Ahsoka grins, “right on.” She then meets your fist to share a light fist bump at your comment.

You continue, “then more chores. Training with you or dad. Lastly annoy Ben before going to sleep and ending my day.”

“For such a busy person,” Ahsoka teases, “you’re surely doing a whole lot of nothing.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.”

Ahsoka shrugs nonchalantly, “I know. Must be a Skywalker shared thought. Your grandfather thought I was funny too.”

You shake your head and smirk, “I’m sure he did.” Before you could add something else, the sound of a motor catches your attention, making you jump to your feet and look past the jungle trees, blocking the sun from your eyes with your hand to get a better view at the approaching speeder and who was riding it.

“You think that’s the Padawan?” Ahsoka questioned as she stood up to watch the same thing.

You shrug, “I don’t know…” you trail off, catching sight of what appeared to be a man. His face became more distinguishable the closer he got. A head of dark curls visible first before the sun hit and made clear of the tan face he carried. “Nope. Not the Padawan.” You interjected at the discovery of the seemingly young man on the speeder heading your way.

“Well, we'll talk later, okay? So you can tell me all about the cute visitor.” Ahsoka added with a final smile, her face and body fading away until there was nothing but the view of your father's jedi temple and the young man now a couple feet in front of you.

He gets off his parked speeder bike and his eyes fall on you before they begin to search for something behind you.

“Hello.” You greet with a warm grin, pulling the guys brown eyes back to you with an added smile on his lips.

“Uh, hi.”

You clasp your hands in front of you and search his face for a moment. Coming to a full conclusion that this was not your wanted Padawan; “since you don’t seem to be the Padawan I’m waiting for, I’m going on a whim here to say you’re here for Jacen?”

The young man's eyes widen in recognition at the sound of the name. “Yeah actually, he said he was going to be here.”

You scoff and shake your head, “oh well, of course he’s not here.” You look over your shoulder to see if your brother was anywhere in sight, but alas and to no surprise he wasn’t. “He’s probably busy. And I emphasize the word busy, sucking faces with his girlfriend or smoking. Sorry. You’re welcome to wait or I can go search for him if you want.”

The young man chuckles. A laugh that was meant whole heartedly and not feigned, his shoulders shaking as he did something so simple—“I’m fine. I think I’m in perfect company until he comes.”

You feel a heat crawl on your cheeks, suddenly being overwhelmed by the flustering state he put you in. A first, and a action not done by anyone before..until now; “Oh, well,” you smile and fumble to find any more words without making them sound like gibberish. He was a couple years older than you, you needed to remember that. Being your brother's friend and all. But when the sun caught and brightened the charming grin on his lips; one that showed how perfectly white his teeth were, how his eyes showed the same amount of happiness and glow you couldn’t help but grow more flustered.

What the hell was wrong? This is not you. Pfft.

Seeing your current state, he leaned his body on his speeder and proceeded to introduce himself with the same smile. “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”

You twist your Padawan braid between the pad of your index and thumb finger and smile shyly. “I’m y/n Skywalker. Jacen’s sister.”

“Oh, yeah he’s told me about you,” he points, “his as he says and I quote, “my annoying little sister.”

You scoff again, “Well I never said he was my favorite so. Whatever.” You sigh, “anyway if you want I can take you to him, or I can take you to the mess hall while you wait. I made food that hasn’t gotten touched, it would be a shame to throw it away. If you’re hungry that is.” But maybe it’s because you had no friends to eat your food. Your father wasn’t here and Jacen and Ben were somewhere around, the only friends you did have couldn’t eat because they were ghosts of past Jedi. Maybe it’s time to make friends with living people...but then again, they aren’t fun as the ghosts you hang out with. So, it’s better they way you are.

Poe shrugs, “sure I’m up for it.”

You grin and turn to guide him towards the hall, but when you try, the one and only, Jacen, appears a couple feet away with Ben Solo in tow. Looking like a matching set next to one another. One is never far from the other, like twins almost. Only they weren’t that. Looking as always, or at least Jacen all high mighty like he ruled this temple and those in it. Stuck up silly boy. Not at all how Ahsoka described your grandfather or grandmother to be. Sure they had flair to their step, being who they were, but Jacen over passed flair and went straight to stuck up, spoiled daddy’s boy. At least Ben wasn’t that way, even if he was considered a Prince; he was like his mother in that way, sweet and more genuine. Even if Jacen did get to him at times.

Anyhow, disregarding your cousin and brother's demeanor's, you let out an annoyed sigh, noticing right away the glare on Jacen’s pale and slim face, his blue eyes almost seeming to show a red hue due to his anger. A detail that was caused by the sun reflecting on his irises, one if you hadn't noticed such an effect would have thought his eyes changed colors with his aggravated mood. And for what reasons was he mad? Going by the glare he threw to his friend, and you were guessing here, would be because his friend was talking to you—when did he decide to be the caring older brother?

“Dameron,” your brother smiles, “I’m sorry I’m late, man.” For such a cold glare, he knew how to give a warm and genuine welcome. “I hope my sister wasn’t bothering you”

You frown and huff, feeling him very smoothly tug you towards him without showing Poe his true intentions of why he had pulled you away—“You’re rude and maybe if you were early I wouldn’t have to greet your friends.” You snap.

Jacen’s eyes drift to meet your own, his jaw clenching and showing you a feigned smile. “Go, dads back, go greet him.”

“Fine.” You turn to Poe one last time and offer him one last smile. “I’ll see you around, Poe.” Said man smiles in return, not really caring for your brother's death glare. Not like you cared either—Using a bit of the force you spin back on your heels and offer Ben a warm smile before leaving the group of boys and heading towards your father's strong force presence. Unknowingly keeping Poe's attention on you as your father soon came into view, a warm and kind smile on his lips at the sight of you welcoming him back from a failed recruitment mission.

“Dad!” Quickly you throw your arms around his neck and feel his own arms wrap around you to return your embrace, the long sleeves from his Jedi robes becoming a warm secure blanket on your back. As his familiar natural citrus smell engulfs your nose in its refreshing smell. A welcoming smell, just like he was a welcoming sight after what felt too long being without him.

“Hey, kid.” He warmly greets, pulling away from the embrace to cradle your cheek, “is it just me or is it every time I come back from being away you just get older?”

You shrug nonchalantly and refer to his graying hair. “I think you’re the one getting older.”

He chuckles and pulls away, shrugging off the pack hanging from his shoulder, his eyes looking for who you presumed was Jacen. “Where’s your brother?”

Yep that was it.

You scoff, “off being an ass.”

He raises an eyebrow to your choice of word, a reaction you knew wasn’t welcomed lightly, or at all. He wasn’t a fan of profanity, especially since you were to set an example to the other students since you were who you were. It didn’t stop you though, and you knew he let some bad choice words slip himself, you’ve heard him.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

He shakes his head and proceeds to pull out a small bag from his pack. “I stopped by Naboo before coming back here and when I was there I got you this.” He pulls your hand that was resting at your side to place the pouch on your hand, his smile glowing with happiness. “It isn't anything big, but I hope you like it.” Not being to hold your anticipation, you open the pouch and pull out a silver chain with a japor snippet charm hanging from it. The simple yet meaningful gift makes you grin and wrap him in another hug. “I made one for you brother too—I carved it out myself, I just needed something to hang it from. It’s like the one your grandfather gave your grandmother. It's supposed to mean good fortune. And well when I’m gone for too long so you can remember me.”

“I love it.” You happily exclaim as you feel him place a kiss on the crown of your head. Pulling away shortly after to discover something extra in the pouch. Treats from Naboo, his favorite treats, just like yours. A gift you knew he added so you’d share; “Thank you, dad.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and begins to guide you into the temple, the same kind smile on his face as he added with equally as kind words, “love you kid.”

——

(Ben Solo p.o.v)

“Where’s my daughter?”

Ben blinks, his lips parting try to form any word, just any word. To explain in the best way possible to his uncle and former Master that the only daughter he had. The last breathing child he had was being held captive by Snoke inside the First Orders capital ship. Of course he could just simply release that news to him like that. But by the look on his face, he preferred to let it out as easy as possible.

“She’s alive, I’m going to go back for her,” Ben revealed confidently, earning a narrowed look regardless of his choice of words. “Whatever it takes.”

Ben’s mother began to walk towards her brother, a softened look expressed on Luke's eyes, his attention falling on her for a second, his concerned expression appearing again as Ben finished speaking. “Possibility is that the ship they had her on isn’t going to be in the same coordinates, but I know people, I can search here for their location. I will go back for her, I promise.”

Luke sighed, “she’s my only daughter. I can’t…” he paused for a short second, if Ben hadn’t been paying attention to Luke, it would be an action that would have gone unnoticed, just like the crack in his voice. “I won’t lose her too. I’ll go with you.”

With you? Really? Is that what he said?

First, no one except for y/n herself knew where he was after he isolated himself. Second this is the first time in years Luke has ever talked to Ben. His mother sure, a couple times before he completely cut contact, but it had been years since anyone had seen him until now. Did he just expect Ben to know where he was?

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed his lips parting to say his peace before Luke interjected. “I can’t stay like this for too long.” He explained, referring to his current...state. “I shared the coordinates of where I am with your mother, come to me and we’ll go get my daughter.”

Before Ben could even nod to agree with what he suggested, or commanded, Luke disappeared, leaving nothing but simple coordinates in his mother’s mind through their force connection.

Ben cleared his throat and let his eyes wander the crowd that had gathered, noticing that they had begun to disperse at the sight of Luke gone and Ben’s hardened gaze searching the crowd. All of them pretending that they were now “busy”. Bullshit—“Let’s search for the coordinates on the datapads.” Ben said to his mother, her gaze turning to see him and expressing her motherly concern. Even after she had slapped him.

Well maybe he deserved that.

“Let’s get you patched up first, Ben.”

Ben shook his head and stubbornly began to head towards the datapads inside base. His words somewhat wavered as he walked ahead. “no, first we get those coordinates down, before anything else.”

“You’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He cut her off, “y/n is still out there. I-I can’t and won’t let them keep her as some prisoner. The longer she’s out there, the higher the possibility it is for her to get hurt.” Ben sighed, “we know how she is.”

His mother sighed, unsure of what to really say to ease his worry. “she’s like her father, Ben. She’s strong and patient, she’s going to be okay.” She tried assuring him, but it didn’t at all coax his worry. That reason was exactly why he was worried. “She’d want you looked out after first.”

Ben sighed, “I know. But let’s just first figure out where he is.” Having no other choice, his mother stopped trying to tell Ben otherwise. She knew she wouldn’t win in this argument.

But maybe she should have, basing off the stares he was getting the further he walked into base with his torn clothing, bruised face and busted lip. It’s like they’ve haven’t seen someone hurt before, or seen him. Maybe it would have been better if he had gone somewhere else that wasn’t here….

“And you tell me who can outrun a band of bounty hunters with a inch of fuel left in their ship?”

“You.”

“I’m not one to brag, but yeah. Me.” The old man chuckles, straightening out the invisible wrinkles on his jacket and receiving a smack on the arm by the tall and hairy Wookiee sitting beside him not mere seconds later. “And Chewie. Don’t worry buddy I didn’t forget you.”

Yeah it was definitely better if he had chosen to travel somewhere else.

The old man’s dark brown eyes spot Ben from across the room, his eyes widening in recognition, the smile that grew faltering until it completely fell at the sight of Ben’s visible wounds.

“When did dad get back?” Ben quietly questioned his mother who walked behind him, his hand flying to his ribs at the sharp sting of pain.

“Earlier today.”

Ben hummed, making his way to his father regardless of his current feelings on him. A noticeable happy look on his father's face once he reached him. Not one that really made it on Ben’s face, but he tried. He was trying. “Dad, Chewie.” His eyes shifted to the pilot his father had shown off to. One of y/n’s friends….special friends; His breath hitched and his eyes drifted nervously to the ground with a very faint and shy smile spreading on his lips. “Hi, Mara.” Said girl smiled and offered him a short nod, her dark eyes searching for only one person who wasn’t by his side. The smile she contained slowly falling.

“Where’s Jaina?”

Who?

Ben blinked, an obvious puzzled look growing on his face, until the light bulb in his head went off a couple minutes later—right, y/n’s fake name to keep her real identity a secret. Right. “She’s….” Ben blanked again, a wave of guilt crashing within him. “She’s..not here.”

Mara answered with a soft “oh”, his theory of her answering with just silence, debunking as she looked up at him with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need me to patch you up? I have some free time.”

His dad tried to hide his proud smile behind his hand, but Ben caught the gesture and hoped Mara didn’t. Ben offered her an assuring smile nonetheless and ignored his dad. “uhh no,” he swallowed thickly at how much more nervous he was beginning to get, “later?”

She smiled and nodded, “okay, I’m here all day so,” she grinned at her own joke before finishing her comment. “Come look for me when you want.”

Ben offered a short nod in agreement and watched quietly as she walked away with Chewbacca, his gaze lost on her figure as she swayed her hips in a confident way, he smiled shyly at the thought of talking to her later, until all the excitement went away when his dad broke him from his stupor, expressing his concern for Ben’s beloved cousin. Or sister as everyone knew her here. “Ben what’s wrong? Where’s y/n? What happened?”

Ben responded with silence, turning to walk towards his intended destination, hearing as both parents paced behind him, ultimately having to force himself to answer with a grumble. “I’m going to get her.”

“Ben.”

“I’m okay, dad, really.” Ben winced softly, his face swallowed by the holo-computers bright blue hue in front of him. Ben’s fingers typing a whirlwind of buttons in a matter of seconds before looking over his shoulder to his mother who had barely caught up to him. “Could you please give me the coordinates.”

His mother nodded and pushed Ben to the side, quickly inserting what was needed before a strange new map flashed on, marking a path to the unknown regions of the galaxy. “Are you sure this is it?” Ben wondered before he zoomed into the new marked planet, his black eyebrows furrowing as he tried to decipher what it was and how the hell he was going to get there. He couldn’t go in the ship the First Order had so generously gifted him. Mainly because he knew it would be tracked. And he couldn’t on any of the ships here because they were all just one seater fighter ships. The only thing he could do was—Ben’s eyes slowly slid to his father, a soft sigh escaping his lips at the thought.

“Yes it’s there.” His mother remarked. “It wouldn’t be wrong.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair and then rested his hands on the table. Letting his mother explain to his father what this was and what had gone on just moments ago with her long lost twin brother. A mixture between excitement and confusion expressed on his father's face.

“Dad…” Ben paused and sighed again, hesitating to even continue. Just digging the heel of his boot into the stone ground, barely now feeling the high heat of D’Qar on him. Making sweat beads roll down his forehead as he tried to ask his father one simple question. “Could I use the Falcon?”

“To get your uncle and save y/n?” His father asked as he crossed his arms over his chest; Ben nodded stiffly, letting that be the only reaction his father needed to continue with a smug grin. “Of course. But your mother, chewbacca and I are going too.”

Ben froze and his eye twitched at the comment, his lips parting to protest. “But—”

“No.” His father interjected. “You’re crazy to think we’re letting you do this alone after what happened. Your partner in crime may be gone, but we’re here.”

“But mom has a base to run, she can’t leave.” Ben tried to argue, his father as stubborn as him.

“It’s okay. She can leave someone in charge. We won’t be gone for long. We’re going with you, end of discussion.”

Ben sighed and hesitated for a moment, knowing damn well that there was no point in arguing. “Fine.”

His mother and father smiled before Han added another comment. “Gives us the excuse to finally reunite the old crew. How about that?”

Ben feigned a smile and offered a short nod. “Great. Just great.” Well this was going to be an adventure—if only this was a different situation and y/n was here. She would have made this more tolerable. She would have loved his father's idea. She would have jumped for joy.

Stars. If only she were here…

——

“I am one with the force,” you slowly breathe out of your nose, trying with everything within you to feel a spark of something, feel the presence of anyone. Ahsoka, your grandfather, Ben or your father. Just anyone so that you could feel less hopeless; “I am one with the force. I am—”

“Does that really work?”

When did the door open?

You sigh and open your eyes with a dread, instantly being welcomed by Poe Dameron, his figure in the small dark room upside down as you balanced on one hand. In attempts to try and feel your force ability. Disappointingly enough though, coming out empty, especially now with the annoying distraction and his...cute white and orange droid by his feet; “What?”

Poe cocks his head to side, shifting the helmet underneath his arm and placing the plate of food down on the metal desk, a cocky smirk on his lips. “Mediating? And all your Jedi whatever?”

You huff, “not anymore since you’re here. Annoying me.” You remark, making him scoff playfully and for the droid to chirp to defend his master. His little soft sounds not at all affecting you. After all, you were friends with artoo. That droid was worse—regardless having no other option, you swiftly flipped back to stand on your feet and hesitate to face him, sighing as you did.

“I brought you food,” Poe points to the tray displaying a healthy amount of vegetables, what looked to be steaming mashed potatoes and fruits—At Least the First Orders food option wasn’t as bad as them.

Your eyes drift to the food and you shake your head, “I’m not hungry.” You cross your arms over your chest and shoot him a pointed look, ignoring the way your stomach growled as the smell of the food hit your nose.

“The guards say you haven’t eaten.” He grumbles, reaching to grab the plate, “eat or you’ll starve.”

You shoot him a glare and stay grounded as he begins walking towards you, his steps heavy as they hit the metal ground while his face clearly came to view under the white dim lights on the ceiling, his gaze not really expressing a concern, but an annoyance to your defiance; “you told me to rot in my cell, I’m doing that.”

Poe sighs heavily, “it’s a figure of speech. I was angry that you lied to me. Don’t they have that where you’re from?”

“I’m from Yavin-4 so you tell me.” You quip. Standing straighter as he comes to a stop in front of you.

“Eat, y/n.”

You grab the tray from his hand and grab the bowl of mashed potatoes, a small smirk faintly showing on your lips as you cupped your hand around the bottom rim and lifted it off the tray to shove it in his face. “Why don’t you.”

Poe’s jaw clenched as he reacted quickly by wiping the food off his face, his dark eyes burning holes inside your head. His lips parted to most likely argue, or scream at you, but instead he clenched his jaw once more. Letting the tray drop to the ground with a loud clang, the food remaining spilling on the floor by your feet, and his gloved hand clenching into a fist at his side before he turned to leave the room (cell) in a huff. His droid following him with concern and a hurried pace. Again, being left all alone with nothing but your failed attempts to reconnect with the force.

