#I read the other branching path and like the tree one too with the loop

[velvetjune]

Night Springs spoilers

For the time breaker ending, I chose the path with Lisa and ended up pissing her off to the point of her leaving and talking to someone with a familiar strong accent. Was that supposed to be Ahti?? Ahti, witness to my unofficial divorce and wife sendoff to the greater multiverse </3

[chaotic-super]

Back To Krypton - Chapter 21

Read the first 20 chapters on Ao3 here!

It doesn’t take them long to understand why they were dropped off in this dusty ravine. The sides are high and the ground is firm, giving them a straight shot to where they need to go.

Briefly, it does occur to them that they would be better sheltered if they were back in the forest with trees on every side of them but when they lassoed a rope around the branch of a tree perched close to the edge of the top of the ravine and climbed up, it’s acutely obvious that it isn’t an option.

Alex, the one that did the honours of taking the climb, is greeted by the sight of dozens upon dozens of scarlet plants, this must have been the path that The Rebellion followed to drop the seeds because while they could in theory dodge the plants, it would slow them down considerably and put them all in danger of accidentally getting caught in one and ending up with yet another injury.

They all reach the agreement that, that isn’t in the cards for them, they will keep following the path the ravine lays bare for them and march their way forward, one step at a time.

Today marks day three of boring days of seeing nothing but the high walls of dirt and the occasional boulder lying in their path that they have to either squeeze around or take a climb over. It’s actually kind of fun to climb over them, especially when there are a few grouped together, it helps to break up the day so they have a little bit of stimulation here and there.

Kara isn’t quite as fond of them because her bruises are still healing and it hurts to stretch her arms up over her head but Alex confirmed that she has nothing to worry about, that’s pretty normal for her injuries. It doesn’t stop Lena from worrying and fussing over her though, not that Kara minds all that much.

She especially doesn’t mind as she feels Lena carefully grasping her wrists to pull her up and over one particularly tall rock, she can’t help but smile through the pain and reward her with a peck to the lips, a little thank you for her help and a soothing gesture to ease her worry.

They clamber down the other side, dropping a couple of feet with a slight oof.

As she lands, Kara chuckles to herself, thinking about how ridiculous it is that she’s jealous of Kelex and how he can just float right up over any obstruction they come across and as she heaves her pack higher on her shoulders, she wishes they made a second Kelex like they had originally planned. She’s not entirely sure why that never happened but they’ll be fine without it anyway.

Lena touches her arm to get her attention so Kara turns her head towards her, eyebrows raised in question. “What’s got you laughing?”

“Just wishing that I had boosters like Kelex.” Kara explains with a shrug, the words casual like it isn’t an odd thing to say.

“You’re weird.” Lena loops Kara’s hand around her arm, keeping them linked together as they walk.

“I know, you are too.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Your history speaks for itself.”

Every line is spoken with the deepest of sincerity, not an ounce of a lie spoken. “I suppose it does.”

Walking side by side with each other is something that they have gotten very used to on their trip so far, even if they have spent the majority of their time on Krypton in that Rao-forsaken accommodation that they hope to never see again.

There is something different in the air now that their feelings are out in the open. A lightness that nobody can really put their finger on but is greatly felt.

It’s not like they were denying what they felt, they were just holding off on expressing it so now that they are open with their words and carefree with their actions, their intent clear as day, it’s made a huge difference, and not just for Kara and Lena themselves, the whole team feels it.

“How long do you think we’ll spend walking up here for?” Nia questions Kara, since she still uses her little notebook to navigate them in the right direction, doing her best to estimate how far away they are from the fire falls, and then The Scarlett forest and after that – Kandor, the place they long to be.

Kara doesn’t bother pulling out the notebook to take a look, with them being in the ravine, it’s really difficult to tell exactly where they are and her best guess could still leave them out by a few days, even a week.

Lena and Kelly both tried to help her figure it out but overall the estimate had to be left to Kara since she’s the only one with any sort of gauge on the landscape, even if it is from decades ago. “Probably at least a month. This whole thing was meant to last four months and we’ve managed to skip ahead a couple of weeks but there’s still a long way to go Nia. I really want to get us there as fast as possible but it’s going to be a long hard road ahead, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, we all know what we signed up for, except for Esme but I’m ninety percent sure that she thinks that this whole thing is just an epic family vacation.” Nia shrugs, fiddling with the remote to make Kelex move and generally gesturing to the little princess of their group who is just skipping along beside Kelly, singing quietly to herself.

Kara and Lena both smile at the little one, unable to be anything but filled with love and joy when they look at their niece or in Lena’s case, her goddaughter.

Kara watches her, squinting a little when the side of the ravine dips slightly, letting the sun fall into her eyes for a brief moment. “I suppose we ought to get back to making sure we don’t get lax on her education. I don’t think anyone has done any school work with her in a little while unless Alex and Kelly have done some with her in their tent either in the mornings or at night.”

“I don’t know if they have.” Lena murmurs before raising her voice. “Hey Alex, have you been doing your home schooling or can we have a crack at it to pass the time?”

“We were giving her a break, it’s been a rough time but go for it if you want to, things are settling down and it looks like we’re reaching our new normal.” Alex shoots back, encouraging Esme to wait for Kara and Lena to catch up so they can do some of the work.

Esme smiles up at them excitedly, waiting for them to tell her what they are going to be getting up to.

Lena looks down into those eyes, seeing the hope and longing for new adventures and kicking herself a little for offering to do this because she’s about to crush this little girl’s happiness and optimism. “Let’s start with math.”

Kara and Esme make the exact same face, a disappointed frown. “Maybe we can start with something more exciting, like history. I wouldn’t mind a story.”

“Sorry Kara, my stories are finishers, not openers, the quicker we get through the boring stuff, the quicker we can get to the good stuff. I promise there will be a story afterwards.”

Esme puts up less of a fight than Kara does, apparently more mature than her own aunt. “What math are we doing auntie Lena?”

“How about we start off with some adding up?” Lena asks Esme in an overexaggerated happy voice, trying to get her hyped to do some school work that she’s luckily avoided for a good few days.

Kara weaves her hand free of Lena’s arm, taking her pack off her shoulder to grab a notebook and a pen so she can write out some basic math problems for Esme to try and work out.

Lena watches over at her as she writes out six simple questions and then takes the notepad off of her so that Kara can pick Esme up before handing it back over when she has the girl settled onto her hip snuggly.

The last thing Esme needs to worry about when she’s doing something so awful as math problems is walking in a straight line.

Esme takes the pen and loudly works out the problems, counting on her fingers and looking to Kara for validation when she gives her answers, unhappy that Kara won’t outwardly tell her if she’s right or wrong until she’s finished them all and wrote down the answers she thinks are right.

Only once the pen leaves the paper from the last question does Kara let her face split into a toothy grin. “Good job! You got them all right, now how about we move onto something else, huh?”

“Kara.” The single word warns Kara that Lena is not about to let her rush through this.

“Or maybe we can do some subtraction too just to round out our little math lesson, huh?”

“I like math.” Esme declares, seemingly eager to get more questions all of a sudden.

Lena grins at Kara, smug and unashamed to show it. “I like math too, how about I write the questions this time?”

“Ok.” Esme hands to notebook down to Lena, who flips to a fresh page to write out her questions nice and clearly.

Kara keeps Esme where she is, jumping her up a little higher on her hip but otherwise holding steady even though she’s aching a bit. Lena even adds a couple of multiplication questions on at the end which makes Kara have to hold back a groan although she is kind of liking this time she’s spending with her niece and her girlfriend who she still can’t believe agreed to be her girlfriend.

Esme dives into her new math equations head first, once again counting on her fingers but not looking to Kara this time, having gained a little bit of confidence from her first round of questions since she got them all right.

She speeds through them quickly and picks up the multiplication questions easily too with just a little nudge of help from both Kara and Lena. This girl is going to be a genius, just like the rest of her family.

Kara is the happiest to move on to something else so she starts teaching Esme more about the landscapes of Krypton, talking her through the different plants she knows and showing her the rocks and the different ways they are formed. Well, Lena helps with that part, Kara only knows so much about rocks but it appears that Lena knows just about everything and rocks form the same way no matter what planet they are on unless there is a major gravity difference.

Esme squirms her way down from Kara’s grip, bored of the lessons and eager to move on to something better. Lena prepares herself for the begging that usually comes to get her to tell them a story. Being a secret history buff, she has plenty to tell and always knows which are the best ones for each person she’s talking to, knowing each member of the group well enough to tell what will interest them the most.

For Nia, she tells stories of European monarchs, for Alex, it’s the Romans, for Kelly, either Vikings or Aztecs. She always saves the pirate stories for Esme though because she likes them the best, especially the women pirates that Lena only ever really researched. After all, there’s nothing a lesbian likes more than a woman with a sword.

It hasn’t taken Lena long at all to realize that Kara is happy to listen to any story at all as long as Lena is the one telling it and really looking back, she should have been more aware of Kara’s feelings for her because really, she would listen to any story Kara wants to tell her too because she has no issues listening to the blonde speak in her silky tones forever.

Esme doesn’t start begging for a story though, she’s looking up to the edge of the Ravine wall where vines are weaving in and out through the compacted soil and rocks, large juicy green pods sitting against the firm surface with their blunt points facing outwards at a perfect angle so that they are horizontal against the vertical wall.

“What are those?” Esme runs towards them, Kara rushing the catch her, her arm winding around her waist and lifting her off the ground in a fluid motion that nags at her injuries because they don’t want her to get hurt the same way Nia did.

Nia has learnt her lesson though because she’s staying as far away from them as she can, positioning herself next to the opposite side of the ravine, controlling Kelex so he is moving ahead of her.

“That’s a good question, Esme,” Kara says, intrigued by them herself. “Go hold Nia’s hand while we figure it out, alright?”

Esme nods and races over to Nia, grasping onto her as soon as she’s in reach, and Nia moves her to the other side of her so she’s in between Esme and the vines.

Lena, Alex, Kelly and Kara all step closer to the vines. “They aren’t red. That’s a good sign.” Kelly chuckles although it’s clear that she doesn’t really find it funny.

“Kara, any clues in that fancy know it all notebook you have?” Alex turns her attention to her sister, only to see that she already has her notebook open and is trawling through it page by page to see if anything matches the description.

She gets to the last page with a shake of her head. “No, let me just make a note of it though before we carry on, this is interesting.”

Alex looks reluctant, as does Lena but Kelly speaks up on Kara’s behalf. “Two minutes won’t hurt as long as we all stay back away from it, just in case.”

They let Kara scrawl out a few notes and do a basic sketch, finding the vines pretty interesting themselves.

Alex watches over Kara’s shoulder and rushes them to get going as soon as the page is full of the details that they know.

They get about fifteen feet away when Alex stops. “Shall I throw a rock at it?”

“Why would you throw a rock at it?” Kelly questions, unamused by her wife’s question.

“For science.”

“For- oh my god.” Kelly sighs. “Yeah, sure whatever just let Nia and Esme get a little further up first.”

Lena and Kara are not moving from their spot, they are perfectly happy to stand and watch the incredible science that is Alex throwing a rock at a plant.

Kelly finds a good-sized rock, about that of a baseball, and plants it into Alex’s palm, “just for the record, it thought there was more to science than throwing things at other things.”

Lena pipes up. “No, that’s a pretty solid scientific method, I wish I got to do it more often.”

“Well, grab yourself a rock then, we’ll go on three.” Alex shrugs, happy to have some company in this experience.

Lena does exactly that, offering to grab one for either Kara or Kelly too if they want one but they aren’t as invested in this kind of scientific experiment as they are – that is the kind where it’s more about getting your frustration out than anything else.

“Ok, one, two, three…”

They release their rocks, and they are regretting it in a matter of seconds because one of the rocks strikes a pod directly, bursting it open to expose a ghastly yellow powdery smoke that fills the air and limits their vision.

They stumble back away from it as it seeps towards them, trying not to get into contact with it. It’s quick though so their stumble turns into a jog, which then turns into a run, Nia and Esme really far ahead of them, Kelly midway between them and the rock throwers and Kara because she was already standing a little further back and had the foresight to start running the second the pod bust open.

It just keeps coming though, blooming up into the air in short pops, the other pods reacting to the first and bursting open too in a kind of domino effect.

Lungs burning and legs aching, they keep going, Esme now being carried bridal style by Nia and giggling all the way.

The gap between the smoke and them is getting bigger but it’s still advancing on them, following them relentlessly, not letting them out of its sight.

They keep running and running and running but there’s only so much Kara can do, she’s still hurt and while she’s healing, she’s only got so much in her and her legs are getting weaker, her back screeching at her to slow down because with each rushed step she gets a jolt right up into her spine.

She’s falling behind. She can tell that she is, Lena and Alex are getting further and further ahead but she doesn’t dare to look back, afraid to see how close it is behind her. This is the last time she lets anyone throw a rock at anything because it is really painful. It might actually be more painful than if she had let them throw the rocks at her.

Kara’s steps are slowing, no more gas in the tank. She keeps moving, keeps forcing herself forward nonetheless, just too slowly to get clear. She doesn’t get clear.

Lena looks back to Kara to see her gone, just the wall of smoke behind her and her brain switches off, logic out of the window, she turns back and runs into the yellow abyss, intent on finding Kara. She’s not leaving her behind.

The others, they keep running. They don’t look back for a while, not until a boulder blocks their path and by then, the smoke is in the distance, travelled as far as it can reach, and then they see that they are missing two people. The two people that always find their way into trouble.

Read more chapters of Back To Krypton early on Patreon here!