Usually when there were those moments when you felt alone, you usually liked to very carefully grab the japor snippet that would hang around your neck on a metal chain, but when you lifted your hand this time to try and feel the soft wooden charm, you only touched soft skin. No reminder of your dad, just the feeling of true and pure loneliness—Maybe the better choice was not to take it off before you arrived here. At least then maybe there would be something to keep you company, or keep you from feeling less alone. But there was no room for maybe’s anymore….

With a shaky exhale you drop to the ground, your eyes watering for a moment before they caught sight of the food spilled on the ground; having nothing else to do and really just distracting yourself, picking it up and placing it back on the tray. Feeling only a small, tiny bit of an inkling of remorse for what you did to Poe—He may be rude and annoying but….he..he was trying something nice.

Eww that even hurt to think.

Catching you by surprise the door slid open, different more lighter footsteps following as they walked inside, informing you immediately that it wasn’t Poe who returned, and it wasn’t Rey. You discreetly peeked over your shoulder as the door slid closed, spotting a black uniform reflecting the gleam of white light, a recognizable stormtrooper helmet on its head and a new tray of food in its hands—“there's people that can do that, y’know.”

Ah, now you knew who it was. “Oh, look, Poe sent in his apologetic stormtrooper.” You turn back around and focus on cleaning up the food. “Go away.”

“Finn.” He corrects you. “It’s actually Finn.”

You scoff as you sit up, still letting your back face him. “Okay.”

“You haven’t ate.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “You too, huh? You know I thought that whole reason of being a prisoner was to torture me. Not to treat me like a child.”

“You’re a guest.”

Finally you roll your head over your shoulder to make sure he saw your raised eyebrow and narrowed gaze. “Funny.” You spin around where you sat to face him with the same reaction. “Tell your master that I’m not hungry.”

Finn nods slowly and grabs a metal chair, twisting it around so he could take a seat. “I won’t leave until you will.”

“Then I guess you’re staying here all day.”

“I guess I will.” He quipped back, sounding exactly how Ben would. So paternal. It sucked; “tell you what, Nomad was going to do this later, but, I can take you to a better room if you eat.”

You scoff. “I’m not some pet or some child that you can bribe!”

Finn sighed, even if his face was covered it was audible that he sighed through his nose. “You’re snippy, you know that?” He paused and shrugged, “look I know you’re not a child or some pet, but I can’t promise you anything else, okay? Plus this room sucks, it’s dark and depressing, your new room will be bigger and have a window. Gives you room to walk and see the stars. But only if you at least have a couple bites of food.”

You huff and hesitate to stand up, biting the inside of your cheek and drifting your eyes to see the soft red lights that decorated the ground as you contemplated your answer. “You’re weird y’know? Different from the other stormtroopers.”

Finn shrugged, “I’ll take that as a complement.”

You meet the visor where his eyes are meant to be and groan softly. “Fine, I’ll eat.” You take the tray of food he offers and sit in another chair across from him, noticing as he crossed his arms over his chest in a cocky way.

“Wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

A scoff escapes your lips before a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you answer him, “I guess not.” Finn shrugs and you simply roll your eyes as you finally take a bite of your food. “Happy?”

He quips, “very.”

——

“You’ve got a smile brighter than any of those stars.”

A smile slowly tugs at your lips at the faint memory sounding in your mind, whilst your eyes get lost on the view of the dark and cold vacuum of space in front of you, pretending that if you thought hard enough, you could see the memory play in the twinkling stars. It was the only form of distraction to keep you from really feeling what your mind, whole being wanted you to really feel.

“Any more compliments and she’ll turn out like you, Anakin.” Master Kenobi retorted, making your grandfather grin smugly.

“And that’s wrong? She is my only granddaughter after all. Maybe I want her to be just like me.”

You chuckle and keep listening to what Master Kenobi had to say in return. “Ahsoka and I enjoy her the way she is. Don’t corrupt her please.”

A knock sounds on the door, pulling you from your stupor and causing your smile to fall. Only watching from the reflection of the transipersteel that Nomad had opened the door, his figure stuck at the entrance of the door, the bright light of the halls growing his shadow on a ground that was a hundred times more smoother than the cold hard metal, grate of a floor that was in your cell before. This cell had a bed. A bigger bed than you’ve ever had in your life, with a bigger room that could probably fit the small boxes you would stay in at base a hundred times over. The sheets were a dark silk heaven...Like how you imagine a cloud to feel, and there was a huge bathroom that was a part of your “room” (cell), and a walk-in closet that was only half full with First Order clothes you would never actually wear, but it had them hanging from the racks. Overall your excitement was obvious and not expected. They had spoiled you to the max with this room. Even if it was locked from the outside; which actually brought you to the conclusion that there was some reason behind this relocation.

Beside just the fact that they were obligating you to stay here alive.

“Do you need something?”

The sound of his weight shifting to his other foot echoed throughout the room, the sound nor him actually pulling your full attention just yet.

“Do you want to get out of your room?”

You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek, “cell you mean.” You correct him.

Nomad sighs loudly, “do you?”

“Depends. Am I going home?”

“No.” He deadpans before letting silence engulf the whole room. The sound of his helmet clicking before it came off was the only noise that traveled around, the sound of his voice much softer now without his helmet following shortly after. “Rey is gone on some mission. I need someone to train with.”

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest, being quick with a retort. “Your girlfriend’s gone so now you’re bugging me?”

Poe chuckled and was heard fully entering the room, letting the door slide shut behind him. “Not my girlfriend. She wishes she was. Plus I think you're more her type.”

“That, or she’s simply not into you.” You quip with a smug grin.

“Possibly.” He agreed, his footsteps stopping a couple feet behind you; “do you want to leave or not? I promise I’ll go easy, wouldn’t want to harm the pretty princess, y’know.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop calling me that, I’m not a princess. Far from it.”

“Your father is basically Jedi royalty, just like your last name, basically makes you one.”

“Nah.” You smirk, “the only princess I know is my cousin Ben. So.” Prince basically, but same thing. You loved to tease him. Got him ticked and got you happy.

“Come on. You don’t want to be stuck in here all day. It gets depressing.” Poe adds, making you grow quiet and not really thinking much of your answer before you answered with another sigh.

“Fine.” You finally turn to face Poe, seeing the cuffs already in his grip.

He noticed your gaze on the object and shrugged. “Trust issues. They’ll be off when we get to the training room.” Having no other choice you extend your hands and let him slap the cuffs on your wrists, watching as he put his helmet back on. Why? No idea. It’s not like he had trouble breathing like Darth Vader had, nor was it intimidating as his. It looked like any other helmet the stormtroopers with the black suits had on. You would have asked, but you didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction that something about him remotely caught your attention. Unless it was his scar. But that wasn’t something you had the need to comment on anymore. Just like you didn’t comment on the silence that surrounded you both as he walked you to the training room. Walking past stormtroopers with the black uniforms that differed those with the usual get up. Again you wanted to comment, but again you chose not to. Just letting the silence continue until you arrive at the room, the cuffs soon getting taken off once you both are secured inside the unsurprisingly huge area.

“Here,” he says breaking the silence, handing you a new set of hand wraps as he took off his helmet with his other hand, his eyes traveling from what he offered you and up to you. “I’m not going to bite. Take them. And don’t wrap them on too tight, or you’ll open your wound on your hand.”

He remembered about that? You hardly did

With some small hesitation you chose to take the hand wraps from him and only mouth a soft ‘thank you’ before you took off the ugly long sleeved shirt they had put on you before, being in only the tank top underneath, just like he now was. You tried to avert your eyes, really tried, but found yourself looking at him regardless as you began to wrap one hand, noticing that he wasn’t built like before when you first met him, when he would hang out with Ben and your brother. No, he was older now, his arms weren’t as skinny as before, they had a lot more...muscle to them and his chest was much more..how does someone describe it? Toned? Just like his...abdominal area. It was all just stamped through his tight tank….

Wait a minute...no. No—hastily before he noticed you staring, you tore your eyes away and focused on what you were doing—was it hot in here? Stars. Fucking...

“You done?”

You swallow thickly again and nod. “Yep.” Before he was able to comment on anything you jumped up, and met him on the mat, looking around for any usual weapons you were used to training with. “Do I get to use any of my lightsabers?”

Poe shakes his head whilst he gets into a fighting stance. “Not until you don’t want to kill me and you don’t want to leave anymore.”

“I’m a prisoner inside your capital ship, Dameron, of course I will fight to leave. All the time.”

“Then you don’t get your lightsabers. Simple.”

You huff and get into your own fighting stance, a mixture between use of form V and the form Ashoka taught you. Carefully eyeing every movement Poe began to make as he paced around you, waiting for you to attack, watching with his own eyes as you shifted your body to be prepared for any attacks. Smirking once he got impatient and attacked first, letting you to quickly dodge his swing and swiftly return to your stance, kicking his side before swinging your other leg and missing as he ducked.

You grinned and slightly jumped back to avoid his move, shrugging as you added something with heavy breaths. “No training stick or anything? Or are you too afraid I’ll beat you?”

Poe hesitated to answer. Giving right away his thoughts, which was a clear ‘yes’. He might’ve responded with a ‘no’ but you knew.

Poe tried to swing again but you quickly caught his fist and smirked, twisting his arm a bit before jumping slightly to lock his neck with your legs and flipping him over to crash onto the mat. His hand you had pinned to the ground while with his other hand he was quick to tap your leg to call it quits—you did so and loosened your grip, letting him slip out and carefully touch his offended area, while he also tried to breath in air, his eyes on you expressing a mixture of something you couldn’t define; “damn, princess, who the hell taught you to fight?”

You push yourself up to your feet and shrug, “I’ve had multiple teachers throughout the years.”

“Your ghost friends?”

Your head whips to where he is and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and shock. “You remember?”

Poe stands up and keeps rubbing his neck, using the force to summon a water bottle to his hand. Shooting you a look that read ‘yeah? Obviously.’

“Well them and myself.” Your frown returns to your face at the thought, “I wanted to be stronger so when I fought...Nomad. I’d win. I had to grow.”

Poe’s eyes drop and gulps down his water, licking his lips before he adds his other comment. “Well you have grown into yourself.” He smirks and you scoff, unable to tune him out as he continues. “I just mean you—never mind.”

You don’t press on the matter and look away from him, a sharp pain shooting to your palm repeatedly, making you quietly hiss from the pain. You bring your hand up and see the blood soaking through the wraps. Shit. You clench your hand into a fist and just try to ignore it until you were taken back to your cell. But you should’ve known better. Even if this room was big, it appeared almost small with just Poe and you here. He noticed; “I told you not to wrap it too tight. See now you opened your wound again.”

You huff and ignore him, hearing from behind you as he walked up behind until he stood close, his hand forcefully pulling your injured one. Carefully unwrapping the wrap and turning it to see the mess. “I can stitch it up.”

“No.” You answer bluntly, trying to pull your hand away from his grasp, but coming out unsuccessful as he pulled it back to him.

“I’m doing it.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Poe shrugs and pulls you to sit on a nearby bench, moving away to get what he needed, not taking long in his leave and sitting right back down beside you, taking your hand in his once more and completely removing the hand wrap. Very delicately, in a touch you barely felt cleaning your deep cut you yourself caused when..you stupidly but bravely caught his blade with your hand. It was a move your grandfather would’ve been proud of and Ben would’ve disapproved. Saying ‘it's too dangerous. You’ll get hurt.’ Even if he does the same move too. Whatever—you keep your eyes downcast and just listen to your breathing, soon hearing Poe’s because of how close he sat by you. Unable to keep your eyes away before they drifted to watch what he did, slowly looking up to see his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze narrowed on your wound. Why was he being so nice?

“Why are you being so nice?” You question out loud.

Poe hesitates and inhales quietly before exhaling deeply, only briefly letting his eyes meet your own before choosing to answer. “You want to get an infection on your hand?”

“No.”

“You’re my guest, I like to treat my guests nice.” He adds, his gaze focusing on the needle in his hand, ignoring your scoff.

“If I was your guest, I wouldn’t be in a cell.”

“You’re in a room.”

“It’s locked from the outside. Forbidding me from going out like a cell would. So it’s a cell.”

Poe stops and looks up at you, parting his lips to argue but choosing to let the silence once again blanket you both. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one, but it was one that soon made you feel the remorse from what you did a while ago; “I’m sorry,”

His breath catches in his throat. He tried to pretend it didn’t, but you caught it. “For throwing the food at you. You didn’t deserve that. You were trying to be nice. I’m sorry.” You pause and a faint smile appears, “only for that though. You deserved me punching you.”

A very faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a soft amused huff of air leaving his nose, his gaze meeting with yours for a second before you looked away. Your attention perked up once he mentioned something…“you know when we met for the first time and after you left with your dad and Jacen finally was able to distract Ben with something he told me and I quote, “you’re my friend and as your friend I want to say this. My sister is off limits. I see or hear you talking to her in any sort of suggestive, flirtatious way I’ll hurt you.”

You scoff and smile wider, “he was an ass. I’m sorry.”

Poe shook his head and chuckled. “I didn’t listen, don't worry.”

The smile you had soon faded at the memory of what happened rushed in. Of that night, of who had killed him. The anger returns in a burning fury, causing you to pull your hand away, not caring if he was almost done—He noticed the shift in your emotions, not only by the force, but by the way your eyes watered and your face scrunched up in anger. He wanted to add something, but you cut him off sharply. “Take me back to back to my cell, I’m tired of being here and of you.”

Poe simply nodded and summoned the cuffs to his hand to slap them back on your wrists, his eyes drifting back up to your face to see the tears you tried to hold in. Choosing that only a simple “fine” was enough. Not daring to talk the rest of the way back to the place he called your room. Releasing the cuffs once you were inside, choosing at the last moment, thinking that you wouldn’t notice (when in fact you did) to leave the door unlocked.

A mistake on his part and something you took as an advantage.

——

With very quiet and careful steps you snuck out of your room, looking from hall to hall to make sure the ghost was clear. Once it was you walked down the halls to try and get to the hangar Ben had parked his ship. Hoping that it was still there to make your great escape. Biting the inside of your cheek as a nervous tick. The deeper you walked down the ships halls the tighter you bit down.

Ignoring the pain in your heart to leave your own beautiful purple lightsaber, and the green lightsaber your dad gave to you behind. It hurt your soul, but if you tried to find them you’d be caught, so unfortunately it was something you had to leave, hoping that one day you’ll get them back. Really hoping.

Finally by the miracle of the maker through the wide transparisteel the ship you had come in came to view. A grin spreading whilst you rushed inside the hanger and inside the ship. Lucking out when there were no stormtroopers around, or inside the ship; not like you hoped there would be or you waited to see them as you rushed to the cockpit, letting the necklace you were truly and deeply missing get forgotten until you were out in the safety of hyperspace.

Feeling the cold buttons from the control underneath your hand as it traveled to try and turn it on, feeling a cold breeze of air as you went unaware of the person who had snuck on, his voice breaking the silence that had filled in the small space, the suddenness of his voice causing your shoulders to jump in surprise; “what are you doing?”

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to see Poe standing stiffly by the entrance. His jaw clenched and his glare burned into you as he repeated in a deeper, angrier voice, “What are you doing?”

.

.

.

.

A/N- the Ben part got long, sorry :/ also let me know me know if you actually want more from his p.o.v since the og group is going to reunite. And if you want to share ideas on what you want to see when they do, let me know :) and before you ask, yes, our beloved reader is friends with force ghosts ;)

Tagged- @thescarletknight2014​ , @softly-sad​ , @golden-guide​ , @abysshaven​ , @a-dorky-book-keeper , @kit-jpg​​ , @mybarnesmyhero​

Permanent taglist- @ms-dont-care​ , @commondazy​ , @paintballkid711​

[cpn-hydra]

Return the Favour

Synopsis: you are a prohibition agent in the 1920s assigned to infiltrate Brooklyn’s most infamous gang. In doing so, you meet its leader, Steve Rogers, who takes an unhealthy interest in you. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out and makes you pay for your sin.

Pairings: Dark!Steve x Reader

Word count: 9,018

Warnings: very dark Steve, non - con (intercourse), violence, only read if you are 18+, please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable, (I’m so sorry to cevans)

Note: this is the product of many sleepless nights. I’m not really sure what I just wrote or why (or why on earth it’s so long) but I hope you enjoy it anyhow.

I’ll add tags in the reblog. Congrats to anyone who makes it through :)

It was almost too easy to get into the speakeasy. The bouncer behind the door took one look at you – your hair, your attire, your make-up, the small bottle of moonshine that peeked out from the neckline of your dress – before unlocking the door and granting you entrance. All you'd needed to say was the password that you'd heard through word of mouth and the glittering underworld of prohibition was revealed to you.

This wasn't the first time that you had made a bust in a speakeasy. You'd been a prohibition agent for nearly a year now and you had quickly made a name for yourself within the Bureau of Prohibition. Female prohibition agents were scarce to be found, especially so young as you were, but the Bureau was quickly grasping onto the importance of their use. No one suspected you of anything other than wanting to enjoy your newfound freedom, delving deep into the flapper culture and anything and all that came with it, including drinking. No one suspected you of being the one who would bring their business to the ground.

In this particular speakeasy, however, you had to be far more careful. This was no simple bust, this was an infiltration. You had been hesitant to take it on when your boss told you of your assignment, knowing the risks that it would carry, but consoled yourself with the knowledge that even a gang with a reputation such as this had no history of harming a woman, not even inadvertently in one of their occasional shoot-outs. If you kept your wits about you, you should survive unscathed.

However as you entered the speakeasy, your apprehension returned. The speakeasy looked the same as all of the others, if not gaudier and slightly larger, with girls dancing on the stage in their new, shorter attire and loud music filling the hall. As your keen eyes diligently scanned the room, you noticed the that the men all wore suits and the women's clothing was clearly of much higher value than in the cheap bars you had busted before today. Everyone here was rich, filthily so, you could see it in the diamonds hanging from the women's throats and ears. This was bootlegging money, this was gang money.

You headed for the bar, discarding the bottle that had been tucked in your undergarments as you went. It wasn't actually filled with alcohol, just coloured water, but it had been enough to fool the bouncer. You were served immediately despite the large groups of people surrounding the bar and you quickly knocked back the gin and mixer you had been given. It tasted nicer than the moonshine you had been served with before. Even prohibition agents drank, especially when they were nervous.

And you most definitely were nervous. The gang you had been assigned to infiltrate was Brooklyn's largest and most dangerous. Its leader, Steven Rogers, had evaded the law for many years, despite his name and face being widely known. Looking around the gang's favourite hangout, you'd already spotted a few familiar faces, pinned up on the walls of the Bureau. James 'Bucky' Barnes was one, gambling arm in arm with another one of the gang's members, Sam 'the Falcon' Wilson. You wondered how they hadn't been caught already, given how easily you had gained access to this speakeasy. There must have been a plan of escape.

You must have looked rather lonely at the bar by yourself because soon you were joined by a bearded man who placed his palm on the small of your back and called the bartender over, asking for “another drink for the lady!” You thanked him as he looked at you jovially. You knew who he was as he stretched his hand out to you. “Tony Stark,” he greeted, “I don't think I've seen you here before?”

You took his hand and told him your name. The bartender handed you your second drink and you sipped on it as you attempted to keep your nerves from showing. This was man was equally as dangerous as Rogers, he was the underboss of the gang. “I've not been here before, all of my favourite places kept getting shut down,” you rolled your eyes and giggled at him, the alcohol making your acting all the more believable.

“Ah well, isn't that annoying?” his eyes were bright as he looked at you. “Don't worry, this place isn't going anywhere.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” you looked up at him through painted lashes. He started to lead you away from the bar and you realised quickly that this was your best shot at infiltrating the gang, its second-in-command leading you right into the den.

Tony looked at you with that unnerving look that had been in his eyes since he'd first seen you. It wasn't one of malice or suspicion, rather as if he knew something that you didn't. You were absolutely certain that there was no way for him to know already what you were up to, but you couldn't deny that it made you slightly anxious.

“There's someone that I think you ought to meet,” Tony told you as he navigated through the throngs of people, “I think you'll get on just right,” he chuckled.

“Oh?” you entertained him. You really didn't plan on having any relationship with a man whilst on the job but you let him think that you did, “What's he look like?”

“You'll see,” Tony teased you as you reached a table. “Gentlemen,” he coughed, earning the attention the two men you had spotted earlier. He introduced you and you smiled at the two men as if you didn't know they were part of one of the city's most deadly gangs. “Mind if the Lady and I join you whilst we wait for company?”

“Ain't we good enough company for ya, old man?” a grin split Sam's face, revealing a set of pearly whites. You could have sworn you saw a golden glint from one of his teeth, but the lighting was so dim you might have imagined it.

“Nothing personal, Wilson,” Tony laughed it off.

Bucky was quiet as he observed you, his jaw clicking slightly. Tony must have noticed this because he stretched past you and leaned over the table to speak in Bucky's ear. He continued to watch your face as Tony spoke, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. Tony pulled back and Bucky nodded, seeming to understand what Tony had been trying to get across to him.

“Why don't you come and sit here with us, doll?” Bucky stood and gestured to the seat that he had just vacated. You glanced at Tony, worried you might offend him, but he simply nudged you forward with his hand on your back.

“Of course,” you smiled at Bucky, rounding the table and taking the seat he offered. Bucky pushed you in and you thanked him. Your nerves were becoming an issue but to your credit, you managed to present it as bashfulness. Bucky took the seat to your side, Sam flanking you on the other, and Tony took a seat to the left of Sam on the circular table. You felt awfully closed in by these men but you tried to ignore your racing heart, now was not the time for nerves.

You watched as they continued to play. The deck of cards was regathered and reshuffled and a deal of cards was handed to you. “Do you know how to play, doll?” Bucky asked, his voice surprisingly warm given guarded expression he had just been wearing.

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” you sat straight in your chair and peeked at your deck.

You played a couple of rounds of poker with average success. Tony seemed to have a knack for the game and ended up taking copious amounts of money from Sam and Bucky, though he refused to take anything from you. It was easier to talk to these men than you had anticipated. For such a notorious gang, its higher up members were surprisingly friendly and open. Tony had bought another drink for you at some point and your vision began to get hazy, you had to pinch yourself to keep yourself from swaying in a happy daze.

Just as another round of cards was being dealt, a hush seemed to fall upon the bar. You looked up, seeing nought but a blur of bodies and colours, but from this fog emerged one clear figure. There was tight smile across his sculpted face as he greeted various people who would pat him on the shoulder as he passed or would stop and shake their hands. His blue eyes sparkled under the glittering light of the chandelier, intriguing you. Tony stood from the table and approached him, leaning to whisper into his ear, and then suddenly his eyes were on you.

You were rooted to the spot as a connection was seemingly made between the two of you, and you didn't know whether it excited or worried you. He took the seat directly across from you. The look in his eyes was so intense that you were forced you look away, fearing that he could read your very thoughts.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted Sam and Bucky with a nod, his voice as smooth as butter. His eyes were on you again, “Ma'am.”

Tony interrupted the moment by calling your name, “This is Steven Rogers,” he told you. Your mouth fell open as you let out a soft exhale, moistening your lower lip. The boss himself.

A grin stretched across your face and you leaned over on your elbows with a wide grin on your face, your lower lip caught between your teeth. “You the big man?”

Steve chuckled, imitating your movement, “The one and only, sweetheart.” Perhaps it was the alcohol or perhaps it was the tactic you'd chosen, but either way you were brazenly flirting with Steven Rogers of all people and he was reciprocating, if the predatory look on his face was anything to go by.

The deck was reshuffled and the game started again. Every now and then he would look up at you over his cards and you'd unabashedly meet his burning gaze. He seemed to wear a perpetual smirk upon his features and his thick lashes didn't seem to blink once, his eyes moving slowly and every glance calculated. The light from above cast a shadow across his face and his features became much more angular, the chiselled line of his jaw and sharp cut of his cheekbones as if he was carved from marble.

It made your hair stand on end.

He didn't move like a real person. Looking around the table, you could see the exasperated rise and fall of Tony's chest as he looked at his cards, below the table you could feel the anxious tapping of Bucky's foot against the floor, and every now and then Sam would have to take a brief moment to stretch his aching back. Steve hardly moved, the only perceptible hint of human presence seen in the acute clenching of his jaw. The world seemed to move around him and there was a strange gravitational pull to him that drew everyone towards him.

You were no exception.

You broke his gaze and discreetly glanced at your watch. Fourteen minutes to go.

When you looked back up, Steve's eyes were still on you. It felt as if he had never looked away. Despite your mounting nerves, you winked at him, taking a deep drink from the cocktail that had been placed in front of you by Sam a few minutes before. The part of your mind that wasn't addled by the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed in such a short amount of time wondered if there wasn't the possibility that these men were trying to get you drunk, especially given the way they'd seemed to be waiting for Steve to meet you, but you shook off these thoughts with a bit of rationality. Of all the things that their gang had been accused of, abuse of a woman had never been one of the counts.

The men around the table continued to engage you in conversation but you barely heard any of it.  You'd already forgotten what one had said before the next one continued, your mind focused solely on what you knew was to come in the next fifteen minutes. Your voice was giggly and overtly feminine and it didn't sound like you at all, but your persona was clearly working as the men around you seemed to believe it. You didn't know if the same could be said for Steve, however. You were inclined to believe that perhaps he had fallen under your spell too, but you weren't so naïve to think that he had gotten this far over all these years without having gained the ability to detect when someone had something to hide.

Your only comfort came in the clear lust in his gaze. Any suspicion that you might have an ulterior motive would hopefully be buried beneath the lust that he made no attempt to hide as he continued to openly flirt with you.

Another glance at your watch. Thirty seconds. You steeled yourself, taking once last gulp from your drink, taking all the liquid courage you could get. It wasn't often that you got yourself involved in a shoot-out, which was what the agents at the Bureau had assured you that this would most likely become. The music stopped a fraction of a second before a loud knocking was heard booming across the room. “Police, open up!” a deep voice shouted.

You feigned panic as the entire speakeasy spurred into motion, your eyes darting around the room as if you were looking for an exit, when in actuality you were watching to see how the speakeasy could so easily hide their alcohol as they had in previous raids. Your colleagues had made several unsuccessful attempts at infiltrating the speakeasy but whenever they had managed to gain entrance, there was no alcohol for them to confiscate and therefore no evidence. It was your job to discover how they did this, and where the alcohol went.

The lights brightened suddenly and the music changed tone from rambunctious to a calm melody, and the tables were swiftly being covered with filigree table cloths by the patrons. Your eyes fixed on the bar as the bartender hurriedly cleared the bottles from the counter and darted over to the wall, flicking a neatly hidden switch. Your mouth hung agape as the numerous bottles of alcohol suddenly plummeted. You waited to hear the bottles smash but there was a prolonged period of silence and you could only assume that the bottles had fallen down a chute directly into the sewers below.

The knocking persisted, louder and louder, and your colleague's voice boomed above the serene music. You barely had to chance to register the apparent coffee shop that you were now in before a large hand wrapped around your upper arm and hauled you off of your chair. “Come on, princess,” your mind raced to register the voice as Steve's. His hand was so impossibly cold against your alcohol warmed skin and you hadn't realised quite how large he was.

You looked around the room again and realised that Tony, Bucky and Sam had already disappeared. The speakeasy looked like a cafe, not convincingly enough for the agents to believe but as long as no alcohol was to be found, they would be unable to dispute it.

“You chose the best night to come didn't you, princess?” Steve joked but beneath his voice was a worryingly dark tone of annoyance. You couldn't tell if it was directed at you or not, but the fact that he chose to take you away from the speakeasy and not any of its other patrons was concerning. You found that you couldn't say anything as he escorted you through a hidden door behind the bar which he shut firmly behind him.

“Woah,” you could only say once Steve let you go, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You took a look at your surroundings and your brow furrowed as you took in the tunnel stretching ahead of you. Steve ushered you forward, his hand resting on the small of your back. It felt more as if he was guiding you to safety rather than anything sinister.

You allowed him to lead you through the tunnel, not that you had much other option, until you reached an overhead door and a ladder. He stepped past you and knocked on the door in a pattern you were sure that you'd be unable to replicate, and a moment later the sound of locks being turned could be heard and the door was opened, flooding the tunnel with light. You looked up to see Bucky's face peering down at you. You looked at Steve, a ghost of a smile on your face. You were very much enjoying the intricacies of their escape route. “Ladies first,” he gestured politely, allowing you to move in front of him.

You smiled and started to climb the ladder. The door wasn't that far up, only a few inches taller than Steve, so you didn't have far to go but you were very conscious of how close his eyes were to your skirts as you ascended. The moment your shoulders peeked above the opening and you placed your palms on the ground, Steve's hands clasped your waist and pushed you upwards, where Bucky's hands were waiting to receive you.

You yelped as Bucky lifted you and set you on the ground. You didn't understand why you couldn't simply climb the ladder yourself, but nonetheless you thanked them both. Steve was up the ladder in a second and set to work locking the trapdoor with no fewer than four sliding locks.

“Bloody pigs,” Bucky sidled past you, huffing, and headed for the stairs. You looked around anxiously, noting that you were now in a dark basement.

Steve sighed angrily and ran a hand through his hair. “That's gone and cost us a good few bucks,” he spoke so casually that you knew that he couldn't have sniffed your involvement in all of this, and that he had taken you from the speakeasy for a different reason. He looked back at you, his features much harder to define than before in this dark light. “Sorry 'bout that, princess,” he approached you, “I didn't want to leave you on your own in there.”

“Oh no, no, thank you,” you stammered, “I've never been in a raid before, it scared me, I'm glad you got me out of there.”

Steve's eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed at you, if you'd have blinked you'd have missed it. Your heart skipped a beat but you kept yourself calm, assuring yourself that it was nothing, just a trick of the light. “Don't worry about it,” he told you, “I couldn't have left a pretty dame like yourself all alone with those damn agents, now could I?”

He was so close now that you could feel his breath gently breeze over the top of your head as he looked down at you. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, so pink and full and inviting, and then back up to his eyes. Even in the dark, the blue of his eyes was mesmerising, as stormy and as turbulent as the ocean. A moment of silence passed between the two of you when his eyes kept searching yours for some well-kept secret. You thought of how easy it would be to lean up on your toes and press your lips against him, but you abstained. Nothing in your job description said anything about that.

“Come on,” he broke the silence, his voice soft and gentle in a way that you had yet to hear it, “Let's go upstairs.” You nodded and he took your hand in his, his large palm encompassing yours.

The upper rooms were very opulently furnished but it didn't take you very long to realise that this house was not occupied and therefore nothing more than a safe house. The fireplace was empty of logs and swept clean of ash, showcasing that it hadn't been used in a while, there were no decorations on the walls and there was a thin layer of dust across the furniture. The only part of the house that made it seemed occupied was the well trodden carpet, a clear path defined from the basement to the front door.

“Is this a safe house?” you asked tentatively.

“More or less,” he shrugged, watching your reaction carefully. You looked up at the chandelier above you and stumbled as the blood rushed to your head and your world spun. Steve's hand shot out to steady you, “I'll take you home, Miss,” he offered.

“No, no, I'm fine. You've done enough, really,” you assured him, but you had yet to sober up from all the drinks you'd had.

“I insist, can't have you walking the streets on your own at this time of night,” his voice lowered a tone, he leaned in, “There's all sorts of cruel men out there.”

You knew he was right and that it would indeed be dangerous for you to make your own way home this inebriated, but you knew that it would be equally dangerous for Steve, a bootlegger and gang leader, to know where you, a prohibition agent trying to take him down, lived. Eventually you conceded, the look in his eyes telling you that going against him wouldn't work in your favour, no matter how nice he was being. Nobody told Steven Rogers 'no'.

“Alright,” you sighed, “It's just a couple of blocks away.”

“Come on then, princess,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and starting leading you out of the house. There was an automobile waiting outside, black and sleek. Through the windows you could just about make out Tony and Sam sitting in the front seats, meaning Bucky must have been in the back. Steve directed you towards the car and you slid into the back, taking the middle seat. Your thigh was pressed against Bucky who was staring out of the window with calculating eyes, on edge for any sign of threat, and Steve took the seat to your right.

You blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the feeling of being underwater. Your head swayed from side to side and your lids grew heavier, you forced yourself to stay awake. You immediately regretted your decision to get into the car but deep down you knew that you hadn't really been given a choice.

At some point during the journey, as short as it was, your head had come to rest on Steve's shoulder. His chest seemed to inflate as you did so and his fingers inched towards the bare skin flashing from beneath your ruffled skirt. His icy fingers danced along your skin causing you to flinch ever so slightly, but you kept close to him and allowed him to run his hand along your leg. Perhaps civilised society would view this behaviour as untoward and unbecoming of an unmarried lady, but society was hardly civilised these days. And neither were you, not by modern society's standards at least.

By the time Tony had rolled up to your apartment after you had given him directions, you were very nearly asleep. Steve had to support most of your body weight as he escorted you up to your rooms and even had to unlock the door for you as you struggled with the key. “Alright,” you smiled sleepily at him, “This is me.”

“I can see,” Steve ducked his hands into his pockets, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lip as he watched as you hung on the door frame.

“Thank you,” you told him, “for taking me home.”

“It was my pleasure, miss. Will I see you at the club again?” You barely had to ponder this question, nodding lethargically. “I look forward to it then. You get a good night's sleep now, do you hear me? You've had a lot to drink.”

“Will do...” you conceded. You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and a thought crept into your mind, “big man...” Steve's chest swelled and his gaze filled with lust, his eyes darkening, not that you noticed in your drunken haze.

A beat passed when your gaze travelled back to his lips and you felt yourself tilting forward. He hooked a cool finger beneath your chin, steadying your face. You waited. His eyes bore into yours, the blue so impossible to read. His lips parted slightly, tantalising you. He crept forward, so gentle yet so firm and in control of his movements, and his lips met yours.

You didn't know how to react. His lips were barely there and you found your body subconsciously leaning in for more, desperate for closer contact. A hand came round the back of your head, holding you in place, taking control. His tongue ran across your lower lip, igniting a fiery trail. You opened your mouth obediently for him, allowing him entrance which he gladly took.

The kiss was slow and languid and when he pulled away you were left on a precipice, wanting to stretch out with both arms and fall into the abyss of sexual abandon. Steve left you there, with only a taste and desperate for more. His bright eyes searched yours, heavy with the temptations of sleep. “Goodnight, princess,” he whispered, just a breath away from you. His hand left the back of your head and he gave you a gentle nudge back. You smiled sleepily and returned the sentiment, slowly closing the door as if you were worried that he might disappear forever if you closed it too quickly.

Steve waited for you to close the door before letting out a heady sigh, leaning against the wall and letting his hand travel to his cock. He palmed his erection through his trousers, letting out a guttural groan as images of your face as you blatantly flirted with him and the taste of your lips flickered through his mind.

A few minutes later, Steve reconvened with Tony, Sam and Bucky in the car. “She say anything?” Tony asked as Steve slid into the front seat which Sam had vacated for him.

“Not yet,” Steve replied, rolling his neck, “We'll see how the next few days play out. Keep a low profile.”

Sam leaned forward, putting his arms on the back of Tony and Steve's seats and looking between them. “Do you really think there's something off about this girl?” he questioned, causing Steve to bristle slightly. He didn't like being contradicted, even by one of his closest confidantes.

Bucky remained silent until then, “It can't be a coincidence that every speakeasy she goes to gets shut down, Sam.” His eyes stayed fixed on the window.

“She seems nice enough,” Sam shrugged, leaning back into his seat. “I'd say give her a chance.”

“That's what we're doing,” Steve reminded him sharply. “Giving her a chance to prove herself.”

“If you say so, boss,” Sam conceded, “Just hope she doesn't betray us.”

Steve found that he couldn't necessarily say the same.

***

The days after that night passed slowly for the both of you. There were no developments from the Bureau, business continued as normal and Steve was starting to wonder if he'd been wrong about you. While the darker, unrefined part of him itched for justification to enact his deepest desires, the logical part of him felt a modicum of relief. This test was a necessary step to take before he could bring you within the folds of the gang. You'd yet to betray them and therefore you had passed the test.

All he had to do now was wait for you to show your face again. You'd had a taste of the glittering underworld, a passing glance at a life of riches, and he knew you'd be wanting more. Few could resist. He would wait patiently, knowing that soon he would be rewarded for his forbearance, and he would indeed.

You'd tried to resist. You'd tried to keep yourself from returning. You'd tried your damnest to occupy your thoughts, determined not to let Steve consume your life. But he was like a drug, intoxicating and thrilling, tempting you for more despite the danger. Going back to the speakeasy was a danger now that you'd told the Bureau of their evasion techniques, that the Bureau could enact their full-scale raid anytime now, but you couldn't resist the pull of Steve Rogers.