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 15)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 14

Warnings: canon inconsistencies (idk guys I haven't read those books about Dooku), a sweet bit o Ani fluff and LOTS of angst unfortunately but it will pay off!

Summary: You and Anakin search Serenno for information about the attacks on the Senate; a planned confession goes amiss

Word Count: 4.3k

Serenno was one of those planets with a confusing and complicated political history. Your ship had landed on the outskirts of Carannia, the capital city, and though you tried to keep your tired eyes on the history overview on the holopad during the relatively short journey from Coruscant, you struggled to take it all in. Houses? Counts? The political structure of this place was as confusing as the political structure of Mandalore. You had been immediately distracted from your reading when the ship came out of hyperspace and began to enter Serenno's atmosphere. For all its confusing history, Serenno was...beautiful. There was no other word for it. You saw the lush forests and mountain ranges, the green of the tree canopies, and, beyond the capital, a vast ocean, shining in the sun like the light of the stars. You were enraptured.

       Master Yuma and Master Obi-Wan had decided to land near the outskirts so as to not announce your presence to the capital at large.

       "But if the ruler of Serenno was once a Jedi," you asked, "why the secrecy? Why not consult him on this matter?"

       "We plan to pay Count Dooku a visit," Master Yuma responded, "but only after we have gathered information from the lower, less reputable parts of Carannian society."

       "You'll find," Master Obi-Wan said with a chuckle, "that the best place to sniff out a rat is the sewer."

       Thus, Master Yuma and Master Obi-Wan had taken off through the jungle to visit the slums of Carannia, heavily disguised in dark cloaks that did not give away their true identity. You and Anakin had donned similar clothing, and with instructions to head the other direction, looping across the forest and toward the marketplace in the center of town, you had set off. The cloak you wore was warm and comfortable, and you pushed away your tiredness as you walked through the forest, pushing aside vines and ferns as you passed them. It was common for Jedi to go from assignment to assignment, and sleep was a luxury stolen when possible, not a right. However, quite a lot had happened since you'd last been able to rest—you breathed slowly, in and out of your mouth, using your momentum to keep you going.

       "You look awful, flea," Anakin said cheerfully, walking next to you and jumping ahead to pull a branch out of your path.

       "Ha, ha," you responded dryly, too tired to come up with a good comeback.

       "You know, you're no use to the Order dead on your feet," Anakin responded, just as merrily. It seemed his good mood from your earlier conversation about Henry still permeated his thoughts. You glanced at his face, and stifled a laugh. His Force presence might as well be whistling.

       "Well, when duty calls..." you responded, yawning. You waved your hand dismissively to finish your sentence.

       "Yawn in the face of danger," Anakin finished for you, grinning with his tongue poking through his teeth. You rolled your eyes.

       The two of you broke through the edge of the tree line, facing the outskirts of the large city. You quickly crossed the grassy gap and drew your hoods, darting across streets and between the smaller dwellings on the edge of the capital. The buildings here were cylindrical, which created an odd contrast to the natural forests and mountains surrounding the city. The architecture was harsh, geometric, and contained—the nature was expansive, complex.

       "The market should be just ahead," Anakin said quietly, pointing ahead of him to a gap in the side streets. You felt, rather than heard, the hum of people moving around, speaking in different tongues, bartering over goods. You and Anakin were meant to observe quietly, to overhear, to glean information without being present, to hide in plain sight. The market would be a perfect place to do so, but, you realized, wearing hoods and oversized dark robes would clash highly with the atmosphere of the market, in which many people wore plain clothing, in lighter fabrics, the sun shining down on them.

       "Wait—" you said quickly, putting your hand across Anakin's chest to stop him from stepping out of the alleyway and entering the brightly lit market.

       "What?" Anakin asked quietly, looking around.

       "Think about it. Take in your surroundings," you said patiently. You knew that blending in was not Anakin's strong suit, knew that he would prefer to enter the market with his lightsaber held high, demanding answers from the passerby. "If we go out there like this, we'll stick out like sore thumbs."

       Anakin watched the people walking by for a moment, looking down at your disguises and putting two and two together.

       "Fine," Anakin said amicably, grabbing onto the shoulders of your robe and pulling it off you before shrugging out of his own. You tugged your tunic out of your Jedi belt, which would surely give you away, stashing your saber in your boot. Anakin did the same. Using the Force, you pulled, carefully, a large brick out of the wall of the alleyway. You stashed your robes and your belts in the hole left, pushing them far back into the wall so that they would not be seen.

       "We look casual enough," Anakin said, looking you up and down with a smile. "But you've forgotten something."

       "What?" you asked, looking up into Anakin's tanned face, his blue eyes sparkling against his skin. Anakin reached forward and smiled, tugging lightly on your Padawan braid. Oh. You couldn't walk into the market with your braids swinging obviously, a conspicuous mark of the Jedi Order. Anakin peered out from the alleyway in which you stood, pointing to a cart near you, a cart selling colorful headscarves. You watched the shoppers in the market, saw that many of them had colorful head coverings.

       "Good thinking," you told Anakin, using the Force to quickly summon two of the scarves away from the cart. You wrapped Anakin's around his head, trying to ignore the immense smugness coming from his presence, then worked your own scarf around your hair. Now fully disguised, you and Anakin stepped out into the market, you dropping a few credits swiftly onto the cart as you passed. Anakin grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

       "Anakin..." you said, trying to pull your hand away.

       "It'll look much more natural this way," Anakin responded, grinning, his grip on your hand firm. "We're a couple out on a stroll through the market. No one will look twice at us."

       "Fine," you said, turning away to hide your blush. Anakin's hand was big and warm as it enclosed yours, but the feel of it made your insides squirm. You looked straight ahead as you walked out into the market with him, your joined hands swinging slightly. The more you half-heartedly pushed Anakin away, the less he seemed to believe your rebuffs. You worried, almost, that Anakin might be able to read your true feelings, the way you were able to read his. You blushed further at the thought. You were beginning to feel lightheaded.

       Anakin glanced at you, then pulled you in the direction of a fruit stand. He waved a few credits at the man, dropping them on the counter, and then picked up a couple meiloorun fruits. He held one out to you, his face downturned, his eyes looking into yours with an intensity that made you hold your breath.

       "We're not here to eat fruit," you whispered quietly.

       "You look like you need a pick-me-up," Anakin whispered back, stepping closer to you and putting the fruit in your hand. "Plus, it's a very natural thing to do at a market." You took the fruit, nodding, feeling your legs quiver as you made eye contact with him. Anakin's eyes really were so blue.

       You leaned against the wall and peeled the fruit, slowly, juice sliding down your hands. You took a bite and groaned. The fruit was so sweet.

       "Good?" Anakin laughed, watching you devour the fruit, juice sliding down your face.

       "Excellent," you responded, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your tunic. The sugar from the fruit gave you a bit of energy, allowed you to open your eyes a bit wider, tired as you were.

       "I told you, I'm not interested," a boy in the alleyway near you said, seeming like his voice was coming out louder than he intended in his anger.

       "We need the credits, Jarin," another boy responded, his voice pleading.

       "If you two are done arguing," a girl said, sounding impatient, "he's waiting for us."

       You continued leaning against the wall, throwing the carcass of your fruit to the ground. You didn't turn, but you reached out for Anakin's hand as he stood near you, squeezing it. He squeezed back, affirming that he too was listening to the conversation happening in the alleyway.

       "I'm not doing it," Jarin said again, and you felt out for his Force presence, sensing in him a great amount of fear. You crinkled your eyebrows.

       "You talk as if you have a choice," the girl said, her voice sounding threatening, as she let out a shrill laugh. "You act as if you have anywhere else to go."

       "If we do this job," the second boy responded, "we could leave Serenno. Make a life somewhere else." You felt a hopeful despair behind this boy's words, in his Force presence.

       Leave Serenno? As far as you knew, this was a fairly wealthy system, with a surplus of resources. Why would these young people be so desperate to leave? And what job was Jarin so afraid of taking?

       "Hey, love birds," you heard the girl yell in your direction, and you saw Anakin step in front of you, looking over your shoulder into the alley. "I know you're listening."

       You turned and faced the group, seeing that the boys were about Anakin's age. The girl, or young woman, it seemed, looked to be a few years older than you.

       "Don't be afraid," the girl said, her voice menacing. "Are you looking for work? Come closer."

       You felt a swell of protectiveness in Anakin, and you gripped his arm, squeezing in warning. He mustn't let his temper get in the way in this interaction. These might be the 'rats' Obi-Wan had been talking about—and you knew the purpose of this mission was to gather information.

       You and Anakin walked slowly toward the group. In the shade of the alley, you saw the two boys cowering before this young woman, who stood straight, looking you and Anakin over.

       "Oh, but you aren't afraid," the girl said, appraising the two of you. "It seems I misjudged you. You," the girl turned to Anakin, "you look strong. I've got a job you might be interested in. Lots of credits on the line." The girl turned away from Anakin and looked you in the eye. You saw that her irises were purple, her face set in a permanent glare. "Oh," the young woman said, leaning in to meet your gaze, "but you have more to offer, don't you, pipsqueak? I can see everything." The girl began to walk around you, and you turned, so as not to allow her your back. "You're the one they have to watch out for, aren't you?" The girl's voice was mocking, but there was something almost like Force command in it. This confused you. Was this young woman—or whatever she was—Force sensitive? If she was, why was she not identified as a youngling?

       "Step away from her," Anakin said quietly, darkly, pulling you closer to his side. "We come as a pair. What is this job you mentioned?"

       "A simple...extraction," the girl responded, turning back to Anakin, her voice casual. You felt in her Force presence that she was lying. You felt behind her words an intent to kill.

       "I see," Anakin said, his voice just as casual. "And why all the secrecy? Who are we working for, here?" The girl laughed.

       "That's need to know," the girl said, smiling wickedly at Anakin.

       "Right, and I need to know who I'm working for, if I'm going to be...extracting, or, whatever it is you'll have me doing," Anakin said. You felt in his voice a strong Force command, but it didn't seem to be working on this young woman, who certainly was not weak-minded.

       "Watch yourself, pretty boy," the girl said, stepping forward to look Anakin straight in the face. You saw that she was as tall as he was. "If you want the credits, you do as I say. You don't want to cross me." You felt the Force building between the two of them, felt Anakin's intention before he enacted it, and knew that the girl with the violet eyes was ready to strike. The boys behind her looked afraid.

       "Don't I?" Anakin asked, smiling serenely, and in a quick flash, you saw the girl draw a blaster adeptly. But you were quicker. Your hand was in your boot, drawing your lightsaber faster than the girl could pull the trigger. You blocked the blasts she aimed at Anakin's heart swiftly, and Anakin stood tall, not even reaching for his saber. He'd known that you would block her blasts.

       "Jedi scum!" the young woman said, looking enraged, backing away, firing blasts at the both you, blasts that you blocked easily. "Run!" she yelled to the boys as she turned and sprinted down the alleyway.

       "Wait just a moment," you said, hopping into the air in a flip, landing on the other side of the two boys. You and Anakin, who had pulled his own lightsaber out of his boot, had them cornered.

       "Don't hurt us!" Jarin said, putting his hands out on his sides to try to block the other boy from the two of you. Jarin and the boy backed against the wall. You turned off your lightsaber.

       "We won't hurt you," you responded, calmly. "But we need you to tell us everything you know about the job you just turned down."

       "We can't!" Jarin said miserably. "He'll have us killed!"

       "We can arrange safe passage for you off Serenno," you said kindly, but firmly, keeping your gaze on the two boys, "if you wish. But you need to tell us what you know."

       Anakin stepped forward, his lightsaber still raised. You put out a hand, making sure he kept back from the two teenage boys, the one cowering behind the other. You felt their fear. You felt their intentions to be pure. There was no need to threaten them.

       "Is that your brother?" you asked softly, reading Jarin through the Force. Jarin looked back at his companion, and then to you again, looking frightened. "I can tell you two have been on your own for quite some time," you said, using your calm to try to put Jarin more at ease. "We can help you. But you have to help us."

       "There's a man called Tyrannus," the younger boy behind Jarin spoke up, his voice shaking. Jarin looked back at him, startled. "The job wasn't an extraction. It was an assassination."

       "Tyrannus?" Anakin asked, finally turning off his lightsaber.

       "An assassination? Of whom?" you asked the younger boy urgently.

       "A senator," Jarin answered, looking between you and Anakin.

Anakin opened the ramp of the ship, stepping on while you followed. You both had instructed Jarin and his brother to meet you at the space port the following day, and to stay hidden until then. After retrieving your hidden cloaks and belts, Anakin and you had made your way back through the forest to the ship.

       "We'll need to signal to Master Yuma and Obi-Wan," Anakin said, walking forward to the cockpit. He pressed the button to call your masters.

       "Mhmm," you said, following him, wobbling a little on your feet. Anakin turned quickly, reaching a hand out to steady you.

       "Y/N," Anakin said, feeling your pulse in your arm as he held you. "You need to sleep. It's becoming a hazard." Anakin's voice conveyed nothing but playful sarcasm, but inside he felt many things, starting and ending with a deep affection. He smiled as he watched you, your eyes half open.

       "I suppose you're right," you said feebly, wandering over to the flight couch. Anakin pressed the comm button in the cockpit again, but got no response.

       "You must be tired," Anakin said, laughing, "that's the first time I've ever heard you say those words." Anakin followed you out of the cockpit.

       "And it'll be the last," you mumbled, sitting down and putting your head back.

       "That I believe," Anakin said, sitting next to you, pulling out his comm and signaling to your Masters with beeps. "I told them we're back at the ship, that we have information, and to reconvene when they can," Anakin informed you. When you didn't respond, Anakin looked around, and stifled a laugh. You were asleep, that much was clear, leaning back in a seated position, your mouth hanging open, with small snoring sounds exiting your nose as you breathed in.

       "Little flea," Anakin sighed, watching you. He wondered, briefly, if this was an intrusion—watching you while you had no ability to object—but, he reasoned, you had also watched him in his sleep, had even entered his nightmares with him, through the Force. At times, Anakin wished he had your abilities. Now, for instance, he wished he could read your emotions, could read what you were dreaming about, thinking about. He desperately wanted to know about your feelings, even if he didn't like the answers to his questions. Anakin was struggling to keep his thoughts inside of him, and knowing, either way, felt like it would release something in him that desperately needed to be released.

       He couldn't help himself. He loved you so much. He had since he was a boy, and though his feelings had changed, of course, there was still a part of him that was nine years old, watching you walk up to him in the Jedi temple. The admiration he had felt that day had never left him; it had simply grown, and other feelings had entered his presence, feelings he himself was still struggling to understand. All he knew was that he needed to be near you, always, needed to make sure you were safe, needed to hear your laugh, needed to listen to your teasing. He needed to feel your presence, needed to watch as your hair blew wildly in every direction, needed to see your smile, needed to watch as your cheeks reddened when you were angry or embarrassed. As much as he needed to be near you, Anakin felt, he was also suffering in your presence. That he was not able to have all of you was agonizing to him; that he was not able to reach out now, for instance, and touch your cheek in your sleep. That he was not able to hold you close to him, to feel your heart beat against his. That he was not able to kiss your entire face, your entire self. As much as he desperately wanted to do these things, what he wanted most was for you to want him the way he wanted you. He wanted to make you happy with his love. He wanted you to love him, so that he could give to you all of what was inside him.

       You snored a bit more loudly, grunting in your sleep, and your head fell to the side, resting on Anakin's shoulder. Anakin's insides jumped with joy. He kept very still, your sleeping head leaning against him. He felt the heat of your cheek against his shoulder, through his tunic. There were times when it seemed certain to Anakin that you returned his feelings. That you had turned down Henry's advances surely meant something, did it not? And the way you interacted with him—it was like if he smiled, you smiled. If he was sad and upset, you were sad and upset. The two of you were in sync in a way that could only be explained by love. Right?

       But what if that love you felt for him was nothing more than friendly admiration? It was clear to Anakin that you cared for him, but what if you regarded him as nothing more than a good friend, or even a brotherly figure, the way you had said you regarded Henry? What if the admiration you felt for him was more akin to the admiration you felt for Master Yuma, or Obi-Wan, other members of the Jedi Order you'd grown close to as your family?

       If you didn't return Anakin's feelings—if you didn't want the kind of relationship Anakin desperately wanted—would Anakin be able to suffer, silently, in your presence, for the rest of both of your lives? What would be the alternative? Leaving your side—not being with you at all?

       Anakin's insides churned uncomfortably. These unanswered questions haunted him, but he sensed in himself that you and him were coming to a crossroads. He sensed your relationship couldn't remain in this state of waiting forever. Something had to change soon. Something would break. But what would come next?

       Anakin struggled to breathe as he thought over this uncertain future. He looked down at your head, as it rested on his shoulder. He couldn't lose you. He wouldn't. But how to earn your love? How to prove to you that he was worthy? What more could he do? Anakin didn't know. But he did know that he wanted to declare himself, as Henry had done, but better, with better words, with more love. You needed to know. It was time. He had to tell you how he felt. He couldn't keep it in any longer.

Waking up, you still felt tired. There was a stiffness in your back and neck, and you yawned, opening your eyes, realizing that you had been sleeping on someone's shoulder. Anakin's shoulder.

       You blushed, sitting up straight, trying to stretch out your upper back.

       "Mornin'," Anakin said, his charming smile right next to your face as you turned to look at him, bleary-eyed.

       "How long was I out?" you asked, rubbing your eyes, sighing.

       "A good few hours," Anakin replied, his Force presence betraying a hint of nervousness. This confused you.

       "Did Master Obi-Wan and Master Yuma—"

       "Not yet," Anakin responded, pointing to the comm he'd put on the flight table. You nodded, slowly coming to your senses. Anakin stood up, heading to the small flight kitchen on the other side of the hull. After a moment, you smelled caf brewing. It was a comforting sound, listening to the caf maker bubble.

       "Thanks," you said gratefully when Anakin came back over to you, handing you a cup of the hot beverage. You drank it quickly, wanting it to give you alertness, even though it gave you the slightest burn in your throat. You and Anakin sat quietly for a moment, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

       "Listen, Y/N," Anakin said quietly, taking the hand on your lap in his and leaning forward. "There's—there's something I need to tell you." You looked up into Anakin's eyes, felt his intention in his Force presence, his nerves, his resolve, amidst other things, things you didn't feel ready to acknowledge. You breathed in quickly, taking your hand from his, already shaking your head.

       "No, Y/N, please," Anakin pleaded, watching your face, "please just listen."

       "No," you choked out, your eyes wide in fear, unable to breathe properly. "Anakin, don't do this."

       "Do what?" Anakin asked, his eyes becoming wet, watching you. "I can't keep pretending like this, Y/N. Please, just let me—"

       "No," you said firmly, standing up, your limbs shaking. You placed the cup of caf on the flight table, spilling a little, unable to keep yourself still. "No, you're just—" you wrung your hands, feeling the fight or flight impulse, wishing there was somewhere for you to run away to, somewhere far enough, while simultaneously not wanting to ever leave Anakin's side. "You're just—you're trying to distract me. You're trying make me lose focus. You want to take the trials first, I know you do." What you did know was that this was completely ridiculous, and completely untrue. Anakin hadn't been competitive with you like that since you were both much younger. But you would have said anything at that moment to sidetrack Anakin, to stop him from saying the words you felt on the tip of his presence. Once he said those words aloud, everything would change. Everything would break. You couldn't let that happen. You couldn't leave the Jedi Order, but you most certainly couldn't lose Anakin.

       "What?" Anakin asked in disbelief, his tears spilling from his eyes, causing you to turn away in pain. You felt in his Force presence that it had worked. You felt the hurt moving through him, and turned back, seeing that an agonized expression had made its home in his features. "You...you think I'm trying to...beat you? You think this is about winning?"

       "I know it is," you said coolly, the words coming out of you as if they sliced through you like a knife. You felt all of Anakin's pain combining with your own, but you knew you couldn't let him say what he was trying to say. You needed to keep your life held together, even if it was held together by the last few strands of a broken rope. You could not let everything fall apart.

       Anakin watched you with incredulity, his pain your pain, your hands shaking. Anakin's Force presence turned sour. An anger entered his heart, and while you felt it to be anger at you, you knew it was also anger directed inward, toward himself. You nearly crumpled.

       "I yield, then," Anakin said, his voice shaking. "You win." He got up off the flight couch and jammed his hand against the button to open the ship's ramp. Anakin stalked off into the Forest, and as he did, you felt his presence collapse into a deep agony, a scream you almost felt you heard, though it was inaudible. You fell to your knees, sobbing.

************************************************************************

eeeeek sorry about that but i love me some angst :)THE NEW CHAPTER IS OUT NOW CLICK HERE

in the meantime, here's a laughing comfort Obi:

divider credit to @racingairplanes

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[therealvalkyrie]

exactly the spring

Pairing/setting: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Fem!Reader, college!AU

Summary: Reserved biology student Ushijima finds himself falling in love when you, an adorably disorganized art student, wander into the greenhouse.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: fluff, kissing

AN: Hi!! So, the inspiration for this one sprang from the beautiful, sexi brain of Emme ( @doinmybesthere ) way back in MARCH ahem anyway, it's done! I hope it's just as soft and intimate as you envisioned<33 Also, big shoutout to my beautiful friends Arobi ( @daqueenobooty ) and Cee ( @spacelabrathor ) for being wonderful betas and giving me such kind comments:) I hope you enjoy, and as always don't be shy about leaving comments or coming to chat! Be kind to yourselves and others.  ~valkyrie

p.s. check out this amazing art that @/54prowl made of plant boy ushi!! :D

Plants don’t talk back, Ushijima learned as a toddler. He’d babble to them in nonsensical phrases as his mother worked in the garden, and they’d only sway in the wind and listen, waxy under his chubby fingers.

A volleyball doesn’t talk back, either, not even through its bounces and echoes on hands and hard surfaces. It doesn’t listen as easily as plants, but can be herded and shaped like putty into a winning thing if you touch it right. This, Ushijima learned at his father’s hand and carried with him through childhood and adolescence.

The joy and puzzlement of you is that you do both. You listen so intently and openly with your steady eyes and soft body as the words pour out of him. And then, you reply. With your clear voice and new perspective, you offer something new. You offer companionship.

It was the second week of spring semester that you wandered into the greenhouse, eyes lit by the sun and sketchbook under one arm. Ushijima was repotting a large fern, dirt up to his elbows as he kneeled on the floor. He barely gave you a second glance, preoccupied with nestling the plant’s root system comfortably.

You settled a short distance away, crossing your legs to sit on the tile floor in front of an orange tree to sketch its still-closed flower buds with charcoal pencils. He kept working as you did, the sun sliding across glass, shadows shifting into the early evening of winter. When the sun was threatening to set over the city skyline — even with the greenhouse where it sits on the roof of the biology building — he turned to tell you he was closing up, only to find you gone. In your place, sitting on the wooden table that held newly planted basil and sage, was a drawing.

It was a single branch, detailed in shades of charcoal down to the last dewdrop. At the bottom, looping handwriting scrawled, “thank you for the peace.”

That night, he tacked it up above his desk in his dorm next to the postcard from Tendō and hoped you’d come back.

And you do, a couple of days later, on a Saturday. He looks up from where he’s filling in the logbook, this time, catching your gaze and holding it for a moment before you break away to survey the room. Today, he thinks you looked breathtaking. You’re wearing a long, flowing skirt and a sweater that makes him want to feel how soft it is, and how soft you are in it, and by the time his brain catches up with his thoughts, he’s been staring too long and your eyes have wandered back to him. It’s raining, today — it never really snows in this city, he’s learned — and shadowy droplets play across your face as they drip down the greenhouse’s arched glass ceiling, highlighting the curve of your cheekbone and making your eyes glow softly.

He clears his throat and looks back to the thick spiral-bound book on the table before him. Sometimes, when he meets people for the first time, he knows he can come across as intimidating. That worked out for him in high school and on the volleyball court, but in his adulthood, it’s been more of a hindrance than a help. It makes it… difficult to make friends here, where he doesn’t already know anyone.

And the last thing he wants is to scare you away. The last thing he wants is to break the peace you’ve apparently found here.

Which is why he barely dares to breathe when he looks up to find you approaching him where he’s perched on a sturdy wooden stool.

“Hi,” you smile and lilt, and god if it isn’t the most beautiful word Ushijima’s ever heard, if it isn’t the prettiest smile he’s seen.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to scare you away.

“Uhm,” you start again, when the silence makes it clear he’s waiting for you to speak, “I have an art assignment,” you start digging around in your shoulder bag as you speak, “to draw a, um, what’s it called?”

“I don’t know.”

You pause in your rifling and pin him with such a sunny smile it makes his knee start bouncing. And you laugh, too, which officially replaces your “hi” as the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Ha, you’re funny,” you resume digging, “it was um, pretty leafy and... tropical, I think? Oh! Here.” Triumphantly, you produce a wrinkled paper from your bag. It’s the first imperfect thing Ushijima’s found out about you, that you’re shit at keeping your belongings organized, and he files it away for later reference. You hold the paper in front of your face and squint slightly to read in the shifting light. “Canna indica.”

Canna indica, native to tropical climates, notable as a minor food crop for South American Native populations for thousands of years.

“And I was told that you have it, here, in the greenhouse.”

Ushijima nods and finds himself relieved that this is what you’re asking him. Plants, he can do.

“We do. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, please,” you also sound relieved, like he’s provided the solution to every problem you’ve ever had.

He unfolds himself from the stool, setting down his pen as he goes. You take a step back and look up at him mildly, as though you hadn’t realized quite how huge he is.

“This way,” he indicates, leading you deeper into the maze that is the biology department’s greenhouse. The winding path back to the tropical room gives him a moment to sink back into the earthy peace of being here, even if now there’s someone sharing that peace.

The temperature change from the warm main greenhouse to the balmy tropical room prompts Ushijima to shed his flannel outer layer, hanging it on the nail hammered by the door while you step in behind him.

“Whew,” you exhale, shrugging off your soft cardigan as well, “it’s hot in here.”

Ushijima hums in agreement and tries not to look too hard at the patch of skin revealed by your cropped tank top. Canna indica isn’t too far into the room, so he just gently moves past draping leaves and ceramic pots.

“Here,” he stops, holding back leaves for you. He stops breathing again when you duck under his arm and end up so close in the narrow aisle that he can smell your shampoo. The moment passes, and he can breathe again when you breeze past him and squat down to peer at the bright, waxy red leaves of your subject.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, and he silently agrees.

You’re leaning so close to the plant he’s afraid you might topple over when you make a noise of realization and sit back on your butt to rifle through your bag once again. Ushijima knows he should probably leave you to it, but he’s glad he waited just an extra minute when you pull out a pair of glasses and pop them on your face. Adorably.

“That’s better.” You’re looking back at canna indica, now, at a normal distance.

He’s figured you’ve forgotten he’s there when you start to pull out pastels from your seemingly bottomless bag, so he turns to leave you.