And so you found yourself dolled up once again, staring at the facade of the speakeasy. Your nerves were running high and you weren't sure what caused it but you knew that it was fear manifesting in your stomach, clawing at your chest.

You watched as a group of young women in similar attire to you approached the speakeasy, giggling loudly and flashing their jewels in the street-light, and crept in behind them, using their confidence as a drive.

Once you were in, things went much the same as they had before. You immediately made for the bar and ordered a drink to quieten your racing thoughts. Was this the feeling of intoxication you got from being around Steve or was this a feeling of suffocation from being in the lion's den?

When you looked up, he was there.

Watching you from the corner, his face shrouded in darkness, you could barely make out his features but you instinctively knew that it was him. Who else could it be watching you with such an intense gaze, eyes so bright despite the shadow cast upon him?

He stood, rising above the others like a god. He had eyes only for you and you were automatically drawn to him, your feet moving without your permission. The call of this man was not earthly.

You were before him, your toes touching his, craning your neck to see him looking down at you through thick lashes. His lip pulled at the corner, almost imperceptible, and he said your name softly and sweet. Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile. “You came back,” there was a vague hint of satisfaction to his tone and somewhere in the deep recesses of your brain, warning bells sounded, but you were so drowned in the scent of this man that you foolishly ignored them.

“I'm back,” you echoed. His hand found yours, cool fingers intertwining with yours. He raised your conjoined hands and placed a chaste kiss upon your knuckles. Heat crept up your neck and blossomed in your cheeks.

He tugged on your hand and you followed him demurely as he navigated through the crowds. You passed Bucky along the way, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest in a wide stance, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. He nodded at Steve with a jerk of his head, eyes passing over to you with no visible reaction, and then he looked back to the crowd, searching with attentive eyes for any sign of danger.

Steve took you through a door you hadn't seen before, buried deep in the corner of the room and hidden from a casual glance. Steve retrieved a golden key from his pocket, unlocking the door and leading you through.

Just like the rest of the speakeasy, this room was well furnished and clearly no expense had been spared in its decoration. Portraits hung on the wall, photos and paintings alike, and a bookcase filled one wall, various titles from different periods lining the shelves. Shakespeare, Melville, Beecher Stowe, Twain, to name a few.

A cabinet filled the opposing wall, fine whiskeys and gins and rums glimmering in the light of the chandelier. In the centre of the room was a large table. No seats surrounded it and it was mostly bare aside from a map of Brooklyn. Your keen eye was immediately attracted to the red markings but you were quickly distracted by two firm hands bodily lifting you onto the table.

Your hands shot out onto the table to steady yourself. He held you by the waist as he slotted between your thighs, leaning over your slanted body. You breathed deeply, eyes wide as you waited with baited breath for him to make a move. He leaned in, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath, and just as he was about to kiss you, a loud knock on the door startled you.

“Steve!” you could hear Tony's raised voice from the other side of the door. Steve closed his eyes in frustration, sighing heavily. He called over his shoulder for Tony to leave the two you in peace, but Tony persisted. “Steve, we've got a problem!”

Steve's eyes opened, cold and hard as they fixed on a spot behind you. The tension grew and you began to feel the fear itching away at you again. Your heart stopped when he looked up and fixed you with his cold gaze, eyes boring into yours. You couldn't move, you couldn't look away, you could barely breathe.

He didn't blink. He didn't falter. His eyes were stone cold. You had never been so terrified.

And then his eyes softened, the sharp planes of his face relaxing and the telltale twitching of his lip as he resisted the urge to smirk. You didn't know how to feel as he pulled your body from the table, enclosed your hand in his and met Tony on the other side of the door.

Tony's face was all hard lines, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. He spared you a solitary glance before meeting Steve's eyes. “This way,” he gestured. Steve followed his second-in-command, keeping you in tow. He moved deftly through the throngs of people who were blissfully acting as if nothing was amiss, drinking and laughing and dancing, and followed Tony to the concealed exit that you had been shown the other night – the very same exit that you had informed the Bureau of.

You felt your heart begin to constrict, your breathing becoming laboured and deep, a chill running deep through your veins. You told yourself to remain optimistic, that this didn't straight away mean that you had been caught, that there were many explanations, but your body wouldn't listen to your mind. Steve's cold stare was burned into your retinas, you couldn't look away even when you closed your eyes.

The door opened for the men in front of you, but your vision of the tunnel ahead was blocked by numerous bodies swathed in black. Steve pulled you behind him, the door shutting with a startling finality behind you. Steve's hand left yours as he stepped forwards to investigate what had been the problem, something on the ground that was obscured from your view. You looked out from your furrowed brow at the others in the tunnel's entrance. You recognised Sam and Bucky standing opposite to you. Sam was watching Steve, waiting for a reaction, but when your eyes flickered over to Bucky, he was already staring at you. Your heart faltered.

You broke his gaze, anxiety biting at you, and moved onto the next person. You vaguely recognised her face but couldn't quite place a name to the redhead. She was dressed peculiarly, foregoing a skirt in favour of trousers, fitted at the waist and loose at the ankle, simulating a dress at first glance. There was something serpentine about the way she moved, the way her eyes flickered rather than moved, her body poised for an attack even when relaxed. She was unnerving to say the least.

There were a couple of other men in the room who you did not recognise, a pale black-haired man leaning against the wall with a golden cane in one hand and a smirk on his face, a blond man standing back with his arms crossed over his chest and an impassive expression, and an imposing man in the shadows who you immediately realised to be the infamous Black Panther. You swallowed nervously. You, an undercover cop, were in the company of many of the New York's most dangerous criminals and had no means of defending yourself.

The man in front of you moved to the side slightly, allowing you to inch forwards and insert yourself into the circle. You saw Steve's golden hair first, illuminated under the spotlight, and then you saw the  large pool of blood surrounding two bodies. You had seen death before, this was not your first dance with devil, but what caused to wretch from utter horror was the familiar eyes that were staring, unseeing and glassy, at you. You knew them.

A dreadful realisation fell upon you. If they'd been so willing to kill your colleagues for discovering the tunnel, what would they be willing to do to you? You tried your best to quell your racing heart but nothing could be done to stop the fear coursing through your veins.

“Found 'em tryna sneak in,” Sam told Steve, the pistol still in his hand. “Bureau agents. Didn't give me much choice but to shoot 'em,” he spoke so casually. Steve stood, taking a handkerchief offered to him by Bucky to wipe the blood from his fingers. He sighed heavily, eyes still trained on the dead men.

“How did they find out about the tunnel?” the red-headed woman asked, looking around the circle in question.

You tried to keep your eyes on the ground, tried not to look at Steve, tried not to give away your guilt, but eventually you couldn't resist the pull and you looked up just in time to see his gaze shift from the dead men to you. Your blood ran cold at the hint of a smirk that spread across his face, his eyes once again unblinking and glinting with sadism.

You felt as the others in the room turned to look at you, following their leader's eyeline. Never before had you felt fear such as this, never before had you longed so deeply for the earth to fall from beneath you and take you with it. You began to tremble as the sadistic glimmer in Steve's eyes grew stronger.

“There's only one outsider with that knowledge,” Steve drawled, “and she's standing in this room.”

Silence fell upon the room as one by one, it began to click in their heads. The only sound to be heard was the sound of your heels clicking against the cobbled stone as you moved back towards the door. Your palms met the cool metal and you searched desperately for the handle, all the while keeping your wide eyes on Steve.

Steve lithely stepped over the bodies of your colleagues and your panic grew. You spun around, your hand grasping onto the handle. You turned it furiously but nothing happened. You let out an involuntary whine, cut short as two large palms came crashing down onto the door either side of you, caging you in. You yelped, spinning around to face him.

His eyes were darker than before, his face impossibly close and more threatening than before. “Sweetheart?” he drawled in a low voice, sending a chill down your back, “Do you have something to tell me?” You could barely move, save from the sharp rise and fall of your chest. His gaze hardened when you didn't answer and he grasped your jaw tightly in his hand. “Who are you really?” his voice grew darker with every syllable. His fingers dug into the hollows of your cheeks and you cried out in pain.

“You know who I am, I didn't lie!” you exclaimed, your voice barely more than a breathy shout. Steve raised his eyebrows as if what you'd just said was amusing.

“Oh?” he tilted his head slightly. His grip tightened. “Who do you work for?”

You could feel the tears begin to sting in your eyes now and your vision blurred slightly. Your heart was in your throat and you couldn't form a comprehensive sentence until Steve dug his fingers into your cheeks deeper and thrust your head up. You gasped, your jaw forced open by his hold. “No one!” you screwed your eyes shut as if that would block his presence from your mind.

Steve was not pleased by your response. His foot slid between yours and nudged your legs open. He forced his knee between yours and, whilst you were vulnerable, roughly cupped your pussy. Your cheeks burned as tears fell down them in rivulets and you let out a low whine and tried to pull his hand off of you. “I said, who do you work for?” he repeated slowly, eyes boring into you.

You couldn't take it any longer. Your jaw was aching, your cheeks sore and your neck throbbing. You could hardly breathe with the way he was holding your throat and no one behind him showed any of intentions on stopping him. Steve wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted from you, and maybe not even then. What choice did you have?

“The Bureau!” you relented. Steve's fingers released your face and you were only given a moment to breathe before his hand travelled down to the base of your throat and his long fingers curled around it.

“Are you an agent?” he continued with his interrogation. You nodded best you could, aware of the sorry state you must have looked as you gasped. “And did you tell the Bureau of this tunnel?” You nodded slowly this time, sealing your fate.

Steve released you and your body slumped down the wall. A hand shot out, wrapping around your upper arm and holding you up. You tentatively looked up at his face and even more terrifying than the fury that was painted across his features was the lust hidden behind it. “Buck, go get the car ready,” he said, eyes not leaving yours.

Bucky nodded and in your peripheral vision you watched his figure retreat down the hall, flanked by Sam and Tony. “Natasha, mind getting someone to sort the bodies?”

“Got it, boss,” the red-headed woman replied.

“I think you and I ought to have a little talk, sweetheart,” his hand crept up your back and up your neck until he fisted it in your hair. You winced but said nothing, clenching your jaw. He turned and started to pull you down the tunnel by your hair, a far cry from the gentle manner in which he had first guided you down here.

Your scalp burned, Steve tugging on your hair whenever you slowed. He delivered you to the ladder from before and released you harshly, your body falling against the metal. He prodded your back, pushing for you to climb through the open door. You clambered over the frame and swiftly rose to your feet. You set off for the door as fast as you could but a hand shot out and pulled you down by your ankle. Your nose collided with the floor at great speed and your vision momentarily blackened as the world around you blurred. A hand fisted in your hair again, pulling you back onto your feet, and hauled you towards the stairs.

You barely saw anything as he dragged you up to the top floor of the house, the world around you  spinning dangerously. One moment you were swaying dangerously on your feet, the next you were tossed unceremoniously onto a four-poster bed.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as you landed on the bed and you lay there for a moment simply trying to catch your breath. When you propped yourself up on your elbows to take a look at your surroundings, the sight of Steve standing over you was enough to send you running again.

You didn't get very far before his large arm looped around your waist, pulling your body back into his chest. You continued to struggle, legs kicking out and nails clawing at his arm, but all fight left your body when you felt the cool metal of a gun being pressed against your temple.

“Not so confident now, huh?” he chuckled into your ear. “You managed to trick me, you little minx, do you know that? Thought I was wrong about you, that you were just a silly little whore and not much more, but I do enjoy being right, sweetheart.”

“What do you want from me?” your voice quivered and your body shuddered in his hold.

The muzzle of the gun pressed in harder. “I don't take kindly to traitors, sweets. Usually I kill them, like your little friends downstairs,” he must have gained some perverse satisfaction at the way your body involuntarily jerked at his words, the absolute terror they caused making you keel over, “but you're just too pretty to kill. I can't decide whether you should live or die, but I can think of a better use for you.” He shuffled his feet and suddenly you could feel the hardness of his erection pressing firm into your lower back, causing you to shriek in fear.

But somewhere amongst this fear was a more primal feeling, one of intense warmth spreading through you at the sensation. Against your will, you felt your pussy begin to throb.

“Please, Steve-”

“Nuh-uh,” he tutted, “you don't get to call me that anymore, sweetheart. You can call me Sir.”

You felt the abasement tingle at your cheeks but you bit your tongue. You had to find a way to appease him. You swallowed your shame and spat it out, “Please, Sir, a job is a job. I needed the money, I'm sorry, it wasn't personal.”

“That don't matter, sweetheart,” his voice was almost a snarl, “What matters is that you did it, that you tried to fool me, and now you're going to pay for that. So...strip.”

“W-what?” your voice was but a whisper.

“Strip.”

His voice was deep, commanding and stern. With his pistol pressing into your temple, there was nothing you could do except from reach for the zip at the back of your dress with trembling hands. The dress was low backed so you were able to unzip it yourself, exposing your back to the cool air of the stale room.

Steve grew impatient and holstered his gun, taking charge and pushing the dress over your shoulders. Because of its fit, the dress fell immediately to the ground, leaving you clad in only your underwear, stockings and heels. You were shivering, whether from fear or cold you could not decipher, but Steve paid no mind to this as he swiftly removed the garments from your body.

“Steve, please!” you begged as your last piece of clothing fell to your feet. You realised your mistake a moment before his hand met your ass.

“What did I tell you?”

“Sir!” you squealed. Steve made a noise of approval. He placed either of his large palms on your waist, running his hands from your hips to your breasts and back again, leaving a icy cold trail in his wake, nothing like the fiery tingles he had ignited on your lips in the days past.

Suddenly he rotated your bodies so that you were facing the bed. He pushed you forward until your shins hit the wooden bed frame and placed a firm hand between your shoulders, pushing your body into the bedding so that your ass was canted towards him. A bout of resistance surged through you and you struggled, clawing at his hands or the bedding or whatever you could reach. He caught your hands easily and held your wrists together above your head, pinning your body down. “Don't make me tie you to the bed,” he warned.

The thought of being physically bound to the bed, exposed in every single way, was enough to subdue you. You would take the slightest bit of control in any form it took.

When Steve was sure that you'd be still, his hands left you and a moment later you heard the unbuckling of a belt. You closed your eyes and buried your face into the bedding, hoping vainly that if he could not see your face then perhaps the humiliation would be lessened. The coil in your chest tightened, an iron grip around your heart, when he placed his hands upon the globes of your ass and spread your legs further. The degradation you felt was overwhelming, but you had to force yourself to ignore it. You fisted the comforter in your hands and kept your eyes tightly closed, not daring to look behind and see him. He lined his throbbing cock against your entrance – you could practically feel its heat – and you barely managed to suppress a shriek when he roughly impaled you.

He gave you no time to get accustomed to the sensation, immediately sawing back and forth into you. All you could feel was the pain. “I could have made this so good for you,” Steve grunted from above you, his voice husky, “could have made you nice and wet first,” he continued to thrust into you, “but you had to be-” he gasped, “had to be a liar.” He let out a guttural groan when he bottomed out, stilling inside of you.

You struggled to keep your hips propped up, even with his hands securely holding the top of your thighs. With every movement he made your entire body jerked and you were left panting. When he started to move again, balls slapping against your sore skin, there was a difference to before. Where before you had been tight and unyielding you could now feel a tingling sensation building just beneath the surface and with each thrust you became more and more slick for him. Your body was betraying you just as you had betrayed him.

Steve picked up the pace. He took command of your body, thrusting your hips back as he pistoned into you so that your hips obscenely clashed together, jolting your body. You shifted slightly and the head of his cock hit your overly sensitive g-spot, causing your body to spasm. Your face contorted, your mouth hanging open as the coil in your abdomen tightened. It rose into your chest and you were suddenly starving yourself of oxygen, forgetting to breathe whilst you chased your high.

“Oh no, baby, you aren't supposed to like this,” Steve tutted when you emitted a low whine. It was clear from his tone of his voice that he wasn't far from finishing.

“I – don't!” you refused adamantly, the only words that you could conjure up in your mind. Steve's movements began to slow and he became more sloppy, signifying that he was near his end. A few more thrusts and he stilled, a primal groan coming deep from his chest as he came. His iron grip on your thighs didn't relent as he held you to him, painting your walls in his come. You twitched violently as his hot seed gushed against your cervix and, to the surprise of you both, you came as well.

Your muscles gave out as the coil snapped and you collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. Steve removed his cock from your aching pussy with a sickening squelch and took a step back, admiring his work with a salacious grin. “Now ain't that a pretty sight,” the smirk was evident in his voice.

Exhausted as you were, somewhere you found the energy in you to pull yourself up and you moved towards the head of the bed, eyes looking anywhere but him as you wrapped your arms around your body. “Wanna clean this off for me, doll?” Steve taunted from where still stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the mess that had been made of his cock.

You gagged slightly at the thought and turned your head. He made his way around the bed, trousers still undone and semi-hard cock bouncing freely as he walked. It was at your eye-level as he looked down at you with a perverse look of satisfaction. “I can't,” you whimpered, “Please...Sir.”

You practically saw his chest inflate at your words. Steve let out a heavy sigh through his nose, looking back down at his cock as if he was contemplating it. Eventually he wiped it clean and tucked himself back into his trousers. You let out a long anticipated sigh of relief. “Suppose you're right, we don't have much time.”

“Much time?” your head snapped up to him, his words sending absolute terror through you. Much time before what? Before he ended your life?”

Steve chuckled again. “You've got a long while ahead of you, sweetheart,” he picked up your dress and tossed it at you and you hastily threw it on, “The damage you've done has angered a lot of people. If I'm gonna keep you around you've gotta make amends.”

“Keep me around? Make a-what?” your brain struggled to keep up with what he was saying. The small amount of relief you'd felt vanished and your heart sank.

Steve leaned over onto the bed, lowering his face into your eyesight. His blue eyes were dark and there was something vaguely inhuman about them, and the sinister curl of his lip told you that you had gotten something deeply wrong. “You didn't think I'd let you go, did you?” he snickered, seeing the expression on your face fall. “Oh don't look at me like that, I'm not going to share you,” he rolled his eyes. “Now come along, Buck's waiting with the car.”

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Chapter 7: Last Day

Honoring trust means keeping your promises.

Summary: You’re from a deeply sex-positive culture. He hasn’t gone unarmored in front of another human in... It’s been a very long time.