A soft, “hey,” calls him back to you, however, and he’s met by your face glowing eerily in the shifting rain-light. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he locks up that afternoon, he finds another charcoal drawing waiting for him on the table near the door, this time of his favorite agapanthus africanus. No note, this time, but he attaches all the sounds he heard from you today in its place. He also finds your cardigan forgotten next to where you were sitting and carefully folds it for when you come back.

The drawing joins the orange branch on his wall-- an odd starter garden, he thinks, but all the more precious because it came from you.

The next time he sees you isn’t in the greenhouse, but instead at a cafe a couple of blocks away, two weeks later. He’s walking past, gym bag slung over his shoulder, when he hears your laugh ring out across the outdoor seating area. His eyes find you, head tipped back in sending peals of mirth into the lively spring air. It’s the first truly warm day of the season, though you and your companion are the only patrons sitting outside, and the sun catches on your glasses sat atop your head.

Your friend says something apparently hilarious, because your giggles redouble, and an honest-to-god snort pushes out of your nose. Ushijima catalogues it in his ever-growing list of sounds you make, and pauses at the crosswalk, halfway turned back to keep one eye on you and one on the light. If you were alone, he might’ve approached you and told you that he still has your sweater in the greenhouse, waiting on a shelf between succulents, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your— date?

He isn’t sure, but the person sat there with you seems like someone you might date. Clearly also an art student, judging by the carefully disheveled blue hair and combat boots. Are you the type to date someone with blue hair? Unlikely, he decides. You seem too… bright. Too floaty to be so concerned with looking like you don’t care how you look.

Ushijima’s still debating whether you find blue hair attractive when the crosswalk light begins its countdown and he starts across the street. And he almost makes it all the way across, too, when a voice calls—

“Wait! Hey!”

He turns partially because it sounds urgent enough that it might be an emergency, and his grandmother would roll in her grave if he remained a bystander to some horrific accident. But it’s you, standing up from your seat and waving him back over. He glances at the crosswalk countdown, which lights up red as it ticks from four to three, then turns and jogs back towards you, waving a hand apologetically to the cars waiting at the light. You meet him at the metal fence around the cafe seating area, and now that you’re standing, he can see you’re wearing a yellow sundress that cuts off at your calves and drapes over your hips like the fabric was spun from pure light.

“Hello.” Ushijima talks first this time because if he doesn’t refocus his brain on something else he knows he won’t be able to stop staring.

“Hi! Sorry about that, uh, and I’m sure you have places to be, but, um, did I leave my cardigan at the greenhouse? I can’t find it, and I know I have a tendency to forget things, so,” you finish with a laugh, one hand fiddling with the rings on the other.

“Yes, you did. I put it on a shelf in case you came back.”

“Oh! That’s great!” You sound relieved, and Ushijima’s suddenly very grateful he didn’t take it down to the bio department’s lost and found like they’re technically supposed to. “Is there maybe a time I can come pick it up? When you’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there all day tomorrow, opening at nine.” 

He can’t tell if he sounds a little too eager, and he’s about to soften his meaning by telling you that they’re open today, too, and anyone can hand you a sweater, but you’re already smiling big and sunny and telling him,

“I’ll see you at nine, then. Do you drink coffee?”

He doesn’t; his coaches have always told him that caffeine can only harm his athletic performance.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then I’ll see you at nine, with coffee.”

Ushijima says goodbye and turns to wait at the crosswalk again while you swirl your way back to your seat and pick up your conversation with your friend. He can feel two pairs of eyes on him as he crosses the street, red numbers blinking down from ten, and can’t help but turn to look back as he steps onto the opposite sidewalk. Where your friend tactfully looks down into their cup of tea, you catch his eye with yours and wave. He lifts his hand halfway in a goodbye before an eighteen-wheeler stops at the intersection and blocks you from him.

Ushijima’s normal work attire is typical of an average agricultural biology student accustomed to being up to their elbows in dirt every day: practical cargo shorts, dirt-stained but sturdy sneakers, a “plant dad” t-shirt (a gift from Tendō when they’d said their goodbyes and gone away to college), and a soft cotton flannel. He’s usually satisfied with this for his shift at the greenhouse, expecting to be mud-covered at least up to his wrists by the end of the day.

But today… Today, he pauses in the dorm bathroom to scrub his face raw, and he clips and shapes his nails like his mother used to do for him every Saturday. He normally only does it before tournaments, now, and it calms his nerves to feel prepared for a Big Event, even if that event is only handing you your gently pilled cashmere cardigan and receiving a coffee he won’t drink in return.

The air that morning is heady with spring, earthy and alive, reminding Ushijima of lying beneath the hedge along his mother’s garden to pass notes to the girl next door. He was seven and she was nine, so naturally she knew everything he didn’t. She knew about the planets and why worms live in dirt and how to spell the word “catastrophe,” and Ushijima would’ve bet his whole weekly allowance that she was the coolest person in the world, if he knew what betting was. (She did, and once bet him half an ice cream sandwich that he couldn’t climb the oak tree in his backyard all the way to the top. He did, and then twisted his ankle on the way down, and she brought him an ice cream sandwich every day for a week as an apology.) She was all shiny, long black hair and dark eyes and fast words, nothing like the spring blooming around him.

You, on the other hand, are exactly the spring.

He stops at his favorite pastry place on the way to work to pick up two fresh cream donuts. The line is just dwindling from the height of the morning rush, so he manages to make it to the biology building just five minutes before he normally does.

Morning sun sends rainbows through the automatic misting spray as Ushijima unlocks the greenhouse door, letting a burst of humidity out into the rest of the building. The spiral-bound log book is there on the desk, a thick parchment bookmark sticking out from where whoever closed last night marked the page. 

Ushijima places his backpack and pastry bag on the desk and reaches to hang his key on its hook just when there’s a knock on the door.

“I know I’m early,” you start, edging your way into the room with a paper coffee cup in each hand. “But I saw it was already open, so...”

Ushijima smiles despite himself. In their second year Oikawa Tooru had told him that his smiles can be unnerving, but he can’t help it right now. You look so lovely today, in jeans and a silky tank top, with a certain morning tenderness in the way you hold yourself.

“It’s okay, come in. I just need to check the temperature controls and I’ll be done opening.”

“Sounds good,” you reply, smiling back.

As he makes his way to the temp controls on the Southern wall, you perch on the wooden stool and set down the coffee.

With his back turned to you for a moment, you allow yourself to slouch, planting two hands on the table and stretching your shoulders with a sigh. It’s earlier than you normally get out of bed, let alone actually leave your apartment, and you can already feel a quiet exhaustion setting into your bones.

But this is worth it, you remind yourself. Worth it to talk to the beautiful boy with broad shoulders and gentle hands.

He’d been unexpected. That first day in the greenhouse, you’d sat down with the intention to calm down from a tedious school day and nothing more. Your hands had moved of their own volition on that second drawing of the orange branch, scribbling out a hasty message that made your cheeks burn. But he was so present that day, in the corner of your eye but staying respectfully out of your space. And you’re not blind -- you saw the muscles under his shirt as he lifted an entire small tree in its pot. You saw the startling shade of green his eyes took on in the sun. You saw it all, and it drew you back, and now you’re here.

When he joins you back at the table, leaning back against it to face you, you stick out your hand and offer your name.

He looks at it for a moment, then back at you.

“I just, uh, realized we never properly introduced ourselves,” you explain, with a hesitant smile.

He smiles again and your heart thuds, then his big hand engulfs yours and he shakes it firmly.

“Wakatoshi. It’s nice to meet you.”

You learn in the following weeks of coming to the greenhouse that Wakatoshi doesn’t like coffee. But he does like tea and donuts, so that’s what you bring him on the mornings you can find it in you to wake up before nine. You sit with him in the greenhouse, talking and listening as he records data and waters plants and sits next to you on the quilt you’ve fallen into the habit of bringing. The occasional professor or student comes through, and you get to watch Wakatoshi show off his brains when he leaves you to help them.

There are several things you learn about him over those weeks. Number one: he never minces words. Two: he prefers grapefruit chapstick over anything else. And three: he kisses like it’s his last day on Earth.

You discover number three late one night when you decide to drop by after class, shooting him a text to make sure he’s still there. Today he’s closing instead of opening, and you missed spending your morning with him.

The city lights cast a different kind of glow at this time of night. They add a distance to everything that’s palpable as you drop your bag by the door.

“Toshi, are you here-- oh, hi.” You turn the corner to find him closing the door to the supply closet.

His cheekbones are highlighted briefly by a billboard outside flashing red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired. And I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?”

He takes a step towards you and you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep your eyes on his. They’re leaf green and unreadable.

“Yeah, uh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, “is that okay?”

“Yes.” He pauses for a long time, then, watching you carefully in the neon glow of the exit sign. His hand shakes as it reaches up to push your glasses from your face onto your head.

Without them, he looks fuzzy and soft around the edges.

He says, “Can I kiss you?” and it feels like there’s a bird trapped in your ribcage.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi kisses nothing like you expected, all tongues and teeth and heavy fingers in the dip of your waist. He growls when you gasp and mewl against him, sucking on your lower lip as your hands find purchase in his shirt. He kisses you so absolutely breathless that you think you might pass out. Your knees buckle and you pull away, gasping with your eyes closed for a moment until you come back to yourself.

“Are you alright, little one?”

The endearment makes your cheeks flush with heat and your eyes snap open.

“Yes, I’m alright. Please do it again.”

And so he does it again, and again, and again until you find yourself bringing him home with you on the last bus that goes towards your neighborhood. He’s standing in the aisle, one hand wrapped around a pole and the other wound around you, who’s standing in front of him. He keeps you steady as the bus rounds a corner.

That night, you bring the peace of the greenhouse into your home, and the only thing you find yourself wishing for is that it never leaves.

[kim-monsterlings]

Cathair - M Kelpie x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; childhood friends, mentions of inflicted harm to reader (near drowning, scar on left upper arm), minor angst, allusions to death, growing fluff, hugging and intimate embraces, kissing, receiving oral, fading out/allusions to more NSFW - if there is anything else anyone would like added, let me know <3

Wordcount: 5292

Faebruary Summary: after abandoning your childhood home, the memory of your kelpie and your feelings for him draw you back

Notes: apologies for this being so delayed! I had some time off at the beginning of the year, but the lovely Cathair is finally here. I hope you love him! <3

Masterlist // Faebruary Masterlist

Gentle embraces left dark impressions on your back from grieving family; grieving in anticipation, as you travelled the miles to your hometown. Their farewells - certain they would be an eternal goodbye, rang as your only company the closer you came to your abandoned house near the valley.

 Crowded by the creeping tree line, it rested abandoned for years. Only faint memory beckoned you through brambles to the smallest clearing, a far way from the closest bus stop, that itself farther from the train station.

 Packing light hadn't eased the burden of returning, though you wouldn't stay long. The guise of wanting to pack up your old things would wane after several days, and if that hadn't yet exhausted you, the trial of rekindling what you remembered as more than friendship with the woodland kelpie would.

 If he hadn't drowned you by then.

 Somehow, your home still stood. Neglected and damaged but there all the same. Untouched without your needing to check: this land cursed by folk wasn't sought after. It had always been your family's, no matter how disputed by the creatures rarely emerging from their murky rivers.

 Yet you went in the hopes of finding the kelpie. Your sister's wishing for your wellbeing manifested in delicately crafted charms. Blair's wards were useless against the likes of man-eating creatures, and only somewhat effective against true fae. It hung all the same, like the silver bridle fell at your kelpie's throat across the clearing.

 It was only right for Cathair to guard his territory.

 Standing before you like a daydream, the dark horse pawed with gnarled hooves before your old home. Too far to see the unforgettable glow in his blackened eyes, the glinting moss tangled in a thick mane danced in the soft wind. The sense of unease at being so close to him twisted your navel, though not from fear like it once had; from pain at seeing him after so long, and now wanting to flee.

 With a deep dig at the damp earth, Cathair moved. Faint sunlight glinted along his flank, an eerie sheen forcing your stare down. Today, you wouldn't challenge him. Not so soon, with a low breath close enough to chill through to your bones.

 Jagged teeth snapped not far from your shoulder: a warning, and one you wouldn't heed. He passed with a scent so familiar you nearly reached out, desperate for the rush of warmth his thin frame could bring when curled around you.

 Instead, you settled for looking back when he left to the trees. "I missed you, Cathair."

 With the swish of his tail, the faint scar on your left arm ached. The light of the clearing vanished into the woods too, away from you and nearer the body of deep water a short walk away; close enough someone could run off unnoticed. How cold it was rushed back to you. The emptiness beneath the surface drove you into the untouched house, onto old floorboards creaking with every step.

 You had given yourself three days. Optimistic, Blair said. She gave you an hour, whispered onto your shoulder as she saw you off.

 If he came near enough to question why, after so long hiding, after years of silence from disappearing late in the night, your excuse would be the same you told your family, though nobody believed it. You wondered if he would cling to the lie and hope you left again.

 The same mess waited indoors, of scattered possessions too insignificant, left behind while the mark of a kelpie stung fresh on your arm, and his kin, your friend, chased you away as you ran.

 If he came closer again, you would tell him the truth. That Cathair's brutality in defending you as you nearly drowned hadn't forced you away, but his family had. It was the fault of his brother for seeking you out and dragging you down the banks into cold water. Cathair saved you.

 The fresh bedsheets almost smelled like him.

 Coming home brought a sleep long into the morning. Even as a lie, you still began sifting through old diaries, some with handwriting far harder to read than the delicate script from your family. This curled and looped inconsistently, signed by the little boy with dark hair, always your shadow in photographs pinned to the pages.

 The photos told the same stories of the friendship you remembered, while your sister preferred the safety of indoors until night, when the child with a smile wider and brighter than yours returned to the woods. They told of you both growing up, just out of reach of Cathair's family - before his brother came from the waters in his footsteps.

 By the time your back ached from leaning over faded pages, it was late afternoon. The groove deep outside the threshold hadn't been crossed. Even left untouched, the figure lurking in the forest darted closer. Out of view, but there.

 Here.

 The empty bag on your shoulder swung when you reached for your phone, unsurprised to find the call from Blair. You'd told her of your arrival, reassuring her - and everyone she would then turn to, that you hadn't yet been stolen by fae folk.

 Surviving the night was different, and her breath caught on the other end when you answered with, "I'm alive and unharmed. You can stop checking on me."

 "Never," she said, her small, light laugh rushing over you. "Is it still standing?"

 "Barely."

 The doorframe held beneath your shoulder. Blair replied, something quiet and nonsense. This was all padding until she could pester for more and as she fretted, you looked to the sheen of moss along the kelpie's mane, cautiously stepping from the trees.

 "Hello?"

 "Sorry. I'm here," you said, and your sister cleared her throat.

 Blair spoke softer, as though knowing where your focus drifted in the pause. "His necklace," she said and even through the trees, the slight reflection of the bridle glinted low on the kelpie's chest. "Have you broken him?"

 "He doesn't need breaking. He never has." Her sigh followed yours. Cathair held steady among the trees as you came to stand further from the door, and a part of you hoped he heard as you said, "I trust him."

 "You trust the kin of the kelpie who tried to drown you?"

 His ears twitching may have been coincidence before, but the rising of his head couldn't be. Your stare held. "With my life."

 There was little more to say to one another. They disapproved and you didn't care. The impasse was as old as you, so you promised to speak later - to reassure her that you were still alive with a promise you would be home soon, before shrugging your bag right and drawing in a breath.

 "Cathair?"

 Hooves stepped forth. Still not the form you wished for - not the sweet embrace, the lilting charm inherent in folk - but the dark horse revealing himself completely now still tripped your pulse.

 "Hi," you whispered, quiet, but he heard as well as he heard your call, his tail whipping. "Is it just you? Not... not your family?"

 His muzzle twisted. With the inherent threat, you had to swallow a laugh. It only lured you further from the safety of your home. This creature, this gentle kelpie responsible for saving your life, wouldn’t harm you, and still, the land hadn't disturbed your rest. A family of kelpies would've sought the first trespassing human out in a night, or less.

 Cathair's head fell low. Yes. Only him.

 Nothing betrayed the fate of his family, even as his ears continued twitching back. However they came to leave their land, whatever chased them or otherwise, it was well-deserved. Your deep scar ached as you reached to scratch it, drawing sharpened eyes before the shadows embraced enshrouded again.

 Branches parted for his wide form and created a path you followed. It veered down to the water, the path well-trodden - one you remembered clear enough, from only one journey down - but you turned away.

 Unfamiliar faces watched you walk through the town you once called home. The few you remembered, friends you thought of as family, like distant cousins, had followed yours in moving away from land plagued by folk, and you busied yourself in buying the supplies you needed for the rest of your stay, if not a little extra, too.

 You were home within the hour, bag weighed down by fresh food, a small first aid kit - as a precaution, and a heavy bundle of meat in your arms. If there hadn't been a curled horse before your home, the fresh scent would've enticed him from the water.

 "Did you miss me?" His head lifted, only enough to narrow at the bundle. The trembling energy tight in your stomach pulled you closer. "Did you think I'd leave so soon?"

 Cathair rose, though you held steady; you had to. Muscles locked as the creature with unnatural jaws crept closer, your throat tight. Hot breaths fanned across your face, the kelpie standing well over you. Like this, the allure of his bridle made your fingers twitch.

 If he were human, nothing would have stopped you from leaning into him.

 Instead, you lifted your chin. "Want an apple?"

 Dark ears twitched forward, a faint green to his coat enough for your fingers to curl against reaching for him. This close, even looking at his chain was a feat itself; any other kelpie would have reared back from the looming threat of subjugation. Extending your hand never made you fear an extra nip to your fingertips, but still, your breath caught. Only a slight lean closer and you would be near enough to snatch the bridle away, trapping him as he was now.

 You wanted him back, not trapped.

 One huff and the apple lifted from your palm, snatched by a jaw opening too far, flesh jagged like his teeth.

 "You're welcome," you teased. His tail twitched but he didn't move. When his head lowered, you couldn't help smiling. Cathair nudged his muzzle against your empty palm, nickering softly. "If you come back later, there may be spare meat for you."

 Reaching out had been ambitious. Cathair darted back before you could stroke his long mane and when he faded without turning, the constriction in your chest drew tighter.

 Banishing him from your thoughts wasn't so easy now you were no longer far from him. Out of sight perhaps, but only minutes from where you fretted over long-settled dust. It passed the time, to trace old etches into walls from hours playing with your sister, until it darkened enough outside that a faint glow from beyond the door beckoned you.

 That same glow haunted your nightmares after leaving, but soothed you again when you woke, finding comfort in the kelpie who had drawn you from the murky waters rather than sacrificing you to his kin.

 That need for comfort ached through you and it had been long enough after forcing yourself to eat something that you reached for a jacket. Not one breath from closing the door at your back, Cathair distanced himself. Water clung to his coat with a tangling of water reeds, knotted and thick. His tail swished at your approach but the unmistakable flaring of his nostrils brought you closer, beginning to smile.

 "Sit with me." Without looking to affirm what the coil in your stomach told you - that every scuffle of hooves was another further from you, the two wrapped bundles captivated him. "Please."

 Before you, he wouldn't eat. Not like this and not the meat remaining bundled in its wrapping. Cathair joined you, though. Remaining a fair distance and so far your fingertips tingled, forced into your lap and busied by reaching for your snack, in the hope he would join you not like this.

 Faced with a kelpie now, heat crept along your cheekbones. That Cathair came at all held you from retreating.

 "My sister says hi," you began, picking at one half of the sandwiches, the one intended for you. His ears flicked. "They all do."

 And it wasn’t a lie so much as a twisted truth. They missed being here, not necessarily him. Had the rush of hot air not been enough to signify his irritation, the short whinny was plenty. Best not to inform him of their predictions for your improbable journey home.

 You pushed the bundle to your back and inched closer. "Have you been alone all this time? Is your family... are they gone?" Head lifting, he nickered as he had that afternoon and even quieter than him, you whispered, "thank you." For saving me.

 Whatever laid at the bottom of his territory - whatever was left to, was none of your concern. The kelpie unsettled was, who only shivered worse at your nearing again.

 "I wanted to visit. Often. If you had chased me away again," your jaw locked against the words. "It would have broken me, Cathair. Did you miss me, too?"

 Not one twitch appeased you. Not one turn to his ears nor stretch of his torn muzzle eased the pang in your chest, thudding like a rib had cracked. The press of your fist into your stomach didn’t lessen it, either.

 The curl to your lips wasn't much a smile, reaching your cheeks but not your eyes. Every forced breath scratched your throat. "It's late. Don't you ignore me, okay?"

 He remained still while your muscles barely held beneath you. The bundle rested nearer him with every step towards the cabin.

 And with every breath taken further from him, the truth in Blair's pleas for you to stay throbbed in your temples. How could you know if Cathair had wanted you to return? If the same kelpie who ensured you left his land longed for you, too, then his snapping jaws wouldn't have mirrored the jaws of his kin when dragging your drowning body under the surface.

 If it was nothing more than a wilful fantasy, the soft groan at your back was a hallucination. Rougher pants and deeper grunts spurred your heart into a flurry. While he underwent a change so torturous you could only imagine, you clutched the doorframe with white knuckles for support.

 Without an audible footstep, heat pressed to your back. Hastened breaths nestled against your hair, lips pressing to your crown. It strained your senses when he whispered your name, with his arms creeping around your waist and drawing you to him, back from the door.

 Grooves to his palm tickled brushing to yours. Cathair slid his fingers down, and swayed when you softened to his chest. Turning as far as his shoulder, your kissed the pale skin, gently first, before returning the favour and stealing a breath of his scent.

 Kelpies hardly changed far from humans, and he had been so alone. The embrace eased your tremors to little more than a whisper at his chest. "Will you come inside?"

 He only hummed low, breathing, "no."

 So simple, yet one syllable broke you. He held you from turning completely, his fingertips stroking the backs of your hands. "Why not?"

 "No," he said. Large palms fell to run down your thighs and against your hips, binding you to him. Familiar muscle from his bare frame tensed and the press of a chain dug into your back. "Not alone with you."

 Before you asked again, his touch flitted against your upper arm. The tracing of your scar left you paralysed long after his return into the woods.

 No matter how far you dared venture along the same path he followed, no flitting shadow rose. No prints from hooves or bare feet led you to him but that scar ached how it never had before.

 The softest touch from a window left open along your arm cradled you in your sleep, tricking you into believing he finally came to you. Old nights of the window opening wide enough for a slender frame to sneak indoors came to mind and the wind mimicked his embrace, careful, and always cold.

 But he hadn't come inside. He wouldn't.

 Little remained to sort through. Meaningless and pointless now to complete, yet you wasted the day sifting through them. Some - sketchbooks, usually - settled with smeared prints, like someone had traced where you had before leaving. You ran over the jagged edges left from torn pages, matching the paper you had rushed to carry away; portraits of him, old messages passed in notebooks. More pages were missing, though.

 Maybe the faint scent lingering on old bedsheets hadn't been just wishful thoughts.

 Only for fresh air, you cracked the door open late that night. To find bright eyes fixated on you frightened you back, staggering against the frame, forgetting in that second who watched.

 He never faltered.

 Guilt gnawed at you the longer you stood in the doorway, but you wouldn't go further with his heavy tail swishing, no doubt his sharp teeth bared if you approached now, so late.

 "Cathair," you whispered, and his dark form moved with a trembling shudder. "I'll leave soon. Just... just come in, and sleep warm. I feel bad enough as it is." When fae folk made no move to come closer, you sighed and let the door close, calling, "goodnight."

 Collapsing onto the cushions in the dark living room was followed by chills creeping over you. With the land of a kelpie came an unease, a familiarity haunting every sight. Not every night could be so peaceful and you tossed restlessly, until the first rap of the door felt more like your thoughts taunting you than reality.

 For one, slow step indoors, your intended bed for the night hadn't been within his line of sight, but Cathair turned only to you. The door closed at his back and he crept closer, bare from the hips up - clad only in torn fabric hanging from his thighs, hardly covering him. Soft light cast a gentler glow on him now, along the dark hairs of his chest, the impression of bone ghosting his thin frame. You longed to touch him where you used to, along the curve of his collarbones, where you once toyed with his necklace without ever contemplating breaking him.

 Blair would tell you to snatch it from him, to bring him to his knees. You would have him, your Cathair, then, but he wouldn’t be the same - not trapped and enslaved.

 You couldn’t move. When he fell before you to his knees, a hand rising slowly, you relished in the familiar heat leaning over you. Moss-thickened hair framed sharp features, clinging to his pale flesh. Beneath that silken hair, thin slits to his neck flattened now on land. He touched your cheek with slow, deep breaths.

 Then he softened, fingertips running down your throat. "You are too comfortable around me."

 It was too late for an argument, any debate - and it would be a fight. You wouldn't stop until Cathair welcomed you like he used to, with his smile unnaturally wide and long arms curling you close, but now was too late, too dark in your moon-lit lounge.

 This may have been the first time Cathair came through the door in your presence. It was unheard of for a kelpie to pine after a human, but to follow through; to slip into your bed and kiss you, careful to hide his daggered teeth, only enticed his family. It made you a challenge.

 The cushion became your pillow after you kissed his palm and his touch fell back. With the room dark and your trust implicit, you closed your eyes. As hesitant as to your cheek, his fingertips fell down your waist.

 "There is room for two here," you whispered. "Room for two in the bed. In our-"

 His chest warmed beneath your cheek and with each careful stride nearer the bedroom once shared in secret, his heart beat harder under your temple. The weight of his bridle tucked near your crown, hanging heavy from his throat but you rested by his shoulder rather than risk hurting him.

 "I do miss you," you said quietly. Your hand stroked down the slope of his chest, hugging him closer. “I really do.”

 His breath warmed your cheek. "You're tired."

 "Tired of wishing you stayed."

 Cathair stiffened around you for the slightest moment. "I never left."

 The first bend to his knees came and you made to lean back, only for a rough grunt to choke in his throat. He held you close until the bedsheets made space before laying you back, lingering only to tuck back your hair.

 "Cathair-"

 "Goodnight."

 The lithe muscles to his back rippled at your fingers on his wrist. His arm to your lips made him swallow hard, the kiss softening just below his elbow, where the scar forever wounding your arm rested.

 "Will you stay? Stay on the sofa."

 He turned, a kiss returned to your palm, a hint of a small smile, before the bedroom door closed. The fleeting skim of teeth warmed your stomach in a rush of everything but fear.

 You woke at the front door closing.

 Blair, in the least, didn't approve. Your parents wouldn't be told of your late night visit, and you couldn't promise your sister it wouldn't happen again. Not as you tightened your coat around your chest and followed the path laid by hooves.

 Thick boots couldn't steady you over damp earth and fallen leaves. With every step from your home, the woods quieted. Bird songs softened until your steps alone rang in the air.

 That pool left you frozen, the creature within looking so much like another pale-bodied being that strength escaped you. Several years before, that cold water rushed into your lungs. How he could swim in it, live in it, reminded you of the nature of the man wading deeper.

 And still, you would give anything to be with him again.

 The figure waist-deep tilted his head. Thin hair floated with the murky water, rippling against the shadows of his lithe muscles.