This is a story about trust and kindness, loneliness and loss, belief and transgression. And two people crossing paths just long enough to find each other.

Final chapter! Want to read the rest? Previous chapters on tumblr here or find the whole story the same username on AO3.  

Relationships and characters: Din/female reader (both similar age to Din in canon), Grogu, and a cameo from Peli.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Tags and warnings: Moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Ending is bittersweet.

When the chrono alarm wakes you, you’re sticky with sweat. Your lips are chapped and your eyes feel stuck shut. The side of your face is pressed against his chest and you’ve got one leg thrown across his thigh, while he’s been holding you close even in sleep. 

But now he’s sliding out from under your weight, tucking the blanket back around you, and going to turn off the blaring noise. 

When you crack your eyes open again, he’s pulled on a pair of trousers and there’s a little green child standing next to your head, peering at you curiously. 

“Hey,” the man says, crouching down to talk to him. “Let’s let her sleep. Can you stay out of trouble while I take a shower?” Those big ears perk up as he speaks. “You know the rules.”

You’re not quite ready to lift your head, but you manage to form some words. “What are the rules?”

“Don’t set the ship on fire,” he says. “Leave the hyperdrive running. Don’t disengage the life support.”

“Has he done that?”

“I turned it back on.”

“I guess I’m glad you laid some rules down.” You feel around for the bundled clothes that form your makeshift pillow. The child wanders away and starts poking at cupboard latches, as if trying to see which ones will open. “He doesn’t understand the rules, does he?”

“No.” He leans down to pick up the pile of neatly folded clothes beside the bedroll, along with the few last pieces that hadn’t gotten folded at all. “Why don’t you go climb into the bunk and get some more sleep?”

You groan into the carrysack. “I’m a mess.”

“You can clean up later. Go sleep.”

You discover quickly that it hurts to move. That vague ache in your back from yesterday has worsened, and your neck is so stiff you can’t turn your head all the way to the left. You end up wrapping the blanket around yourself so you can shuffle over to his sleeping quarters. He stops you on the way to kiss you again, and you can’t help the yelp that comes out of your mouth when, hands on the back of your head, he tips your face up toward him. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m still paying for startling you.”

A moment later he’s picked you up, deposited you carefully on the mattress in his bunk, and is bringing you a cup of that tinny-tasting water. “You should drink.”

The water feels good going down. Your body recognizes how much it needs it. Then you crawl the rest of the way into his bed. The mattress is thin and the blankets are rough, but it’s better than the floor. There’s a faint scent of the stuff he was using to polish the armor. Just two days ago, you were asking if he slept in it. 

He rests one warm hand on your ankle, shaking it gently until you acknowledge him showing you how to operate the door. And then you’re dead to the world again.

*

When you emerge a few hours later, the blanket wrapped around you like a robe, he’s at the table, the child on his lap and several pieces of armor spread out in front of them. You sit for a bit at the edge of the mattress, trying to find the energy to stand. 

He’s getting up from his chair. “We’ll go upstairs,” he says, heading for the ladder, and for the first time you’re grateful for his modesty. You’d both been to the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, and you hadn’t thought much of it at all. But right now, you’re not really up for an audience. “There should be water left in the tank, if you want a real shower,” he adds, one foot already on the first rung. “Controls on the left. It’s separate from the galley, so don’t worry if you use it up.”

There’s no such thing as a long shower on a small ship. At least, not a ship like this one. You’ve heard that the big military ships have purifiers, recycling everything back into drinkable water. Supposedly that’s something wealthy people have on board their cruisers, too, but you’ve never seen it. People with that kind of money don’t need to hire people like you. 

Still, even the five minutes you get before the water runs out feels like heaven. Your hair feels properly clean for the first time in ages. The place between your legs is tender, fragile skin rubbed raw in spots, and the warm water is soothing. Even your neck and back feel better.

By the time you’ve gotten dressed, fixed yourself a cup of caff, and downed half a protein bar, you’re feeling almost ready to face a new day. 

He’s flipping through maps on the vidscreen while the child sits in the jumpseat, poking at a board full of switches and buttons that look just like the ones on the Razor Crest’s control panels.

“He knows they’re not real. He’ll humor me for a while, until he gets bored and goes for the real ones.”

You lean over his shoulder. “Is that Pavotha?”

“Yes. We need to decide if we’re landing at the main shipyard, or the second city.”

“The second city’s a little seedier. More underworld. Better for me,” you admit.

He switches back and forth between the maps, studying the layout of the streets. “All right,” he says. “Probably better for me, too. Did you eat?”

You show him the half-finished protein bar in your hand. 

“Good.” He swivels the chair around so he can see your face. “I need to talk to you. Come downstairs?”

*

It’s the first time you’ve seen the child manage the ladder on his own. You’re already down on the durasteel deck, expecting the man to be right behind you with the child in one arm. But instead, he’s waiting up top while the child scoots along one rung, wraps tiny arms around a side support, and slides his way down to the next rung. The little face is determined as he climbs carefully down, until he gets to the last step. At which point he launches himself to the floor with a happy squeal. 

The man slides down the ladder after him, feet hitting the deck with a thump.

“You don’t worry about him falling, do you?”

“I worry about him all the time.” The child toddles over to where your bedroll is now folded up against the wall, tugs at the blanket resting on top, and promptly pulls it onto his head. He peeks back out from under it, ears flattened by the cloth, which he’s now wearing like a hood. “But how else is he going to learn?”

“If we have to talk,” you say, “can I make another cup of caff first?”

*

Your mug is sitting on the table beside the beskar backplate. He’s got the chest piece in his hands and the helmet sitting by one elbow. He’s examining the breastplate’s circuitry, holding it up to a bright light affixed to the helmet’s side.

How is he awake enough to be focusing on such precise work? His eyes look tired, but his movements are the same as ever, compact and economical. 

“This isn’t talking,” you say, after several minutes of silence.

“Beskar will stand up to almost anything,” he says, turning the breastplate to examine it from another angle. “When I took the child from the Imperials, we had twenty or thirty bounty hunters trying to stop us. Without this, I would be dead. The Imperials would be experimenting on him.”

He sets down the piece in his hands and picks up the backplate. “I have to keep finding work, so we can keep moving. This stopped an MK-modified rifle bolt.”

Once, you would have been horrified at the idea that making a living meant getting shot at. “It’s good armor.”

“It is.”

You sip at your caff, the bitterness of it filling your mouth, giving you something to focus on instead of worrying about whatever he’s going to say. “Are you telling me this for a reason?”

“Thank you,” he says. “For last night.”

And now you can’t help smiling at how serious he is. “That's not the sort of thing you need to say thank you for.”

He doesn’t smile back. He looks down at his body, covered only in soft cotton and poly weave. "I said I would protect the child. I said I would find his people. I don't know how to do that, like this.” 

He lays his hands out on the table, bare hands that a knife or a blaster burn would easily render useless. “I don't know how to be,” he says, “if I'm not Mandalorian."

You brush your fingertips across his knuckles, across the bruises fading now from blue to yellow. "You did say, there are different ways to be Mandalorian."

He picks up the backplate again, picks up the bright-tipped tool that was laying beside it, and tinkers for a while with the circuits. 

You sip at your caff. 

He finishes running the polishing rag across the armor plate’s surface, sets them both aside. "There is only one Way that I know."

You already promised you were leaving. You have no intention of breaking your word. It still feels like something is slipping away from you. But you are not the only one in this picture. “Do you want that?” 

“I need it,” he says.

“Then,” you say, “what do I do to help you make that happen?”

You understand him well enough, now, to expect that he’ll tell you what he’s thinking. He might just need some time to assemble the words.  

He sets to work on a vambrace, testing the seating of each of the tiny missiles arrayed above the wrist. 

While he continues, you ask to borrow the datapad he and the child were looking at yesterday. That way you can be nearby, but you won’t be tempted to interrupt. You can leave him room for whatever he needs to think through. 

Before long, there are little claws scratching at your leg, and you’ve lifted the child onto your knee. You find a file with pictures of animals from across the galaxy, all arranged by the sounds of their names. A bantha, a bergruutfa, a blistmok, a blurrg. The child knows how to press the button that advances the pictures. He looks up at you now and then, and you discover that if you name the animal you’ll be rewarded with a happy chirp as he moves on to the next one. 

The man’s voice, quiet but clear, brings you back to the conversation. “Your people. If you made a mistake, would they have taken you back?”

You can see where he’s going with this, but you’re not sure it holds. “What kind of mistake?”

“You said they were peaceful. If they knew you fought for a living?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. 

“Why not?”

“There’s no one left to disapprove.” 

He looks down at the vambrace, at the intricate mechanism at the wrist, at the tiny explosives made to kill multiple men at one time. “Is that the only reason to believe in something?” 

Is it? You’ve been angry and sad for such a long time now. You move through the world the way you do because there’s no one left to care. Your life, even the way you met this man, is deals and trades that hinge on violence. 

And yet, here you are, still looking for kindness. Still trying to give it.

The child is tapping at your arm. The datapad shows a bulbous creature with rows of sharp teeth. “That’s a cannock,” you tell him. He pushes the control button. Next up is a tall, four-legged animal with a long, curved jaw. “That’s a cherfer. Don’t make him mad, you’d be just about a mouthful for him.” The child gives a little humph as if to say, that’s enough, you don’t need to editorialize, and switches the image again. 

The man is watching you from across the table. You haven’t answered him yet. “Most of your Creed, it’s about the tribe, isn’t it? How you are with other Mandalorians.” You’re thinking about the words as you speak them. “Loyalty to your clan. Helping each other. What if you were the only one left?”

“I suppose,” he says slowly, “I’d have to rebuild.”

“All by yourself?”

He sets the vambrace down and holds out his arms, palms up, bare of gloves and armor. “I wouldn’t do a very good job, would I?”

He would, though. You’re sure he would. “I think you'd care, and that's what matters."

“Do you think your people would forgive you?”

“I think,” you say, “you need to forgive yourself.”

*

Sleeping late makes the day slip away that much faster. The maintenance on the armor done, the three of you gather around the table again for a mid-day meal. The gleaming beskar plates have been carefully put away, for now, wrapped in soft fabric and tucked in a cupboard beside the armory.  

The lack of sleep is finally starting to show in his movements. He’s slow to get up when the meal is done and actually yawns before reminding the child that it’s naptime. You offer to take care of cleaning cups and ration trays, and when you finish you find him leaning against the wall by the bunk, watching the child sleep.

You’re halfway across the narrow floor, meaning to slip your arms around his waist, when you remember and stop a meter or so away. “Maybe you should have a nap too.”

“Maybe I should,” he says, turning to sink down at the edge of the thin mattress. When he looks back at you, it’s still that full movement of head and upper body, as if he’s looking through a visor. “Will you join me?”

Your own face must show confusion, or maybe it’s that your eyes go to the little hammock, to the child curled up there.

“Just to sleep,” he says.

“You don’t think he’ll be upset?” 

“I think he’ll feel safer. I think he likes knowing we’re friends.”

It’s dark in the small space, with just enough room for the two of you to curl up together. He nudges you over onto your side, one arm cushioning your head and the other wrapped around you. 

You’re pretty sure he’s already asleep, when he speaks softly against your hair. “You helped me take the armor off,” he says. “Will you help me put it back on?”

You can think of several things you’d rather do instead, none of which are appropriate with a child sleeping in this same room. You find his hand, trace the shape of his wrist, work your hand up under the edge of his sleeve and listen to his breathing change as you run your fingers over his skin. “Of course I will.”

*

The ship’s chrono tells you there are about eight hours left before planetfall. You’ve had a much less eventful game of tag today, you’ve each fit in a quick workout, he’s checked the hyperdrive controls to make sure the ship’s still on course. The child's long since been tucked in for the night. 

You’re dressed in fresh clothes again, hair crackling with static from the sonic shower, and you’re thinking about what you said to him that first night. About celebrating after a fight well won, celebrating being alive. 

Only this time the sweat you just washed away was not from battle, but from the past few hours of slow, careful time.

Your brain’s replaying pictures that echo on your skin. His face as he leans down to kiss you. The weight of his body on yours. His hands in your hair.

At one point you let him walk you up against that wall by the galley and hold you there, pinning your body in place while he pushed into you, head bent down and face buried against your neck. When he finally let you go, his eyes were wet and his lips tasted of salt.

You’ve managed not to say the thing your heart keeps wanting. You’re leaving this ship in the morning. You won’t be looking back. The words I love you aren’t going to help anyone here, in any way, at all. 

You still haven’t asked for his name.

*

He’s sitting on a crate in the hold, now, dressed in the flightsuit that underlies the armor. The pieces of his armor are laid out, neatly, on the surfaces of crates nearby.

Start with the boots, he said, and so you do. You wrap one hand around the back of his right calf and slide your palm slowly down the curve of muscle to his ankle where, beneath the cloth, skin lies thinner over fragile-feeling bone. When you go to settle his foot into the right boot, he sits there and lets you control the movement, knee and ankle loose in your hands. You do the same on the left side, then sink back on your heels to look at the metal clasps that hold the boots on. 

“Like this?”

He tilts his head down to watch as you click them into place, one by one. “Yes.”

It’s a clever mechanism. You’ve had shoelaces come untied in a fight, and it’s not pretty when that happens. 

The greave that holds spare rifle shells clicks into place over the right boot, and then the next piece is the metal guard that sits over his left knee. He shows you how it should fit, how it fastens. You push his hands away, gently, and lift the piece aside to plant a kiss over his kneecap before you settle it back again and click the fastener closed. 

You can hear him take a slow, deep breath. 

Fitting the thigh guards requires him to stand. You’re still on your knees, and now, before you set this next barrier between your body and his, you circle palms and fingers around his right thigh. The shapes of him are an anatomy lesson, defined hamstrings tapering to the hollow at the back of his knee. Your fingertips press along the muscles at each side of his thigh, thumbs sliding over the wiring embedded in the flightsuit.

His hand settles against the side of your head. 

You pick up one of the thigh guards and hold it in your hand, admiring the balance of it, how perfectly the surface shines. You curve your other hand over the place on his leg where that armor plate will sit, feeling the cloth warm from the heat between your palm and his skin. 

His fingers tighten in your hair.

When you go to set the thigh guard in place, you can’t recall exactly how the catches work. “You’re going to have to help me.”

He’s slow to move, lifting his hand from your head as though it’s gone heavy.

“Like this,” he says, fingers guiding yours.

It’s beginning to feel like a ritual. You repeat your process on the other leg, pressing your touch into his skin before setting the beskar against his thigh. This time you’re able to fasten the plate yourself. When you look up you see his hands are at his sides now, fingers curled into loose fists. His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slow and measured, like he’s needing to think about it. 

You get to your feet, standing close, and place a palm flat against his chest, like you did when all this began. His heart is pounding. 

Last chance. You step closer, lining your body against his, ready to move away if this isn't what he wants. As his arms come up to wrap around you, you slip your palm over his ribs and around to the middle of his back. Your other hand goes to the base of his spine. The curves of the armor plates press hard against your own thighs. His hips hit just above yours. You can feel his body responding to the closeness, but you will your own hips to stay still, don't push in against him. If he changes his mind, if he wants you to recognize his arousal, he knows he can lead you there.

The side of your face is pressed into the space where his neck and collarbone meet. You find yourself matching your breathing to his. 

Measured, focused, slow.

Five breaths, ten, a dozen, until you're able to get your mouth to form the words against his skin. "What's next?"

Five breaths more until his arms around you loosen. 

The next piece is a quilted gambeson, like a short jacket. Foundations for the pauldrons are embedded at the shoulders. There is a flexible plate in front that will protect him from chest to pelvis, below where the beskar chestplate ends. You examine how the plate is integrated with the fabric, a series of soft, flat buckles holding it in place. 

“This isn’t beskar.”

“It’s a synthetic,” he says, his voice shaky on the first syllables but smoothing out as he settles into familiar territory. “It has to be able to bend, so I can move. It can take a couple of blaster bolts, as long as it’s not close range.”

You take his hand and fold his fingers around one edge of the quilted fabric. “Hold this for me?” 

You shape your hands around his ribs, then, sliding over fabric that hides his skin beneath, then flatten your fingers across abdominal muscles, feeling the shapes and ridges there, taking time for this vulnerable place where there’s no bone to stop a knife. Those muscles move as he breathes, still deep and steady and slow. 

You help him slip his arms through the sleeves. The gambeson fastens down one side with hook-and-loop tape, reinforced with a half dozen hook-and-eye closures that hide beneath the seam. 

You slide one finger down that seam, closed now and holding the garment snug to his body, and feel him shiver.

The cuirass, front and back plates, is next. It’s attached to its own tightly woven vest, and like the thigh guards, it’s lighter than it looks. You’re able to hold it in one hand while you trace the outline of the breastplate on his chest. The layers of cloth make it harder to feel the shapes of him, but you find the hollow below his collarbone and then the ridge of each rib, continuing down the sides of his chest to the last curve of bone. 

You place another kiss, this one against the cloth at the top of his sternum, and his breath catches but he doesn’t move, just lets you continue to touch him before the beskar hides his body away again. 

He guides your hands to fit the vest in place and fasten it, so that you’re working together to get the pieces set.

“I’m sorry it’s not different,” you find yourself saying, fingers still touching his. Sorry isn’t really the right word but you don’t have a better one. 

“I wish it were,” he says.

He hands you the right pauldon first. You want to press a bite into his shoulder beneath where it will sit, where the top of the muscle connects to bone, but there’s already metal over that spot for the pauldron to attach. Instead, you go up on tiptoe and run your teeth along the bare skin on the left side of his neck, then trace the same line with your tongue, and finally smooth the spot with your fingers as you click the pauldron into place on the opposite side. The sound he makes as you do--somewhere between a gasp and a groan--makes you want to rip the armor back off his body.

You trace one finger over the mudhorn signet. “It’s good that he has you. You’re right to put him first.”

Once the left pauldron is also in place, he reaches silently to the remaining items laid out on the crate beside him. He lifts the thick leather belt that’s studded with sections of metal, with more plates of that synthetic material bolted on and a flat piece of beskar between them. It’s heavy, needing both your hands and most of your attention to lift it into place.

There’s the strap like a bandolier that goes over his left shoulder, then the belt with its sturdy metal buckle. The beskar plate rests at his lower back, and at each side is protection for his hips. You have to think how to build in softness here, to make his body remember kindness with this piece, too. You slip a hand beneath one of the plates, resting light over his hip bone, and feel his weight shift just the slightest bit toward your palm. 