 "When will you leave?"

 The invitation back indoors fell silent at your lips. Cathair held his palms where water ran, a glimmer from his chain against the surface. He strode deeper in your silence, up to his shoulders blades. Following him even into deserted waters, no matter your trust, couldn't happen today, and he crept to his throat.

 "You said you would leave me again. Soon. So," he murmured, head tipping back, moss clinging to his crown. "Go."

 Before he fell, before he returned to pretending you weren't here, you dug your feet deeper into the ground. "I'm here. You forced us out, too," you called, harsh and unsympathetic to the sudden locking of his muscles. "I wanted to be with you, Cathair. I want...” When your words trembled, the sting rose to blur your vision. "Send me away. I won't come back again."

 Halfway home, your foot fell from a loose stone. The soft whisper of your name on the wind beckoned you back, though you continued until you could collapse on a bed he used to lay beside you on, aching to call Blair, though her patronising would worsen your suffering. Either you drowned or returned miserable and all you wanted was the kelpie hiding from you.

 If he wouldn't come to you within the next days, you would be home in less than week. The fresh air walking to town spared you the time to torment yourself with thoughts of him, busy feigning passing smiles, hoping nobody would recognise you as the girl who nearly became a kelpie's prey; the girl who still wanted one.

 Before dark, you rested surrounded by disorganized possessions that ought to be burned, lest you turn to them again for comfort. Some things you posted home that day, old scraps and photos, but there was nothing more you could do to busy yourself.

 Nothing more to do than close your eyes against the trick of light nearing your home.

 Still, he knocked, as though you would refuse him. You didn't answer, either way.

 "Bags?" Hardly a step through the open bedroom door, he whispered and stilled. Careful touches flitted over the straps, following the abandoned pile of clothes for the journey home beside them. His body fell with all the grace of something other, cradling your loose scarf and bringing it to his face. When his eyes closed, your heart lurched.

 "You're forcing me away again."

 His shoulders hunched. The scarf muffled him before he clutched it in a tight fist, stroking the material. "This coming morning?"

 As you intended, he flinched when you said, "I have no reason to stay."

 Cathair came closer in the dim light, and you struggled to sit up faced with his sudden decision to cross the distance. He was bare, the pale of his body tinged, bar the necklace dangling down his chest. Your scarf fell now you were within his hold. When he reached out to you, his fingers were cold on your cheek, slender and running back to lift your head.

 "I wanted you to have my bridle." Breath left you on a sharp rush, and Cathair pressed himself closer. He cradled your face and when his seemingly empty eyes found yours, he held you there. They glistened. "Before you left, it was to be yours."

 The last time you had seen him, in the thick of night and holding back a cry, he hadn't spoken. You told yourself it must have been the same pain at being apart, that he would miss you just as much, then he never reached out, never replied to letters delivered here, so you fought to move on, too.

 But looking at him now, fallen onto his knees and offering servitude, your heart broke for him. Cathair curled his fingers at your waist and clutched the thin slip when you turned, and he bowed his head to lean against your thighs.

 "I don't blame you for that night," you said quietly. His shoulders rose with a sharp breath. His raven hair had the same shimmering to it as his body when you brushed back the thin strands, careful to avoid jostling him. "I trust you. I chose to befriend you, Cathair, and you saved me when your brother-"

 "You left."

 The scar on your arm throbbed with a phantom pain at the memory of sharp teeth catching at you. No human could dismount a kelpie, and Cathair swung to help, to fight off his brother, but dislodging you would leave you helpless again in a river of kelpies unable to swim with a wound so deep. Saving you from drowning first then protecting you, he had nothing to guilt himself for.

 Then you left.

 That same night he whinnied and rose from the riverbed as you ran. He followed not far behind, tail swishing fast until he turned and left you fleeing.

 Cathair hardly reacted when you touched the thin bridle, but he lifted his head, eyes round and shadowed. "It is yours. Take it."

 "I don't need the bridle to trust you. Unless you... unless you want to leave, to live out your life in that form, then I won't take it."

 "Why?"

 "I don't want to enslave you!"

 His thin lips rose in an eerie semblance of a smile. "Why do you trust me?"

 "Cathair," you whispered, and it was you reaching to frame his cold face, brushing your thumbs beneath his eyes. His lips turned to your wrist. "Why wouldn't I? I've loved you my whole life, and you've never once abused my trust. You've never once hurt me, tried to drown me or eat me-"

 His teeth nicked at your wrist, though he was fast to kiss the soft skin again, a warmth in his voice when he spoke. "I could."

 "You could. Do you want to?"

 His body rose, leaning on his knees with large hands gentle on your thighs, before pressing his lips to yours. Tenderly, without moving for a breath when you held still, desperately trying to hold yourself back from scaring him away.

 Cathair fell back with a soft thud. The brush of his hands upwards made you soften, but you mistook it for a way to hold you, not the question it was when his thumbs dipped and pressed your legs to part. He bowed low and brought his lips to your inner thigh, drawing in slow, steady breaths, before his lips softened on the thin fabric barring him from your body.

 "Do you trust me?"

 "With my life."

 "I want to taste you."

 With his touch guiding you, Cathair laid a warming hand to your stomach. He ushered you back, fingers tugging at your underwear until you were bare, your slip thrown away.

 He trembled and lifted your thighs up to his shoulders, breathing deep, and the first kiss was experimental. He watched you tighten, your legs coming to press at his head until he returned low, guiding his hot kisses down before letting his tongue slip against you, and you cried his name. As you gasped now, it came different to when you spoke to him in the woods, with such power he himself groaned, and when he tasted you again, ran his nose up to nudge against your flushed nerves.

 "You taste divine."

 Rougher breaths flushed against your bare heat, awakening the heat molten in your navel. Like he knew, Cathair looked up, holding your desperate stare before his lips came around your flushing clit. Your hips bucked and he sucked, drawing a rough cry from your throat.

 "That's it," he murmured. "Let me have you on my tongue."

 Too flustered, too lost in the gentle touches, his hand running up your stomach to run against your breast made you arch into him. Cathair's soft laugh made you keen, his fingers teasing your nipple and rolling it beneath his thumb. The other hand, though it slipped your attention, too, began to stroke low, and his middle finger curled itself to the knuckle. Each crook of it had your stomach flipping, and he eased another, stroking against your tight walls until you whimpered.

 "Please- I'm close-"

 "I know, love," he whispered, and his fingers pressed you wide for his thick tongue to dip up, to taste you there. Tension tangled heavy in your stomach and he curled his fingers once more, the cold touch of a chain against your thigh a stark difference to how hot his breaths were, lapping with fire. "Show me how much you love me," he murmured, and his lips caught your bud of nerves as you screamed his name and your vision blurred. His sharp teeth grazed where you were most sensitive before chasing your release, kissing up your thighs and still moving his fingers in a way that had you unable to breathe properly. Cathair settled back and with your eyes on him, brought his slick fingers to his mouth, groaning. "You taste like heaven."

 You fell back with a heavy head, and he came to lay by your side, soft lips to yours. The taste of you was thick on his tongue, and he laid over you with a hand smoothing back down your stomach. He held you close, his own body hot and pressing into yours.

 "I want to stay," you whispered, and reached to bring him impossibly closer. "I want to stay here and be with you again."

 Cathair's small smile warmed your heart. As you both curled back against the bed, the kelpie lost in touching your smooth skin, he took your lips again and promised, "I'll always stay with you."

[live-the-fangirl-life]

A Starlit Swim

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Skinny Dipping Oneshot

Aelin shows Rowan to a lovely, secluded spot.

Written for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 14: Skinny Dipping

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Lightest NSFW

1547 words

*******

“Shh!” Aelin hissed through a giggle, too loudly to be an actual reprimand.

Rowan snorted and kept a firm grip on his girlfriend’s hand as she pulled him through the woods towards what she insisted was a nice secluded spot.

“Aelin,” he shot his free hand out to steady her waist as she stumbled over a fallen branch, before righting herself and sending a quick smile over her shoulder. “Aelin, I didn’t say anything. That was all you.”

She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore his point as she kept leading him down a path that only she was aware of.

The soccer team at Terrasen University had just won the championships, and as a Co-Captain, Rowan was very much to thank for that. He and the team set up a bonfire down by one of the lakes to celebrate. But what originally started as the team, their significant others, and friends, soon devolved into a full-on rager the moment some idiot posted a video on Instagram. Now, the entire lake and woods a couple of miles outside campus were crawling with excited, drunk college kids who were all celebrating the victory.

Rowan had been happy standing by the large fire with Aelin leaning into him, her back pressed to his chest with his arms looped her waist and his chin resting on her head. Lorcan and Elide were next to them, standing similarly, although Elide had to stand on one of the logs in order for Lorcan’s chin to reach her hair. Fenrys danced around handing out more drinks to everybody, while Lysandra and Aedion were somewhere in the group of people dancing by the speakers. Rowan had spotted more of his teammates around and recognized a couple of faces of people from classes in the hordes of partygoers, but he was perfectly content being with his small group of friends by the fire.

Until Aelin tugged his arm, urging him to lower his head so she could whisper into his ear. She’d said she knew of a hidden spot a little further into the woods, and that they should sneak off while everyone else was distracted. He almost argued, saying he was fine right where they were, but then she turned in his arms and kissed him in a way that had every coherent thought flying out of his head. He could only grin and nod as she pulled away satisfied and grabbed his hand.

So, now, Rowan was following Aelin as she maneuvered through the trees to this supposedly special spot.

They’d walked far enough that Rowan could no longer hear the music or voices from the party.

“Aelin, where are we going?” He hissed as he nearly tripped over another tree branch.

Aelin only giggled and shushed him again. A moment later she told him, in a horrifically bad haunting accent, “I’m luring you into the woods to kill you. No one will find your body.” Her laughter decimated the fake threat.

Rolling his eyes, Rowan snickered, “Nah, you like me too much to kill me.”

She looked back, almost tripping again as she winked, “I guess.” He caught her lip twitch as she unsuccessfully fought a smile.

“You guess?” he grumbled.

Aelin stopped abruptly and Rowan nearly sent them crashing to the ground before he stopped moving. She turned to face him and the next thing he knew, she was kissing the living daylights out of him. Rowan reacted instantly, the slight haze from a couple beers making him feel even lighter. Aelin pulled away before they got too carried away and ended up rolling in the leaves and dirt.

“Okay, maybe I do like you too much to kill you.”

Rowan laughed and Aelin grinned before spinning around and resuming her mission of pulling him through the woods to wherever she was imagining.

“Seriously, Fireheart,” he asked again as the trees slowly thinned out around them. “Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, Aelin’s giggling filled the air again.

Rowan chuckled under his breath; this was three-drink Aelin escorting him, then. It hadn’t taken Rowan long to notice Aelin’s varying drunk personalities. One-drink Aelin was affectionately named The Megaphone, the buzz of alcohol making her yell and shout. Two-drink Aelin, The Instigator, believed her purpose in life was encourage their friends to act on their ridiculous, sometimes insane, plans. Three-drink Aelin, this Aelin, was The Giggler because for whatever reason she found everything absolutely hilarious.

Rowan was also familiar with four-drink Aelin: The Horndog, who wouldn’t be dissuaded by a party full of people when she’d straddle his lap and practically jump him right there on the spot. Or, five-drink Aelin: The Francophone who gave up all use of their language and spoke solely in French. He wasn’t sure what six-drink Aelin was like—none of their friends were—but once, Rowan had witnessed seven-drink Aelin, forever deemed The Queen, because she’d insisted everyone call her Your Majesty and Queen Galathynius (Lorcan had quickly dubbed her Fire Breathing Bitch Queen much to her utter delight) and, just Rowan: Milady.

Aelin giggled again as she swayed trying to duck beneath a branch and Rowan gripped her hand tighter as he reached above her to push the leaves aside. It took him a second to take in what he was looking at. Aelin had led him to the edge of a small lake hidden within the forest. The sky was visible through the small openings between branches that stretched across the width of the lake, allowing Rowan to see the stars that were normally invisible by the lights of the city.

“How…” he trailed off, facing Aelin again to see her watching him with a rare, tentative expression.

“What do you think?” She asked hopefully.

Rowan stepped closer to her, pulling her into his arms. “Its beautiful, Fireheart. How did you ever find this place?”

She smirked and giggled again. “Magic.”

He raised a brow, amused, and waited.

Aelin sighed dramatically and tipped her head back, “Fine, Buzzard, if you want the boring answer it’s that I was out on a run one day and got distracted and lost and accidentally stumbled onto this place. It doesn’t look like anyone else comes here. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway.”

Rowan’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her against him and grinning at her breathless gasp. Leaning down so his nose brushed her ear, he asked, “No one?”

She pulled back and flashed him a wicked grin. “Nope. You know what that means right?”

When all Rowan did was return her grin, she slipped out of his arms and stepped closer to the edge of the water. Aelin held his gaze, winking again, and she slowly lifted her shirt and tossed it aside.

Rowan crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby tree and smirked, content to watch the show his girlfriend was giving him. His gaze never left hers as she reached down to unbutton her jeans before rolling those down and throwing them into the pile with her shirt.

When she was standing there in just her underwear and bra she paused, raising a brow at Rowan.

“Well are you going to join me, Buzzard? Or are you just going to watch?” Her smirk told him there was only one right answer.

He slowly stalked towards her, his eyes darkening as she bit her lip while she watched him. When they were almost chest to chest, he gripped the back of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head, smirking at the way Aelin eyes roamed across his bare chest.

Once his pants were off, he grabbed her hand and made to lead her towards the water. Aelin followed without hesitation, only stopping once her feet hit the water.

“What?” Rowan asked, wading into the pleasantly warm lake and raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend still standing on the bank. “I thought you wanted to swim.”

She smirked, her eyes glinting in the reflected starlight. “Not exactly.”

Before he could ask what she meant, Aelin’s hand flew behind her to unclasp her bra, quickly pulling it off before slipping her underwear down her and throwing them into their growing pile of clothes.

Rowan practically growled as Aelin strutted into the water without a shred of clothing. Before she even reached him, Aelin watched as Rowan tossed his sopping wet briefs across the water and heard them land with a slap on the dry rocks.

When she got close enough, Rowan’s hand wrapped around her wrist and then her waist to pull her body flush with his. Aelin wove her wet fingers through his hair and wrapped her legs around his waist as their lips came together in a fierce kiss.

After a few minutes they pulled away, breathing heavily, and savoring the feeling of swollen lips and the other’s arms wrapped around them.

“Have you ever been skinny dipping before?” Aelin asked coyly, looking at Rowan through her eyelashes.

He ran a broad hand down her back, “Can’t say I have.”

She grinned, already having known his answer. “Then allow me to show you how fun it can be.”

By the time Aelin and Rowan meandered out of the woods, the hazy light of morning was just peeking through the trees.

*****

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[laequiem]

kiss you off my lips - folktober day 5

Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 05. She who pulls the strings @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar but seen through Nicasia/Cardan Greenbriar? lol

Rating: mature

Word count: 2,532

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

read on ao3

Masterlist • She kills my self-control masterpost

The Puppet King, my subjects call me. Allegedly, the Living Council pulls the strings, controlling me from behind the scenes. They think themselves subtle, but I hear their whispers. Their words, however, slide off my armor like rain. After all, I have heard them countless times, from other’s lips or from my own mind. I was my mother’s puppet, then Balekin, and now I am Jude’s.

Most days—more than a King, more than a marionette—I feel like a courtesan. Dabbling in steamy displays with courtiers I am barely interested in, all to keep the façade of the immoral king. I pretend at power, desperate for a nod of approval from my seneschal, while she does all the work. Of course, she had never asked me to whore myself out.

Until today.

I do not know who started our tumbling. Maybe I did, my anger blinding me to the foolishness of what we were about to do, in that small room behind the dais. Forgetting that touching Jude again would remind me of everything I have tried to forget since that day she rode me in her rooms. When I kissed her, that anger melted away, replaced immediately with the desire I have been helplessly fighting against for years.

Or maybe this was Jude’s plan all along. She is more faerie than she seems, at least in the way she schemes and bargains. I will charm Nicasia and get her the info she wants. In exchange, she gave me what I want: her.

Her tart taste lingers in my mouth. I did not kneel for her this time, but licking her taste off my fingers made me regret not indulging that particular thirst.

I find Nicasia easily, splendid in a pearl white gown, talking to Randalin. The small sprite does not stand a chance against her. His goat eyes shift towards me, then he bows deeply. Nicasia turns to me, unable to hide her surprise and delight that I have come to her.

“Cardan,” she croons.

Randalin chokes on nothing, animal eyes going wide. I raise a brow at Nicasia and cross my arms.

“Your Majesty,” she corrects herself, a purplish tint blossoming on her cheeks. I will never tire of this.

“Princess Nicasia.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Would you accompany me on a walk? For old time’s sake.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she beams up at me.

We make boring small talk as we walk, her arm looped around my elbow. The path leads us away from the Palace, towards the beach separating the Shifting Isles. Jude seemed to think Nicasia still liked me, and I suppose I can see it. She looks up at me with clear interest, though the conversation is as weary as can be. I work my charm up even more. A small hibiscus shrub blossoms as we walk past and I pluck a flower, tucking it in her hair with a calculated graze of my knuckles against her cheek.

The sea does not rise to greet us as we set foot on the sand.

“The sea is unnaturally calm,” I say.

I chuck off my shoes and Nicasia’s eyes dart straight to my bare feet. I hope Jude does not ask me if she was right that Nicasia still holds feelings for me, I fear I would not be able to lie.

“It is,” she says, turning back towards the sea.

I slowly uncuff my shirt for the second time today. I chase away the memories of Jude’s curious fingers on me. The way she explored and grabbed at me like she needed to figure me out, to plan out how to efficiently unravel me next time.

Next time.

I hope there is a next time.

“I must admit I am surprised,” I tell her nonchalantly, "I thought the Undersea always made true on their threats.”

I will the nearest tree to stretch out a branch towards me. I unbutton my shirt and remove it, then hang it on the branch.

“What do you mean?” Nicasia asks.

She turns to me. The way she devours me with her eyes takes me back to a time of shared wickedness and complicity. A time when it was us against the world, a time when she chose me over my siblings.

Until she chose Locke over me.

Now do you believe me that she wants you? Jude had asked. I suppose I do.

At one point, this look on Nicasia’s face would have set all my nerves on fire. Now, I feel the same as when strangers ogle me.

“Cleave together lest you face the rising tide,” I singsong, reciting the words from Queen Orlagh’s minion at the Hunter’s Moon revel in the same melody they used. “Yet the sea stays quiet. I take it your kind has another plan.”

I reach for the lace holding together my breeches and pull at the knot. Nicasia looks down at her hands, suddenly captivated by her nails.

“Perhaps,” she says too quickly. “Or perhaps we hope you will come to your senses.”

“We all hope so.”

Including me. Just not about this particular issue. My issue is of the mortal kind, the kind who deals in secrets and knives.

I hang my pants next to my shirt. Nicasia is still fully dressed, standing with her back straight and her lips tightly shut. I stop in front of her and trail a finger up her arm before slipping it under one of the straps of her dress.

“Will you not join me, Princess?”

My tail brushes up her spine and she arches towards me. I don’t wait for her to answer, though. I run into the sea.

The water is cold, unwelcoming. Before becoming High King, the salt water would not have bothered me as much. With only minor magic, only ingesting salt would have hurt me. Now, it grates at my skin like sandpaper, as if eating away my skin to get to the magic within. My magic recoils from any part of me in contact with the water. It’s heinous. I would rather take a dip in the Lake of Masks.

On the shore, Nicasia strips off her dress, hose, heels, tiara, everything. Then, she runs towards the water in a wave of blue-tinged skin and blue hair. She dives under, agile and more in her element than I could ever be.

She resurfaces next to me, a smile on her painted lips.

“Like old times,” she says.

“Like old times, but so much more complicated.” I sigh, then cast my line. “It used to be so easy.”

She takes a step towards me, biting the bait. “What was?”

And I reel it in.

“Everything,” I say with a frown. I take a step towards her, and put my hand on her cheek. “Us.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly.

“It does.” I sigh again. “Do you realize how hard it is to please everyone? The Living Council is always on my case. And my seneschal—”

She groans. “Why do you even keep her around?”

Because she commands me. Because she is the true ruler of Elfhame. Because I love her.

“I have to.”

Nicasia puts her hand over mine. Her fingers are webbed now, I notice. No gills, however. I suppose she knows I have no desire to ever follow her under again. Now that I am High King, I don’t have to—unlike when I was no more than the lover of the Future Queen of the Undersea.

I wonder if Nicasia notices the way I look at Jude. I wonder if I used to look at her like that, or if it was something else. I did love Nicasia, once, but it was never as labyrinthine.

I try to emulate that look just now, I try to look at her like I used to. Nicasia is still the same beautiful creature she always was: a perfectly symmetrical face composed of sharp angles and large, deep eyes. She is beautiful in the way a painting is, a piece of art to be admired. Just like art, she can make you feel things—but it’s nothing as primordial as what I feel for Jude. Like she is the beating heart I am tethered to.

“There are things I can choose for myself.”

I stroke her cheek with my thumb. She leans into my touch, angling her head towards my hand.

“… things?” Nicasia asks.

“Lovers. Consorts.” I lean in towards her ear and whisper, “A Queen.”

The words sound so wrong, they claw at my throat as they come out. I am surprised I can even say them, but they are not lies. I simply have no desire to make Nicasia any of these things.

“Ca—Your Majesty,” she gasps.

“We’re in private. Cardan is fine.”

I kiss the soft spot under her ear, then pull at the lobe with my teeth. Her skin tastes salty. Like seawater, of course, not the salty tang of sweat drying on skin after an exhausting training session. The point of her ear is unsettling, sharp like a blade.

“Cardan.” She slides a hand behind my neck, toying with my hair the way she knows I like. “Why refuse me so often then?”

I pull back to look at her, my hands roaming down to settle on her small waist.

“My subjects think me… young. Foolish.” I look towards the Palace, the grassy hill looming over the trees. “They already say I am a puppet.”

“They are the fools,” she spits.

I shake my head. “I am a fool. Regardless, if I were to marry so early after being crowned, they would think you the mother of puppets. The one who pulls my strings.”

“Especially given my mother’s insistence,” she says and I nod.

I pull her to me, her hips pressing against mine. Bone against bone. Wildly different from the soft but strong body I was exploring hours earlier.

“Politics, you know.” I sigh. “Tedious.”

I think I am overdoing it on the sighs, but what can I say? I am quite dramatic, even when I am not acting.

“Still,” I lean in, barely a hair’s breadth away from her face, “I have a say in whom I woo.”

Our lips crash together like waves on rocks. Hers are cold, which is fitting seeing how unaffected I am by this. It’s the kind of lustful kiss I give my partners, no feelings other than desire. My body is not fooled, however—kissing Nicasia has about the same effect on me as listening to Fala’s ramblings. I tip her head backward and she complies, malleable and utterly bewitched. My other hand slides from her hip to her buttox. I squeeze a barely-there cheek and she giggles against my mouth.

One of her hands is tangled in my hair while the other one slips from my shoulder down my back. As she has always done, she avoids my scars like they are made of iron. When we were together, I thought it was for my own sake that she never acknowledged them. That she was being kind, in her own way. When I had fresh wounds and I refused to take off my clothes, she understood. But when I ended it and my mind stormed to figure out what went wrong and led her astray, it started to feel more intentional. Like she sees my scars as weakness and she fears that touching them would contaminate her.

“I miss us,” she whispers against my lips.

I only hum an agreement, pulling away to kiss at her throat. Her hand continues its careful trek down my back, until she gets at the base on my spine. A dreadful shiver goes up my spine as I anticipate what she is about to do. Sure enough, her fingers circle the base of my tail. She strokes it, letting it slip between her fingers for the whole length of it. I jerk away, take a step back. As if to spite me, the sea places a slimy rock right under my foot and I slip, falling backwards into the water with the grace of a drunken redcap.

I spit out no less than a gallon of water as I resurface, choking on the salt that is sure to take days to leave my system. Nicasia’s mouth is twisted up in remnants of a smile, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“What happened?” she asks as I stand.

“Something… touched me,” I grumble, a faerie truth if nothing else.

She reaches out, moving a wet strand of hair away from my face. “The High King is afraid of a little fishie?”

I scowl, then splash her with water. “I am not afraid.”

Nicasia chuckles. I shrug her off, starting towards the beach.

“Leaving already?” she teases.

“My guards will start looking for me soon enough, if my seneschal isn’t already on her way.”

Nicasia grunts, probably rolling her eyes dramatically as she follows behind me. “That mortal has too much power.”

I stop in front of the branch I left my clothes on. I still feel the salt on my skin, drying there as the water drips away. I grab my tail and wring water from the tuft at the end of it.

“Does she?” I ask, bored.

“Yes!” Nicasia steps around and puts herself between me and the branch. “What will our world become if mortals do not learn their place? As their power grows, we ought to unite. The Land. The Sea.”

“Nicasia—” I start, but she interrupts me.

“The sea is growing impatient, Cardan,” Nicasia continues, a hint of irritation hidden under the usually pleasant lilt of her voice. “My mother thinks the Land is weak, she might act any moment.”

I inspect my nails, picking a grain of salt from under one of them. “If the Crown is so weak, why try to unite with us at all?”

“I want us to be united,” she spreads her hands, palm up.

“And I want to bathe. Your regnal birthright is quite cold.”

I step around her and start dressing up. Behind me, I hear her stop, then the rustling of fabric.

“Do not jest,” she scolds. “What she’s planning—you should take it seriously.”

“I do. And I will think it over, once I am warmed up.” I finish cuffing my shirt, then hold my arm out for her. “Will you accompany me?”

Arm in arm, we return to the Palace. Even without their High King, the Folk still partake in their traditional merriment. Unheeding of my vague promises and empty words, Nicasia spends the rest of the night at my side. We trade kisses and caresses for everyone to see. Later, we move to the rooms assigned to her to do more of the same, to bathe and exchange soft whispers. When I leave Nicasia’s chambers, she hands me notes regarding her mother’s plans to attack during Taryn Duarte’s wedding.

As I collapse on my bed, finally alone, I curse Jude’s name for being right. Still, her name is the last thing on my mind as I drift asleep.

-

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[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 13

Thing promised, thing due ! It’s not your daily maana but chapter 13 of I am not your enemy which is available !

Happy reading 😉

(there's a joke that unfortunately doesn't work in English, don't be too mad on this handsome vampire please)

Chapter 13 : You always trusted him

Realizing immediately that something was wrong, the dragon eyed me worriedly, totally hypnotizing me with his icy gaze. My heart raced far more than it should at the feel of his fingers on my skin and his scent against me, the images from last night starting to loop in my head as the vampire's words still made my throat tight.

Feeling unable to answer for the moment, I quickly walked around his large stature that blocked me in order to enter the room, divided between several contradictory emotions.