The last pieces are vambraces, handplates, gloves. You start with the left side and weave your fingers between his, feeling the strength in his hand as it curls around yours. You’re not sure if the pulse you feel at the base of your fingers is his or your own. 

But then, you need both your hands to slide on the leather glove, follow his instructions to fit the vambrace, and clip the flat piece of metal that guards the back of his hand into place. 

Once more on the other side, skin to skin, then leather glove, then beskar. 

You lower his hand back down to his side and force yourself to let go. 

Step back.

“How does it feel?”

He breathes, breastplate rising and falling. “It feels more like me.”

Again, your body echoes his. Deep, slow breaths, and it helps you stay centered, helps your hands stay steady, helps you stay that half-meter away. 

“I’ll go upstairs so you can sleep,” you say. “I can bunk down up there. Let you get comfortable again.”

“Thank you,” he says. And then, one hand half-lifted toward you, “Can I still--”

“Of course you can.”

The beskar feels cool through your thin shirt, but his mouth is warm, and his hand at the back of your neck is gentle. You sink your fingers into his hair, hands fisting in those soft curls, letting the sounds he makes vibrate against your skin.

*

Dawn on Pavotha is muddy-looking, the sky a dull brownish-grey. You’re standing with him in the ship’s entryway, your pack sitting at your feet. Your rifle's in its sling beside it, ready to be clipped on. It's a good system, the result of months of trial and error. You're not as quick as he is with his blaster, but that rifle draws smooth and fast. 

He's suited up. The armor plates are secured, electrical connections clicked in and catches locked, rifle across his back and blaster at his right hip. He’s got the helmet in one hand.

The child is tucked into the carry-bag on his other side, contentedly gnawing at a piece of flatbread.

You crouch down to the child's level and rest your weight on one knee, careful of the healing bruise there, so you're face to face to say goodbye.

"It was nice getting to know you, kid." Big eyes look at you over the flatbread. "Take care of your dad, yeah?" The child looks up at the man, gives a cheerful chirp, and turns his attention back to eating. You run a finger along one of the wrinkles in his forehead, feeling the soft fuzz there. 

The little head tilts, and then he's offering the bread to you. 

"That's ok kiddo. You keep that."

Back on your feet, and now you’re meeting the man’s gaze again.

"You'll be alright out there?" he says.

"Will you?"

He laughs, and you're glad because it was a joke, a strange kind of joke when there's a perfectly fine chance that one or both of you will be patching up wounds by nightfall. 

He's still smiling as he reaches out, pausing with his hand a few centimeters from your face to ask, "May I?" 

"I told you you could."

His palm rests against your cheek, fingertips at your temple. You're up on tiptoe to meet him as he leans in to kiss you. He tastes like the caff you both had with breakfast. 

This is making it hard to leave.

The kiss finally slows, then stops, because you both know you need to be out there in this morning, when the city comes alive. He rests his forehead against yours for what feels like minutes, and it feels like pulling apart magnets when he finally steps back. 

He goes to put the helmet on. 

"Wait," you say. "Before you do that."

He looks at you, head tilted, curious, and it takes you back to that night on Tatooine. "This," you say, with a gesture back into the ship, back to the past few days and so much in them. "This never happened."

He leans in to kiss you one more time. 

"It did."

He straightens up. Settles the helmet in place and he’s a Mandalorian again, anonymous in the armor. He hits the control to lower the ramp. 

"Good luck," you tell him, as you step off onto the scuffed duracrete of Pavotha's spaceport.

"Until our paths cross," he says.

"Until our paths cross."

[eldritch-obscuritea]

The Fog In The Morning, Part 1

AN: Maaaan, I gotta stop posting stuff under the wrong blog. Anyhow, this part really took on a life of its own. I haven’t the faintest idea how it got so long! Well, I hope someone likes it :D

Word Count: 1605

Content: Mild (nonexplicit) violence, bit of blood

Liu had always loved pineapple cake, as far as he could remember. Which admittedly, wasn’t far at all. Liu had a terrible memory, something which had earned him more than one concerned letter home even at the tender age of seven. He always found himself leaving worksheets, backpacks, and sometimes even his shoes at home. School materials were one thing, but shoes? That was unusual, or crazy, as Jeff liked to put it. 

Jeff called a lot of things crazy. Their mom, their dad, and all of his teachers, for example. He called Liu’s shoes crazy, since Liu forgot to wear them extraordinarily often. Even Jeff himself was “a complete nutjob,” a fact which Jeff proclaimed almost proudly sometimes. 

Liu didn’t really mind Jeff’s calling his shoes crazy. He didn’t really mind Jeff calling himself crazy either, though he could never understand why Jeff would do so. Jeff was cool, and never afraid of anything, while Liu felt afraid almost all the time. He had mentioned this to Jeff a few times, but the response was always the same. Jeff would grin and shake his head, as if he’d never heard anything sillier in his life. 

“What’re you talking about,” he’d say. “We’re bros. We both gotta look out for each other, since Mum and Dad are too crazy to themselves. Or maybe not crazy enough, huh?” And then he’d smile at Liu. “I can protect you, if it really comes down to that. Heck, every kid in town knows not to mess with me!”

-

“Tag, you’re it!” Jeff hollered, running across the parking area which served as St. Mary Mackillop Elementary School’s playground. The third grader whom Jeff was now dashing away from yelled gleefully, and took off after another one of their classmates. 

Liu kept watching from the corner of the parking lot. He didn’t really recognise any of Jeff’s classmates, since they were in the grade below him. Honestly he didn’t know half of his own classmates, even though the grade sizes were small and he’d been at the school since kindergarten. He sighed, and leaned his head back against the warm brick wall. 

A voice spoke next to him. “They look like they’re having a good time.” Liu turned his head sharply, jumping back. A larger boy had addressed him, and was now looking at him curiously. Red hair flopped into his eyes as he tilted his head and said “What, you paranoid or something?” 

“No,” Liu retorted quickly. “I just- you- euh- h-” He took a deep breath in, buried his face in his sleeve, and then let it out slowly, stale air filtering through the soft fabric and into his nose. Then he looked up at the other student. “You shouldn’t startle people if they aren’t paying attention. It’s rude.”

The redheaded boy shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.” They stood for a few seconds in awkward silence, and Liu tried to work up the courage to say that he should go, or that he needed to use the bathroom, or really anything which would end this encounter. Thankfully, Jeff chose that moment to saunter over to Liu, his short brown hair sticking up stiffly with sweat. 

“You should come join us!” Then he noticed the boy standing near Liu, and his chipper mood diminished ever so slightly. “You can too, I guess, if you want.” 

The redhead shrugged again. “Maybe.” He gestured at Liu, who was standing rather still. “What’s up with him? He crazy or what?” 

For all Jeff’s talk about Liu’s shoes, he would never call Liu himself crazy, and he would definitely never, ever let some kid insult Liu like that, even if said kid was a solid six inches taller than him. Liu could see the spark of combat flash in Jeff’s eyes, and he quickly said “Yeah Jeff, I’d love to. Let’s go.” He glanced at the other boy, who rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess I’ll play too.” And with that, Jeff grabbed Liu’s wrist and pulled him towards the middle of the parking lot. 

The game of tag was mostly a blur. What wasn’t a blur was the image of Jeff, staggering backwards with eyes wide and his knuckles pink from impact. The redhead was also staggering backwards, hands over his nose. Red dripped between his fingers, splattering on the pavement. A teacher, Mrs. Lorrie, was making her way towards them, and a small ring of other students clustered round to watch what would happen. 

Liu stood, frozen. What was going to happen? Jeff had been in trouble for fighting before, and Liu knew it’d make their mother upset. She was always worrying about whether he and Jeff would be “good people,” and Liu hated seeing disappointment and concern on her face. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the school wouldn’t call home. 

“Boys.” Mrs. Lorrie had arrived, and was eyeing the scene disapprovingly. “Come with me. I’m taking you to the principal’s office.” Jeff and the other boy sullenly followed, and Liu did as well with some hesitation. 

They entered the school building, and the smell of sunlight and the outdoors was replaced by dust from a hallway that was pleading for a thorough clean. Mrs. Lorrie’s shoes clicked on the old tile floor. Halfway down the hallway they stopped at an old, dark wooden door, a door which Liu knew all too well. She opened in, and waved the three boys inside. 

“Ah, Mr. Woods.” A middle aged woman with bright eyes smiled as Liu walked in. She turned to Jeff and the other boy as they filed in after him. “Welcome, welcome. All of you, sit down.” 

They did so, Jeff plopping himself with confidence Liu could tell was feigned. Liu himself didn’t feel confident at all, and neither did the other boy from the looks of it. Once they were all seated, the principal turned to Jeff. 

“Now then, what’s this I hear about you and Randy here getting into a fight? You know that there’s always a better way to handle the situation than that.” she said sternly. 

Jeff quickly began to protest. “Well he pushed me when-”

“I didn’t push you! You ran into me!” 

“Yeah right, I never-”

“Mrs. Henning, this isn’t fair-”

“Boys!” For the first time, all traces of a smile were gone from the principal’s face. Both Jeff and the boy stopped talking, still throwing dirty looks at each other. She steepled her fingers and sighed. “Alright, Jeff, what happened?”

Jeff leaned forwards, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Well, Mrs. Henning, I was playing tag with my classmates when I noticed this kid approaching Liu. Liu looked really scared, so I went to protect him right? And then when I get there, this kid goes and calls Liu crazy! I still wanted to try to be friends, so I invited them both to play tag, but halfway into the game he rams into me, so I hit him back. I swear I didn’t think I hit him that hard, I only wanted to make him back off-” 

“That’s enough. Liu, do you have anything to add?” 

“No ma’m.” Liu said quickly. Then he flushed. “Well, Jeff was trying to protect me, and I was startled when this kid approached, but I don’t think he was trying to scare me.” 

Mrs. Henning turned towards the redheaded boy. “What do you have to say about this?” 

He reached for a tissue and held it up to his nose. “Well I didn’t mean to scare this kid, I didn’t even think that I would. He’s in the grade above us, and he was hanging out by himself so I wanted to try talking to him. And I didn’t run into Jeff, he ran into me! And I tried to say sorry anyways, but he just punched me in the face like he’s crazy or so-” 

Jeff stood up indignantly, but sat down reluctantly upon seeing Mrs. Henning’s disapproving look. “Mr. Jokinen.” The redhead appeared to be busy admiring the woodwork of the desk. “I request that you not call your peers ‘crazy’ again. Is that clear?” The boy nodded, and she sighed. 

“While Jeff does have a history of being disruptive, in light of his good intentions, I’m going to let you two off with a warning.” The smile reassembled itself on her face. “Now Mr. Jokinen, it looks like your nose has stopped bleeding but take a few tissues with you just in case. Mr. Woods, I expect you to be on your best behavior. And Liu.” She turned towards him with bright, light brown eyes and Liu flinched instinctively. She only smiled softly. 

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Yes’m” Liu mumbled. 

Mrs. Henning nodded. “You three may leave then.” The three boys quietly filed out of the office. 

“Man, I thought we were fried!” Jeff fistpumped the air. “10/10 sweet talking skills, score for me!” 

Liu looked around. “Where’d that other kid go?”

Jeff paused his victory dance. “Hm?” He glanced up and down the hallways. “I dunno. Might’ve gone to the bathroom to clean up. I would if I were him.” He laughed as they started to walk back down the hall. “Can you imagine what the kids in class are gonna say? He’s probably gonna have at least one black eye for weeks, and from a kid half his size! I almost feel bad for him.”

“Almost,” Liu echoed. 

The two boys reached the door and stepped outside, greeted by a gaggle of students eager to hear the principal’s verdict. Liu was sure Jeff wouldn’t dissapoint.

[mcrmadness]

14, 15, 33 (like generally in people, not dating-wise), 40, 47 :D

Ask game: Unusual asks.

Thanks! 8D

14: What is your least favorite word?

In which language? :D Also this is probably the hardest question in this ask game because I literally don't know XD But I try to think about something.

OH NOW I KNOW! I hope people don't get mad at me but RIGHT NOW my least favorite word is "gender envy". I just have this thing when I'm exposed to something against my will - could be a word, a celebrity's face (or name) or even just a tv series - and too often in very short time, and suddenly I just get an overload of that and I feel so fed up with it and can no longer tolerate it AT ALL and everything about said thing just gets on my nerves and makes me so angry that if it's e.g. a tv series someone's watching, I simply have to leave the room because I can't stand anything about it at all anymore, not even the musics nor actors' voices.

So lately this happened to me with this word. It just came out of nowhere and I see so many using it now and I can't escape because it's not only on Tumblr, it's also on Discord and on every freaking website I go to, and I feel like I'm going crazy but I just can't NOT SEE that word because there's no way to avoid it. Even if I filtered the tag on Tumblr, I'd still have to see the word because Tumblr would tell me "this post was filtered for the tag #gender envy". And it kinda sucks.

(I'm agender/nonbinary so I don't feel gender envy because there's no one born without a physical gender and I usually don't look at snails or so and be like "I wish I had its gender" - besides they are hermaphrodite and not genderless so...)

***

15: What is your favorite word?

This is also something I haven't really thought about. Okay my brain just said I should say: Gotham. Because it's one of my favorite tv series, after Gotham City which is Batman's home city, and if you put that word in half you get: Got-Ham.

That's why my siblings (they're 26 btw) started talking about the show with the Finnish word for ham: kinkku. So my sister would ask my brother "Should we watch 'Kinkku'?" when she wanted to continue watching Gotham :DDDDDDDD

***

This got bit long so the next ones under the cut...

33: What turns you off?

The lack of sense of humour. I seriously don't think I'd ever be able to get along with someone who either has no sense of humour at all or has it completely different from mine.

Also people who don't respect others, people who refuse to listen to others. Nothing makes me angrier and more frustrated than when I'm trying to say something and people say "I don't care." and won't let me even finish because they don't want to hear what I have to say only because they THINK they're gonna disagree. And even if they do disagree, it'd still be nice of them to let people finish before proclaiming that they disagree. Not doing that makes a person just an asshole.

And another thing is the music taste, having it different won't make a friendship impossible, but it always drops my mood a bit to learn I again listen to different bands and genres altogether than someone new I learnt to know, because it seems to be something that just always keeps happening...

***

40: First concert you attended

It was in 2007 and My Chemical Romance's concert in Finland. It was also their first gig in Finland ever. The concert took place in Helsinki, I was 16 and met a few internet friends I had but mainly spent time with my parents who I went to the concert with. The gig itself was insane, I had never been to an actual concert before because I was so afraid of big crowds because of my social anxiety and I always thought I don't care about going to concerts. But something in me needed to experience an MCR concert and I'm glad that I did that, because I really like going to concerts now. Every time I feel like dying tho, but somehow I still end up buying concert tickets anyway XD

The concert itsel was insane and I didn't even feel the anxiety there at all! After the concert we were hanging out near the venue and my parents already wanted to leave but I just had this feeling that we should not leave yet, and then they said we have to go now so I started walking after them and crying, and that's when I heard girls screaming behind the venue and as we went there, Frank was actually there writing signatures, and we quickly ran there and I don't remember anything else but this small group and we just handed him the ticket, he wrote his name and we left :D

Here's a photo, I still find it hard to believe that I got Frank's signature but this ticket is a proof of that so I guess I just have to trust it XD

After all that we then visited this "Rock McDonald's" in Helsinki, it's just some regular McDonald's with rock themed furniture and music and that night they were playing only MCR, and from there we went back to the hotel.

***

47: What’s your favorite holiday?

I think I answered this question in another ask a couple of weeks ago but I don't remember what I said :D Probably talked about Christmas but now I started wondering it this means like... those HOLIDAYS like Christmas, or just any kind of free days from school and work. Because I've been having one long weekend for the past 2 years, and before that holidays didn't really exist for me because horses need to be fed and taken care of no matter what the calendar says :D

Anyway I think I'm gonna say: Midsummer. In Finland it's a big thing. Well, for most it just means drinking and partying outside, but not for me because I hate people and don't drink alcohol lmao. No but, I actually was born on Midsummer Eve, the Eve is never the exact same date every year (it's always a Friday, tho) so when I have my birthday, it's not necessarily that year's Midsummer Eve. Apparently also not this year, so usually I'm having my birthday during Midsummer but I haven't celebrated it since I turned 18, so it's not really a big deal for me. I'd rather forget about it because I have had an age crisis since I was 23... anyhow, this year I'm gonna turn 30 so I know it's gonna be a bit bigger thing for my family and relatives but I'd rather not be reminded of that because for the past 10 years I have just been worrying about how 30 is closer every year because when I hit that age, then 40 will be closer than ever, too ::D

A "fun" fact about Midsummer and what it means in Finland: Every year everyone wishes for bad and good weather simultaneously because people want to spend the day in good weather but good weather means people like to go swimming. And alcohol + swimming is NEVER a good combination and the warmer the day, the more people will drown. Every Midsummer Day or the first work day after Midsummer weekend, you will find reports from all newspapers about how many people drowned this time. The nicer the weather, the bigger the number(s)... It's terrible, and people are adviced to look after their friends and family and never leave anyone alone near the water when alcohol is involved. Even I have sometimes kept an eye on someone because they were drunk and went close to the lake (not necessarily during Midsummer, but whenever I've been spending time with my mom and her siblings and friends at a summer cottage).

I don't want to end this so dramatically so I also want to say that I like Midsummer because in Finland, the sun never really sets during summer. And during Midsummer the nights are usually the brightest and soon after that it starts getting darker and darker again. It always makes me sad because the summer is so short here, but I really love these summer nights when there's like 3 hours between the sunset and sunrise but the sky doesn't even have time to turn dark during that time. Finnish summer is something special and magical.

It's probably impossible to imagine and incredibly difficult to show in photos too, but here's my attempt:

This one was taken in (the beginning of) June 2017, at 2:00 in the morning during this photo. I think it's very close to the actual lighting of that night. It's so easy to get too dark or bright photos with a proper camera and I can never remember afterwards which of the brightnesses was the correct one. (Btw we [aka me because I'm the only one of my family with a driver's license] were driving back home from Helsinki, we were to Helsinki because of a Rammstein concert :D)

I also have some photos taken at 9pm what looks more like it was in the middle of the day, and also a photo I took at 3am and it looks like it's a daytime too. It's slightly darker between 11pm and 2am and then it gets bright again. But I'm too lazy to add them to this because they just look like daytime photos and you only have my word about the actual time, so it still doesn't feel the same as actually being outside at 3am while it's bright as day :D

[theatresweetheart]

Thorns and Arrows

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Prompt: “I’ll take real good care of you, I promise.” With prinxiety? Maybe with big Roman and tiny Virgil? — Asked by @arc852

Summary: Virgil, after narrowly escaping capture by humans who believe his witchcraft is demonic, ends up getting caught by Roman instead.

Warnings: Brief mention of Remus, brief mention of Deceit (Darien), multiple descriptions of blood, disturbing use of language, talk of death, character being treated inhumanely, fear, fainting, crying, swearing, fire. (I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!)

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Logince

Word Count: 4140 words.

A/n: So, I actually had a lot of fun writing this and getting to play around with different perspectives and such. Also, a huge thank you to the ever lovely @hiddendreamer67 for being a fantastic beta and helping me edit! 

(Also, as a side note, I decided not to add this into the ask with the prompt, only because it had gotten so long. Adding “Read More” into my asks has been problematic for now, so I might do every long story like this and the shorter ones answered in asks. That is still to be decided.)

Anyhow, enjoy! 

Taglist: @isle-of-gold  (Feel free to let me know if you ever want to be tagged in future works!) 

                                      +~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Life is a cruel mistress, some would say.

She taunts and giggles and gifts more misfortune to the already unfortunate.

To those that had been born into a life with little to no chance of success or survival, she can be loving and kind and extend assistance and a caring hand. Or, she would sit by, watch and grin at the suffering she caused.

Virgil didn’t want to be ungrateful, but as he stumbled through the overgrown underbrush of the forest in a panicked escape from the king’s knights close behind him—with swords and shields and bows and arrows ready—he felt as though he had every right to be sour about his life.

“Halt in the name of the King, witch!”‌ One knight shouted, causing the witch himself to reel and press on forward faster. “You will cease your useless attempt and repent in the Halls of the King before the Royal Court!”

If he had wanted to repent and be dragged back to the court to either be hung or drowned, he would have already turned himself in.

The sounds of his own breathing got loud enough that it was the only thing he could focus on. The blood rushing in his ears, the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

His coven had already been ravaged by fire and death and destruction, his familiar was nowhere to be seen—which worried him greatly—and now he was running blindly through a forest he didn’t know his way out of.

He was in an area of the forest that he had never had the chance to see. A place he had never been taken to, or shown around. He was completely on his own when it came to navigating his way out.

To put it lightly, Virgil was terrified.

The sound of an arrow whizzing by his head, nearly nicking his cheek, made him recoil and duck to the other side, catapulting himself over a fallen log and continuing his sprint.

There was just so much that had gone wrong in such little time. This morning had been like any other morning, quiet, relatively peaceful. He was going to try and spend most of his day perfecting his potions, only for that to have changed within the hour.

How had the knights figured out his coven existed?‌ A false accusation by one of the paranoid townspeople, claiming they had seen another of Virgil’s coven commit a heinous act of witchcraft.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the townsfolk were bluffing. It also wasn’t hard to understand that the townspeople didn’t like him or his coven in the first place. They were isolated and kept to themselves a lot, only entering the town square when absolutely necessary. To an outsider, they almost did look a tad too much like witches, but they had never been accused of it before.

There had been rumors, Virgil remembered, when he was little. He remembered staying close to Darien, a hand latched onto the older witch’s jacket as they navigated the town. People would whisper to each other, point and stare, but nothing had ever come of it. It remained only as if it were a whisper on the wind.

There had always been paranoia within the town about the forest and what lurked inside of it, which was understandable.

There were terrible creatures that lurked in the night, searching and stalking for an easy meal. If you didn’t know how to fight back, it would be far too easy to lose. Sometimes, even if you did know how to defend yourself, you just weren’t strong enough.

Some of the animals that did haunt the night were wolves and bats and coyotes and such, but then there were mystical creatures as well; the fae, werewolves, and vampires, which were rare, but there. They mostly lived among the people and not so much in the heart of the woods. It was easier to feed that way.

There were even creatures that were so big they’d be able to swallow a human whole if they so desired.

Now those were the encounters that would strike fear into anyone’s being. Anyone that had a rational head on their shoulders would avoid a giant at all costs.

Then there were the so called “giant hunters”‌ who decided it would be a good idea to go after these massive beings and try to claim fame and fortune.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely anyone would return from such a quest.

Not that Virgil felt a shred of pity for them. They had made their choice—no matter how stupid—and it had cost them their lives. So, the only way to go about that was to learn from their mistakes and never make the same choice himself.

The twang of another arrow being loosed caught his attention, but the searing hot agonizing pain that rose from his left shoulder was the thing that shattered every coherent thought in his head. The yelp of pain that came sharply from his mouth made the knights behind him cheer in glee; they had hit their mark!‌ It was only a matter of time now before the witch stumbled and dropped.

While his vision was hazy, Virgil wasn’t letting the arrow get the better of him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find– to find… find what exactly? What was left for him? His coven was nothing but ashes, his familiar was possibly dead and he was being hunted. It really was only a matter of time before he stumbled to his knees and let the knights have their way with him.

But there was also the sharp resilience that said this isn’t what his family would want for him. The fact that giving up meant losing immediately. The moment one gave up was the moment one lost.

Chancing a glance down at the wound, Virgil saw a steady stream of crimson blood oozing down his left arm, dripping off of his fingertips before it had the chance to dry. He needed to dislodge the arrow, find some way to heal the wound before he bled out…but without a safe place to stop and rest, it was pointless.

Without his eyes on the escape route, he had failed to notice the steep drop down the bank in front of him. Just as his foot caught on a stray root, a sharp cry was ripped from his throat and he stumbled and slid to his knees. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his uninjured side just enough to see the knights approaching him quickly.

The sounds of the armour and weapons clattering got closer and closer, until Virgil could see the three knights standing over him. Looking red in the face and furious, but almost mixed with a horrible look of glee. They got to take what they wanted of him. Torture him, kill him.‌ Anything they so desired.

His chest rose in panting breaths, unsteady but in an almost recognizable pattern. Hazily, his eyes slid over each and every knight, taking in what they looked like. Burning their images into his brain as the last thing he would probably see before they ran him through. He memorized every little detail, including their unbearable grins, sneers and sharp looks that said so much more than words could.

“Absolutely pitiful,”‌ the one to his right said, voice dangerously low. He crouched down, prodding Virgil roughly in the injured shoulder and grinning as the witch hissed at the unwanted and painful touch. “A single arrow takes down the last witch of that disgusting coven. You’d think it’d have more fight. At least a will to live.”

Of course Virgil had a will to live, but surrounded like this, too weak to even try and utter a simple spell?‌ His odds weren’t looking great. But that knight could go and take what little knowledge his fat head carried and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

“I almost feel bad,”‌ a second voice piped up, cruel and unrelenting. “Get it up boys. Bring it back to the King.”

The first knight got down lower, so low that Virgil could feel his breath against his neck. It was a vulnerable section of skin for someone’s mouth to be hovering over and he was half afraid that the knight would take the advantage to sink his teeth into his jugular. Of course it wasn’t a human move, but it didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about it. He even tried to writhe away to the best of his ability but was stuck in place by the third’s heavy grasp. “The King ain’t gonna be happy with you,”‌ he snarled, “I‌ like to think that your coven got off easy.”

The thought that being burned alive in your own home was getting off easy, made Virgil feel so unbelievably sick that he felt bile rising.

There was no way that Darien and Remus had gotten off easy. Buried under rubble with heat from all sides, heat that you couldn’t escape, that you choked on and eventually made your suffering so unbearable—

Virgil coughed, blood painting his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat prickling the back of his eyes. The water threatened to spill, but he fought back the urge. The knights already had enough reason to mock him; he didn’t want crying in front of them to be another.

The first knight grinned wider. He pushed himself away from the curled up form on the ground and circled around to the other side of him. He grabbed Virgil under the shoulder where the arrow was still implanted into it, before seemingly like he had a better idea. “Hold the witch down,”‌ he said to the other two. “Roll it over onto its back.”

As he was pushed onto his back, Virgil’s eyes snapped back open, blurred as they were, and they locked on the first knight. They widened as he noticed the knight’s hand wrapping around the shaft of the arrow.

He’s going to pull it out. It’s going to get ripped out without care or precision.

Doing that, could ruin his shoulder for life. There was only so much healing magic could do when you weren’t skilled enough in the practice. The fact that the arrow itself was going to be ripped out the opposite way it had been shot in made his stomach churn.

“N-no!”‌ Virgil had finally found his voice, but the demand came out weaker than he had anticipated it. The three men above him didn’t seem to care about his protest as the arrow was grabbed half a moment later. “W-wait, please! Don’t— don’t do this!‌ I’ll go back willingly…ju-just leave the arrow alone!”

“So, it talks,”‌ The second knight snarked, his hands tightening on his good shoulder. Virgil’s eyes frantically searched the features above him, the world beginning to darken in his terror. “It’ll only hurt for a few days.”

“Don’t worry though,” the knight said, giving an experimental tug on the arrow shaft, watching Virgil’s pained expressions carefully. “I’m sure you won’t live that long anyhow. So, perhaps, it’ll only hurt for the rest of your miserable life.”

Virgil tried to prepare himself for the feeling of something being torn out of his body, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating feeling that rippled through his entirety.

The arrow head had been so far embedded into his shoulder that it had nearly been poking out the other side. It had torn through layers of skin and had caused the wound to enlarge. More blood spilled from the gash and Virgil almost felt numb. So much agony was flushing through his body that he could hardly put two and two together.

He choked on his breathing, blood made another reappearance as he coughed, gagging at the unbelievable amount of torment.

It only made the knights howl with laughter, looking down at the witch. He wasn’t a big kid, in fact Virgil was actually remarkably small for someone his age. His short stature only made it easier for the knights to keep him trapped.

Virgil gasped, trying to find a way to steady himself enough to process just what exactly was happening to him.

Die.

The word was so sudden and startling that he almost couldn’t fathom the meaning of it.

You are going to die.

Everything that had happened in his life was going to be rendered meaningless. As if he had never done anything at all. There was no one left to remember him.

They’re going to kill you right here, right now so the King will reward them as heroes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally spilling over. He choked on a sob and shook his head, trying to get them off. Trying to get them to let him go. Trying to do something that could possibly save his life. Anything.

You’re going to die and there is nothing you can do about it.

His mind was alive and buzzing, but numb and everything was confusing and he couldn’t see straight, he could hardly breathe. There was so much assault happening to him that his senses couldn’t comprehend everything. From the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder that was going to kill him if he didn’t get it treated to the electric buzzing going on inside his head from the constant movement and chatter, or even when it came to noticing the quaking in the ground that hadn’t been there before.

Wait.‌‌ What the holy hell was that?

“I didn’t think witches understood human emotions,” the first knight said, snapping the arrow between his two hands and tossing it to the side idly.

He seemed to be the only knight that hadn’t honed in on the difference in the air around them. The way the ground kept shaking in a steady and oddly familiar pattern. It was timed and paced, but shook with a passion. It felt like…like… oh.

Oh no.

No, no no no!

Virgil was too scared to open his eyes, knowing that his consciousness was just barely holding on. It was only a matter of time before it was over for all of them. Seeing through the blood loss and tears wouldn’t help either, but he knew what was coming. He knew that it was way worse than what the knights had in store for him.

“L-let me go!” He grit out, almost trying harder but with his strength failing him, he sounded pathetic.

“Now, why would we do something like that?” The knight crooned. “We caught you and now we’re going to fulfill our duty to the King.”

“No!”‌ Virgil’s voice verged on shrill. “You— you don’t get it!”

The footsteps were getting closer, more prominent. The earth shook with every footfall and the force rattled through him as he was laying flat on the ground.

It was then that the knight seemed to realize what was happening. The first knight was turning to see something he did not want to see.

“What?” The knight barked in surprise, immediately on his feet with his sword drawn. The other two followed suit leaving Virgil on his back, heaving with gasps and anguish.

Just as the knight had gotten the word out, the darkness slid over them, casting the four humans into its shadow.

Virgil knew that it wasn’t a cloud blocking the sun; it was something far worse.‌ Far more dangerous.‌ Something that made him want to be dragged away by the knights and thrown in front of the king. He’d rather that then suffer a death at the hands of a giant.

“Now isn’t this quite the sight,”‌ the rumbling voice from overhead made Virgil flinch further into himself, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He had already memorized the faces of his other tormentors, he didn’t need to see this one too. “The King’s men, supposedly meant to protect the citizens of the Kingdom, attacking one of their own.”

“A‌ witch!”‌ The knight barked, his hold on his sword wavering, terror eating away at his insides. It was obvious how frightened he was, but the stubbornness within him refused to let it show. “It is no member of our society!”

Roman scoffed, his eyes locked on the quivering little form on the ground. “I don’t want to assume, but I‌ would believe the witch would prefer to be addressed as a he not an it.”

The knight threatened to take a step towards the witch again, but Roman moved forward more, to match in confidence and challenge the knight. Giving more of a protective loom over the group of three knights.

“Witch or not, he is still a person,” The giant said, a growl just under the tone of his voice. “Or is that too hard for your bitty human brains to understand?”

The second knight reeled back from that, looking white in the face. His terror was clear to read. The third knight was harder, but the quivering of the blade showed real fear. The knight that was still talking back just seemed to be an idiot.

The first knight met the giant’s eyes, fearless and stupid. “I suppose that means monsters stick together.”

A sharper look filled Roman’s eyes, almost immediately the aura darkened, and he leaned down so much so that they were nearly at eye-level. He hovered just over them to assert his dominance in the situation. To further assert himself, he planted his hands on both sides of the group of knights—even though he was carefully aware of where the little witch was cowering, sobbing, bleeding out and shit I‌ have to deal with these fools quick.

So, he focused all of that irritation and frustration into staring, unwavering, at the knights in front of him. Their swords were nothing compared to him. Humans were absolutely nothing compared to him. “Keep using language like that and I will scrape you across the forest floor like old gum.”

Finally, that got the reaction he had been wanting. He wanted fear, and he wanted them to regret stepping into his part of the woods and torturing an innocent person—witch or not—as if they could get away with it. As unbelievably angry as he was, he knew that he would have to treat the little human and his injuries.

“I’m going to give you a single chance to leave without getting hurt,” he said, voice dangerously low. ‌A menacing snarl that reverberated through his chest and rumbled around them like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. “Get out of here. Now.”

The two other knights had no problem sticking their swords into their sheathes and bolting in the same way they came, their armour clanging together as they escaped. The first knight held his ground, but when chocolate brown eyes stayed locked on him, unrelenting and cold and unsympathetic, the knight felt his heart jump into his throat for the first time. He took an unsteady breath and his resolve shattered when he watched Roman bare his teeth in a sneer at him.

It took nothing for him to scamper off in the same direction as his colleagues.

Now, with the threats gone, he could pay some attention to the witch that was still bleeding out on the ground.

His hands moved from their defensive position, that he had been using to keep himself upright, to one that was encompassing the little human. Curled around the tiny shivering form as if to protect him and ward off any further predators that intended to harm.

“Hey,” his voice was softer, as quiet as he could get it to be without causing more alarm. Perhaps after everything though, Roman would still be registered as a threat because of what the witch had just witnessed. He watched the tiny form flinch away from the sound, one hand moving to cover the gaping wound on his shoulder. “This might not sound all that…reassuring, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The witch gave the tiniest shake of his head in a clear and obvious distrusting “no,” but his eyes remained screwed shut. The human’s hands were smeared in his own blood, the ripped white shirt he was wearing had been stained crimson with the thick liquid.

Biting into his lower lip, Roman let his gaze flicker. The creature was obviously in a great amount of pain and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “I‌ know you have no reason to trust me, but would it help if you knew my name?” Without an answer, he was sure the human was starting to doze but he needed him awake. So, talking to him was the only rational thing that came to mind. “My name’s Roman. I know this is an odd way to meet someone, but it makes for an interesting origin story, don’t you think?”

The witch groaned up at him and for a moment, he thought they were actually communicating, only to be let down—unsurprisingly—when the human didn’t react anymore than that.

While he wanted to get him patched up as soon as possible without moving him, as that could agitate the wound further (or so Logan said), Roman needed to get the human back to his home. There, he had medicines and remedies that would help begin the healing process. And, if the knights were right and the human was a witch, he should know some healing spells himself, too.

Quickly making up his mind, knowing that he couldn’t leave the half-conscious human here by himself to go and retrieve medical supplies, he began to close his hands around the tiny form before pausing. The human hadn’t even looked at him once and Roman didn’t want to startle him by just suddenly grabbing him and hefting him high into the air.

“I’m gonna have to move you, alright?‌ That way I‌ can take you back to my place and my friend and I‌ can get you all fixed up,”‌ Roman chattered at him quietly, explaining his plan while also asking for permission. “That way you’ll be right as rain in a couple days. Will you let me do that?”

The witch made a small noise and Roman was ready to roll with that, when instead it opened its mouth. He held his breath, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss anything important.

“…nuh.”

It sounded like a no but even knowing that the creature didn’t want to be moved, Roman couldn’t just leave it here to die. At least, not in good conscience.

His shoulders drooped and he couldn’t do it. “Sorry little buddy,” he said quietly, the apology doubled as a warning.

It seemed the witch understood that much as the eyes fluttered open lazily. The brown eyes were glazed over, that much was obvious to tell. The little one was watching but Roman didn’t think he was actually seeing. Or if he was even able to connect what was happening right now to reality. The little thing had to be inches away from death and, if worse came to worse and Roman couldn’t save him, at least the human would be in safe company when he passed.

Refusing to let that thought rule his motivations, he carefully scooped his palms underneath the tiny being, incredibly savvy to how he cried out with such a heartbreaking noise. The little one was absolutely petrified.

Heart crawling up into his throat, Roman cupped the human between his two hands and lifted the little one off of the ground and out of its puddle of blood, into the cupped bowl of his palms.

The human groaned in agony and Roman was quick to coo to him, making small comforting noises in the back of his throat. Trying to make the awful situation better as he rose to his feet. “Shh, shh. I know, little one, I‌ know,” he soothed, “I know it hurts but I’m going to get you back home and I’m going to get you all patched up. I’m not gonna hurt you, you’ll be okay.”‌

He felt so horribly guilty that he hadn’t heard the commotion earlier. He knew it wasn’t right to blame himself for this, but he couldn’t help it. Not with how the witch was trying to focus on him, only to let his eyes slip closed.

It looked as though he was ready to accept his fate.

Roman couldn’t let him do that—not without at least trying first.

“You’re okay,”‌ he hushed the tiny human, “no one’s gonna hurt you again. You’re safe with me, I‌ swear it.”‌

Roman looked up briefly to make sure he was heading in the direction that would lead him home, before focusing back down on the form in his hands.

“I’ll take real good care of you.” His voice was nearly a whisper, a silent vow as the human began to drift off into full unconsciousness. “I‌ promise.”

[stusbunker]

He Is, Therefore I Am

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean and Sam Winchester

Written for: @impala-dreamer‘s Make Me Feel It Challenge

Beta’d by the amazing: @itmighthavebeenintentional​

Inspired by: Brandi Carlile’s The Story

Warnings: Show level violence and angst.

^*^*^*^

      I am struggling here, which is kind of funny when you think about it. In one way or another, my life has been a perpetual struggle. But that’s all Chuck’s fault, isn’t it? Everything I’ve done to push back the tide has only opened another fissure somewhere else. Because that’s what he wanted, he liked to keep us dancing for him. There might be no way out of this now, but there is one thing I know for certain: it’s not going to end on his terms. Sam and I aren’t going to off each other. That’s not Chuck’s call, that one never was.

               ----

               Dean’s tired. I feel it almost as much as I feel my own exhaustion, like a shell around him. He nods as I explain my plans for the day, but he’s not really hearing me. I can’t keep the chuckle from my voice when I tell him I’ll wake him up if I find anything. He hums a response and I raise my voice and shake him a bit to wake him enough to make it the last ten feet from the door jam to the bed. I don’t even taste the coffee once it’s finished brewing.

               ----

               Sam’s been quiet since Eileen’s not around. Sucks; kid had that genuine lightness to him from the moment she had been brought back. And now, it’s fraying. If anybody deserves somebody, it’s Sammy. I know it’s impossible with what we do, hell I’ve proven it is. But he should get some happily ever after crap, even if it’s just happily for as long as possible. Another thing Chuck needs to be punched over, honestly, just fuck that fucking asshole.

               I’ve been tryin’ to keep him smiling, or at least out of his head when we’re on the road. Laying on the bad notes more than necessary, he doesn’t need to know I’m doing it on purpose. Some songs were made to be belted out, ‘snot my fault. I catch a glimpse of my eyes in the rearview; shit, when’d the wrinkles start sticking?

               But Sammy’s singing along now, and I forget my vanity. Because this is my happily-for-as-long-as-possible.

               ----

               It’s so fucking dark that I close my eyes and listen, silently begging to find them first, to pull myself together, to find a way out. My gun’s in my hand, lightweight and familiar, brick wall biting into my back as I creep around into the next room. Even though I can barely see, I can feel the space expanding out in front of me, gaping with possibility. Somewhere, metal crashes and I stop being cautious.

               “DEAN?!” No one answers.

               I’m nearing some scaffolding, try to step around it without rocking it, but there’s someone else here now. I can feel their eyes in the dark, but I still can’t see them. They don’t seem to even breathe. Maybe they’re not werewolves. And suddenly I feel very exposed. I turn on the spot, anticipating the ambush. It doesn’t come. Everything goes quiet, then a shot rings out somewhere outside. I give up on quiet and bolt for the industrial sized door at the far end of the warehouse.

               Another shot is fired, but I don’t register it because there’s more than two after all.

               ----

               Sam shoulda cleared the building already, it’s practically empty from the remodeling anyhow. The tarps in the windows rustle in the wind high above my head as I keep to the perimeter. I’m banking on it being a bust, but then I hear him scream my name and I’m running. The gravel is loose, so I gotta slow down to keep from biting it. As I round the corner, aiming for the service entrance connecting the two buildings, I spook one of them.

               He’s big but fast, and he gets me with his claws as I land a right hook. My shoulder’s screaming as I land on it. I roll and quickly get a shot off. It only slows him down. I kick away and fire again.

               ----

               I sidestep right before reaching the crumbling pavement, throwing the one on my heels out with their own momentum. The one that had been watching me goes for my knees and, I’m already aiming, but all-too-soon missing him.

               “Sammy!” Dean’s hollering, but he’s somewhere on the other end of the building and I’m falling.

He’s okay.

It’s going to be okay; keep fighting.

               The cement floor gets me hard and I am struggling to get another shot off. But the one I dodged is on me again, and all I can see is the mass of his torso and the floor. I choke on the stench of them. The demon knife bites into my lower back as I twist to reach it. My hand crumbles beneath a heavy boot. I’m screaming in pain and then, almost in slow motion, I see him reach wide, a clawed hand ready to swipe at my throat. My eyes slam shut.

               ----

               Sam musta found the other one because there’s matching shots seconds after I put the big one down. I call for him, but don’t hear anything back. Instantly, I’m booking it to the far end where I am hoping they are. The crunch of gravel is giving me away, but soon I reach a derelict parking lot that gets me to the bend where I can see a stocky wolf stumble back inside a delivery door.

               I hit the gas, gun tight in my sweaty hand.

               When I reach the door, I scream at the heap that is half my brother. The guy flinches enough for me to get three in his chest. But then I’m on my ass, again! Wrestling the third one Sam had insisted existed. I pin an arm behind his back, but he’s getting too close with his fangs now. I roll and try and get him in a leg lock, his free hand nearly gutting me. I hear Sam behind me, so I roll again, presenting his back for a clear shot. Like a fucking meat shield.

               I can’t help but laugh, Sam shot lefty and we still got ‘em.

               “Anymore?” I’m riding the high that only comes from almost biting it.

               “Not that I’ve seen,” Sam groans, shaking out his right hand. My victory is short lived as I internally panic over his injury. ‘What the hell happened’ screams in my head, a voice that I won’t ever completely lose berating me.

               “You alright?” I check, but don’t get all mother hen about it. He’s standing for god’s sake.

               “Think it’s broken,” Sam huffed. Fucking hospitals.

               We make it back to my baby and I try, “you think Jack could---?”

               Sam shakes his head and grimaces, it’s bad. I stop asking questions and high tail it back to town.

               ----

               Newly minted insurance cards from the juice we got from Fortuna ended up saving us a lot of time and energy. I swear I’m the only one who gets their hands taken from them; Dean’s playing at trying not to gloat. But if he wasn’t so smug, I know he’d be internalizing it as his fault, so I shake my head at him and give him the finger behind the nurse’s back as I wait. Finally, I can dole out the information for the pharmacy closest to the bunker to the woman at the desk.

               My hand’s plastered and I dry swallow the first round of painkillers before we make it home. All I want is to pass the fuck out, but I’ve got wolf guts in my hair and I can smell my own dried sweat as I haul myself out of the Impala. This night will never end.

               Dean beat me to the shower, but he doesn’t turn on the water. I give him five minutes until I can barely stand upright and pound with the side of my cast and immediately regret it.

               “Dude! Hurry up already!”

               He pulls the door open, fully clothed with a plastic shopping bag strung through one fist.

               “Took you long enough, come here.” He beckons me in, takes my bum wrist and threads my hand through the bag until he can tie it off. Dean whips a roll of first aid tape out of his back pocket and proceeds to seal off the bag while ensuring that I lose the most amount of arm hair when unraveling it. He slaps the closure and I groan without looking at him.

               I thank him before he leaves me alone, but he just waves it off, heads to his room and gives me the first shower. Tonight could have been so much worse and I try not to overanalyze it as I let the hot water add to my wooziness. I keep afloat until I pass as clean. I fall into bed not five minutes later, safe and sound once again because my brother had my back. How the fuck can Chuck think that is going to change?

               -----

               I gotta drag Sam’s fucking goldy locks out of the drain before I can even start my shower. Gross. But the water pressure does its magic. I almost pass out standing up, I feel so relaxed. Glad I sucked down that second coffee over dinner, it was a bitch driving in. I glance in Sammy’s room as I pass, he’s already snoring. Drugs must be workin’.

               Cas and Jack are on some trail and at this point I don’t know if I want to know. Between Billie and the hearts, it’s just another fucking ordeal. Another flaming hoop. But, at least the kid’s alive, and Cas has eyes on him this go ‘round. My shirt feels tight around the collar, so I pull it off. I bury myself in my sheets, fighting to get comfortable.

               The hunt flashes before my eyes, everything over with in the blink of an eye. Just like yesterday and tomorrow. And every miserable fucking day of my entire life. Except we pulled it off. We keep pulling it off, and with whatever Chuck’s got comin’ I’m lucky because I’ve got Sam in my corner. Because without him, I’d be dead. Without me? He’d probably hit another dog, at the very least.

               It’s quiet, I eye the light creepin’ beneath the door. Exhaustion burrows into my memories, but instead of darkness, it surfaces with only the steady echo of Sam’s heavy breathing in some motel room, every motel room. The familiar rhythm settles something inside me, finally letting me sleep.

^*^*^

Tags: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​  @dontshootmespence​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008​ @princessofthefandomrealm​ @awesomesusiebstuff​  @wingedcatninja​

[maaaaarveeeeel]

They Can’t See Us If We Move

Summary: Alexander Pierce is in the process of opening a new park. However, after a horrible accident the safety of the park has raised some serious questions. Now, in order for his beloved park to open, he must get the opinions of three renowned experts, Dr. Steve Rogers, Dr. Bucky Barnes and Dr. Tony Stark, to sign off on the safety of the park. But what happens when everything doesn’t go as planned. And what happens when his grandchildren are in the middle of it all?

A/N: So I got excited and decided to post chapter 1 early. I’m going to work on this more tomorrow. Few things, anyone that only knows the movie you’ll notice I stole a lot of dialogue from it in this first chapter (I promise I don’t do that in the later ones, just this first part has a lot of science stuff that I’m not about to fake.) Anyone that knows both the book AND movie, I’m sure you can appreciate why I picked Pierce for Hammond (he was actually a huge ass in the book.) As for the deaths, remember this is an au, so just because it says “lives/dies both” doesn’t mean I’ll actually follow that, or have to. Enjooooooooooooy! (I’ll add tags and warnings as I post chapters)

Warnings: Only one in this is Pierce being an ass and slightly transphobic towards Bucky (it’s very subtle) 

Characters:

Grant (paleontologist, lives both)- Steve Rogers 

Ellie(paleobotanist, lives both)- James Buchanan Barnes (trans, woman to man)

Malcolm (chaotician, lives both)- Tony Stark

Hammond (InGen CEO, dies book, lives movie)- Alexander Pierce 

Muldoon (game warden, lives book, dies movie)- Sam Wilson 

Gennaro (lawyer lives book, dies movie)- Bruce Banner

Wu (chief geneticist, dies book, lives movie)- Dr. Stephen Strange 

Tim (kid dino knowledge, lives both)- Peter

Lex (kid hacker, lives both)- Morgan 

Arnold (chief engineer, dies both)- Nick Fury

Nedry (computer programer, dies both)- Brock Rumlow 

____________________________________

Chapter 1

Steve wiped the dirt off his face and gave a happy sigh as he looked down at the newly dug skeleton. It was a big find for them, an important one too. 

"They're ready to try again babe." 

Steve turned towards the voice and smiled. Bucky, his boyfriend, was walking towards him with a small smile on his face. He grunted and started walking towards the man, letting the diggers know where he was going. 

"Think it'll work this time?" Steve mumbled.

"One can only hope." Bucky sighed, rubbing Steve's back and kissing his cheek. 

As they approach where their team was set up Steve frowns. Some of the volunteers have, once again, brought their kids with them. He doesn't understand why they feel the need to bring them. It's not like the kids are allowed to do anything. The bones are far too fragile for them to be handling. In Steve's opinion they shouldn't even be here, but Bucky says if he wants the volunteers to come help he has to accept the kids. 

"Ready to try again?" One of the volunteers, he thinks his name is Clint, asks from where he's sitting in the chair. 

Steve just nods and turns where two others are standing with the machine. A moment later a loud noise, like a gunshot, echoes through the canyon. 

"How long does it usually take?" Bucky asks, looking at the screen.

"Should have an immediate response," Clint replies, "shoot the radar in the ground, then the image bounces back."

Suddenly the screen lights up with an image, and the group lets out sighs of relief. 

"Amazing," a volunteer shouths, "in a couple years we won't have to dig anymore."

Steve frowns at this. "Where's the fun in that?"

Bucky smiles and pats the man's arm before looking back at the screen. "Postmortem contraction of the posterior neck ligaments." He turns and looks at Steve. "Velociraptor?" 

"Yes, good shape too." Steve smiles and points at the screen, then frowns as it goes fuzzy. 

"What happened?" Clint asks. 

"Dr. Rogers isn't machine compatible." Bucky chuckles.

"They've got it in for me." Steve mumbles. "Look at the half-moon shaped bone. Hard to believe they never learned to fly." The group behind him laughed and he rolled his eyes before turning towards them. "Well, we've found that dinosaurs have more in common with present-day birds than they do reptiles. See, look at the pubic bone," he turns and points at the screen, "it's turned backwards, just like a bird. The vertebrae is full of hollows and air sacs, just like a bird."

A kid steps forward and looks at the screen then towards Steve with an unimpressed look. "That really doesn't look all that scary. It looks more like a six-foot turkey."

The group's eyes go wide and Bucky sighs. Steve's jaw clenches and he steps forward, eyeing the kid. 

"Alright. Let's try something. Try to imagine yourself in the Jurassic Period. You get your first look at the, what'd you call it? Oh yes, the six-foot turkey! As you move into a clearing, but the raptor, he knew you were there a long time ago. He moves like a bird; lightly, bobbing his head. You keep still, because you think that, like a T-rex, his visual acuity's based on movement, and he'll lose you if you don't move. You're wrong though. Not with a VELOCIRAPTOR. You stare at him, and he just stares right back at you. That's when the attack happens. Not from the front, oh no, from the side, from the other two raptors that you didn't even know were there." Steve walks around the kid and wipes his face. "See, Velociraptor's are pack hunters. They use coordinated attack patterns, and they'd slash at you with this," he takes a claw from his pocket and holds it in front of the kids face, "a six-inch retractable claw, like a razor, on the middle toe. They don't bother to bite the jugular, like a lion, they just slash here," he uses the claw to fake slash at the kid's chest and thigh, "or maybe across the belly, spilling your intestines. Point is, you're alive when they start to eat you. So, you know, try to show a little respect." 

The kid held back tears and just nodded. Steve smiled then turned and started walking back to the dig site, Bucky close behind. 

"If you wanted to scare the kid you could've pulled a gun." Bucky chuckled. 

"You want one of those?" Steve snorted. 

"Not that one, but a breed of Dr. Rogers would be interesting." Bucky laughed. 

Steve stopped and looked at Bucky. "Buck, you're a man, you can't have kids."

Bucky smiled and leaned up and placed a small kiss on Steve's lips. "While I appreciate the endless support, I was born in a woman's body. Might as well make use of it." 

Steve snorted, but before he could say anything Bucky stopped him. "Women aren't just baby makers, I know Rogers. Don't get started, you know what I meant."

Steve rolled his eyes and opened his mouth but was cut off by the sound of a helicopter. The two spun around and started running towards the dig site. 

"Cover anything that's exposed!" Bucky shouts. 

Steve runs towards the helicopter and yells at the pilot that just stepped out, he just points to a trailer on the other side of camp. Steve then turns and runs there. 

He slams the door open and growls when he sees a man rummaging through the fridge. The man turns and smiles at him, popping the cork of a bottle of expensive champagne.

"Hey, we were saving that!" Steve growls. 

"For today, I guarantee it." The man says with a smile. 

Steve steps forward and points at the man's chest. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Alexander Pierce, and I'm pleased to finally meet you in person, Dr. Rogers." He shakes Steve's finger, then blows the dirt off and turns back towards the kitchen area. "I'm glad to see my fifty thousand a year is being well spent." 

The door slams open once more and Bucky walks in yelling about the asshole who just covered their bones. 

Steve quickly turns and grabs his arm. "Uh, this is our paleobotanist, Dr. James…"

"Barnes." Bucky finishes, raising an eyebrow at Steve. 

Pierce raises an eyebrow at that. "I thought Dr. Barnes was a woman?"

Bucky's jaw clenches. "I'm a man."

Pierce raises his eyebrows. "Well someone back at the company is going to get an earful for that one." He says as he pours the champagne in his cup. 

"Buck, this is Alexander Pierce." Steve whispers. 

Bucky's eyes go wide at this. "Um, hello Mr. Pierce, I'm sorry for my outburst-"

"It's fine," Pierce smiled, "I can't imagine my entrance was all that good. Anyhow, I'm in need of your assistance." Pierce offered a glass to Steve. 

"What kind?" Steve asked, accepting the glass. 

"Well, I'll get right to the point. I like you," he looked at Bucky," Both of you. I can tell instantly with people; it's a gift." He sipped his drink before continuing, "I own an island, off the coast of Costa Rica. Leased it from the government, and I've spent the last five years setting up a kind of a biological preserve down there. It's really spectacular.  I spared no expense." He sighed, and leaned against the sink. "No doubt that sooner or later our attractions will drive kids right out of their minds." 

"What are those?" Steve asked. 

"Small versions of adults, baby." Bucky chuckled. 

"Not just for kids, adults too. We have plans to open next year. If the damn lawyers don't kill me first. I don't like them. Do you?" Pierce laughed. 

Steve and Bucky looked at one another and shrugged. "We don't know any."

Pierce laughed again. "Count yourselves lucky. I have a particular one that represents my investors, and he says they insist on outside opinions."

"What kind?" Bucky asks. 

"Well, your kind." Pierce says. 

"Why would they care what we think?" Steve asks.

"Well, it's right up your alley. Why don't you both come down for the weekend? Have a look around? I'd love to have the opinion of a paleobotanist as well. I've got a plane standing by." 

Bucky and Steve looked at each other. They weren't all that impressed with the vague answer. 

"Now isn't really the best time. We just dug up a new skeleton." Steve said. 

"I could compensate you by fully funding your dig." Pierce said, pouring himself another drink. 

"This is an awfully unusual time…" Bucky mumbled.

"For a further three years." 

Bucky and Steve look at each other with wide eyes and smiles then instantly hug one another and cheer at this. Pierce smiled and sipped his drink when he heard Bucky ask where the plane was.

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