That night I had let Lance see me fully and it terrified me. I wasn't just talking about my nudity. He had seen my wounds, my limits, my deepest fears, and despite the shame it caused in me, I let him do it, urging him to enter my head, my heart. Meeting him here made my hands sweaty, I didn't know how to react. I felt both euphoric and anxious to find myself in his presence. Besides, my exchange with Nevra had once again proved disastrous, which made my stomach bitter.

I definitely didn't know how to react.

Trying to ignore the footsteps that followed mine, I made my way with some haste to the back of the forge. Once in front of the weapon wall, I raised my hand to grab a sword haphazardly, except I didn't even have time to wrap my fingers around its pommel as a tanned hand grabbed mine. Like last time, I found myself trapped between Lance's body and the shelves in front of me.

- You know that it’s not because you are part of the Obsidian that you can take a weapon without authorization ? he said close to my ear.

The sudden hoarse tone of his voice made me shiver. I was aware of his every gesture, of his every breath that lifted his chest against my shoulders. He knew perfectly well where not to touch me on the level of the back so as not to hurt me and that troubled me.

- What's more, this one is way too dangerous for you.

His palm gently pulled mine away from the handle, slowly dropping our arms together along my side. He didn't let go of me though. I took a deep breath in an attempt to ignore his touch.

- Is there anything I can take here ? I tried then, injecting as much confidence and humor as possible into my intonation.

- So, you plan to train on your own and with a real blade ?

His tone, bordering on condescending, irritated me instantly. Damn, I needed to externalize everything that was swarming inside me, what the hell was he not getting in there ?

- I especially need to let off steam for a moment, do I still have the right or you will also prevent me ?

Anger, which began to grip my heart again like a vice, suddenly made a source of heat rise in the palm of my hands. It didn't take long for the dragon to realize this and suddenly squeezed me much tighter, locking my fingers against each other.

- Andraste, calm down. Now is not the time to do that here and you know it just as well as I do.

- If you let me get out of here with what I came to get, I will indeed have plenty of time to go and calm down elsewhere. Except that in the meantime, you're hurting me, Lance.

Visibly surprised by my last words, he eased the pressure on my knuckles, relieving me somewhat even though he still hugged me tightly.

- Make your light disappear and I'll let go, he chided me.

More annoyed than before crossing him, I clenched and clenched my fists to order my powers to dissipate, which didn't work as much as I wanted. Several pairs of eyes began to rest on us without discretion.

- I would like, but I must say that your touch doesn’t help me, I say defensively.

My Chief of Guard slowly unrolled his fingers from my skin, finally letting me move my wrist as I heard it. Closing my eyes for a moment, I instinctively visualized the path of my energy along my flesh, causing it to flow back to my epicenter, level with my stomach. With amazement, I discovered as I opened my eyelids that no trace of magic left my palms.

Lance pulled away from me to give me a questioning look.

- Since when do you know how to do that ? he asked me, an eyebrow raised.

- It was a first, I said with a shrug, as I myself was shocked at the outcome of my attempt. You see, I am good. So I’ve the right to train a little.

- You are incorrigible... but you’ll have to show me that in more detail.

A proud smile dawned on my lips as he blew loudly, letting out air so cold that I saw ice crystals crystallize on a blade close to him.

- Well, I think we both know how it ends when I show you things "in more detail"... is that really a good idea ? I asked him lower, almost timidly.

He looked at me for a long time, much calmer and more serene than a moment earlier. The atmosphere had changed. More intimate, more personal. As if, in this noisy and bustling room, we were suddenly alone.

- If you want us to stop our private interviews, I will comply without objection. This is your choice, not mine. But we know very well that what happened that night has nothing to do with it and that it would have ended up happening at one point or another.

The dragon approached me dangerously, a smirk so similar to that of the Ashkore era that it disturbed me.

- Know that it wasn’t the first time that I wanted to kiss your cute little mouth, he confided to me with a certain childish malice. And then, as you have already said so well, it is you who threw yourself on me. If you don't want this to happen again, just say it and for my part, I'll be able to stay perfectly docile.

I was obsessed with his words, with what they implied. Any relationship between us could only be unhealthy, totally abject. But then, why did I no longer know what I wanted or not ? Logic would have wanted us to stick to what was decently expected of us. Anger, contempt, that should have been our only fuel.

- What if that's not what I want ? I whispered so low that I was afraid he hadn't heard it. What if, for once, I had the right to listen to myself and not give a damn about the convenience of our relationships ?

Lance had never looked at me so deeply, which made me blush with stress at what I argued. Deep down, I knew the young man had fully understood what I was talking about.

- That night, when I dreamed that I was falling from the cliff... it wasn’t the first time that I had this dream. Before I fell, I still see the draflayels flying around me, but not only. I have the impression of constantly remembering that moment in Memoria, that moment when it was just you and me, I concluded hesitantly.

Never did he cut my tirade, realizing every piece of information I offered him.

- So, is that a good idea ? Probably not, no, I answered my own question a moment earlier. But I want to and for once, I want to have the right to listen to myself.

A new smile, this time much sweeter, appeared on his face before he spoke again.

- Your wishes are orders, my angel. On the other hand, only these, so do me the pleasure of getting you away from this wall of swords once and for all. Don't forget who's in charge here, he winked at me.

Lance pushed me towards the exit, I had obviously lost the battle for my weapon for a long time. Stopping in front of the exit door, the dragon seemed to hesitate for a moment, pulling one of its locks of hair back.

- I have obligations tonight, but I'll come see you tomorrow night in your room, if you want.

Without another ounce of ceremony, he turned on his heel and left me on the doorstep.

*

After literally being kicked out of the forge, I wandered aimlessly through the HQ gardens. I realized a little more every day that besides Lance, I didn't really have any relationships that I felt like myself anymore. When he wasn't there, I often walked in circles, desperately trying to find a way to make myself useful despite my poor physical condition.

No longer able to bear to see the same landscape, I decided to leave the enclosure of these walls that I knew only too well.

My steps guided me in the direction of the burrow, a place that had definitely changed in recent years. A tree with a bent shape had grown just above the crevice, which provided a corner of considerable shade in the great plain. I decided to lie there for a moment, enjoying the calm that reigned around me. Surprisingly, my back was not as painful as I would have thought, the cream of Eweleïn probably having something to do with it.

Stretched out at full length, I watched the clouds move with the light wind blowing between the branches above me. Raising a hand above my face, I lazily imagined my energy flowing through my veins to the muscles of my palm, my fingers. Several fine and luminous lines then began to run over my skin, creating a labyrinthine path on every inch that covered me. I felt good. Soothed, even.

Looking up at the blue sky, I thought I felt something brush against my whole when my eyes rested on a cloud of singular shape. My heart warmed when, in that white and vaporous cotton, I recognized the features of a fire dragon. I might not have been as lonely as I thought. A weary smile appeared on my lips, it was as if his aura had wrapped around my heart.

I knew now that he was watching over me.

- You always trusted him... I whispered. Valkyon, are you relieved of what you find in my heart ?

A new breeze lifted my hair, as if to answer my question. Savoring this moment, I closed my eyelids for a few minutes.

A hand was shaking my shoulder more and more vigorously when I finally came to reality. Slowly opening my eyelids, it took me a while to emerge from my heavy sleep. A scarred gaze plunged into mine.

But what was he doing there ?

- Did you sleep well, Steeping Beauty ?

I couldn't help but giggle at my interlocutor's attempt to quote a tale from my world.

- It's Sleeping Beauty, Nevra.

A wonderfully soft smile appeared on his usually closed face.

- You really have some odd-named stories, that's all I can remember, he said with a weak laugh.

I awkwardly straightened up to sit facing him, when a grimace of surprise and pain distorted my features as my back skin suddenly burned. The vampire immediately leaned over me in concern, one hand holding my shoulder to keep me from rocking.

- Andraste, is everything okay ?

Seriously, I've been asked this question too much lately.

(Chapter 14)

[kkeidawrites]

That Night

Chp. 2

🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️

I take back what I said last night. That insufferable, uncouth, disrespectful, brat has been nothing but a throne in my side and it’s only been three days! Three!

Mother has somehow made it her mission to include Mawu in every single activity I would do during the day. My schedule has been completely altered due to Mother’s meddling.

Now, the moon goddess is following behind me as I headed to my meeting with the generals of Asgard and my father. How delightful.

“I still don’t understand why I must attend as well. I have better things to do than be with you all day.” The beautiful woman spoke up and I rolled my eyes with a sigh.

“I am not happy about your attendance either. And I would recommend you to stay quiet while I speak with the generals and my father.” I say and I hear her bark out a laugh in disbelief.

“Excuse you, I will have you know that I have lead my own army against the evil monster Gaunab. When he killed half of the humans on Earth and force my moon to...to,” I turn to see her eyes glowing a purple color and she closed her eyes, sighing, as she forced herself to calm down.

“I’m not unfamiliar of speaking war games to another.” She says walking past me as I watched her stomp away, her dress swaying behind her. Today she wore a silver dress, that fit her too well. It fit her deliciously. It was already a difficulty to keep my eyes off of her and now that she was wearing this dress, it has become twice as difficult. Clicking my tongue I flicked my cape behind me and followed after her.

Gold doors stood in our wake as we walked closer to the war room. Father had informed me that there was another war on the horizon from the Black Beserkers. It was urgent that we speak on our next move before it was too late.

Two guards stood in front of the doors, spears gripped tight in their grasps and their silver armor gleamed in the sun.

The two guards open the door and we walk in to see all of Asgard’s generals and my father and unfortunately my brother around the gold table that showed all of Asgard’s defense positions and small horses and men that were expertly placed on the maps.

Odin looks up and noticed Mawu and I, then waved his hand over to us both. I took my place by Father’s side while Mawu stood next to Thor who smiled in greeting to her. She nods in greeting with a smile of her own and turns her focus to the table.

Two hours of going back and forth with each general with my father and my brother about which idea was best. I sighed at the endless bickering and noticed that Mawu was looking at the maps before us very intently. Moving a step closer to the table, she moves two of the maps and grazed one finger through both of them.

“What if...” taking one more good look through the maps, Mawu looked up to see the men have their full attention on her.

“What if we used a surprise attack? Gorr is known for wanting one on one fights, yes?” Her question is towards Odin who nods. “I suggest we set him up to bait and then attack him then.” She says and the generals began muttering to one another while Thor turns to her.

“How do you know of Gorr? I have not heard of him going to Midgard.” Thor states. Mawu frowns and clenched her left hand in a fist.

“He had came to Earth almost two hundred years ago and had killed a -ahem- a God and my mother and I decided to investigate it. He took us by surprise, his black dogs took out half of our troops and nearly killed my mother and I. We we were only able to survive when my sister arrived and even with her army did we narrowly win.” Mawu sighs and I raised my eyebrows, quite impressed by her conquest.

Gorr was not an enemy to make light of. He too has been a constant that father constantly struggled to keep contain. I have had my own fights with the infamous God Butcher and he was not a being to be taken lightly.

“Even though we won, it was still a devastating loss to our people and not just our troops...we lost a lot of humans that days as well. Gorr is a monster.” Her eyebrows narrow in anger and turns to Odin with determination in her eyes.

“We must stop him.” She says and Odin pats her shoulder in reassurance.

“We will. And when we do,” he raised his staff to the others who straightened their backs.

“We will place his head on a pike. To show that Asgard shall not be triffled with ever again!” Thor and the other generals raised their weapons in praise and bellowed out a yell in agreement.

I turned my eyes back to Mawu who sighed heavily and left the war room as the others continued to strategize. Seeing as that I was no longer needed, I left as well and made my way towards the library. They can bicker and fuss some more but, I refuse to be apart of it.

As I paced to the library, to my left there was movement going into the gardens and I stopped to peek over a balcony to see the moon goddess walking through the varies pattern of different flowers.

I noticed that she was cradling something in her arms and the trip to the library seemed like a later task. The idea of wanting to know where that spiteful moon goddess is up to, peaked my interest.

Following the familiar path to the gardens, I saw the cloud of black curls and shimmering silver dress sitting under a large tree that was in the middle of the gardens. And it would seem that she wasn’t alone either.

Hiding behind a tree nearby, I shapshifted into a eagle and flapped into the tree above her. Turning my head I glanced down to see that my mother had joined the younger goddess. They both sat on the soft grass and spoke softly.

Third Person POV

Irawo jumps to a nearby flower and begins nibbling on the stem.

“I hope your stay here has been well, Mawu. I promised your mother that I would make sure you were as comfortable as possible.” Frigga says to the goddess.

“Oh yes, Lady Frigga, I am quite content. Although I am trying everything within my person not to strangle a certain God of Mischief.” Mawu sighs to the All Mother who chuckles.

“My son,” she smiles. “He has always been mischievous but, he is a good man. He wasn’t one for fighting like his brother, he became interested in reading and studying, learning magic perhaps far better and faster than any student I have had under my wing.” She smiles with pride.

“He is a remarkable young man, that I am proud to call my son.” Frigga finishes as Mawu noticed movement above them and the familiar gold patch that sat on their breastbone made Mawu’s left eye twitch in annoyance.

“As remarkable as he may be,” Mawu spots a rock by her foot and secretly picked it up.

“He’s still rude and the fact that he is constantly picking at me doesn’t help either.”

“I’m sure as the time passes you two will be on better terms. When it comes to new people, Loki tends to grow on you.” Frigga explains. She then placed a hand on Mawu’s shoulder and the moon goddess looks at the All Mother in question.

“Please be patient with him,” she begins as she smiles at her.

“He��s really not all that bad.” And with that Frigga stands to her feet and leaves the gardens with Mawu contemplating her words until she remembers a certain bird brain camping above her, no doubt listening to her and Frigga’s conversation.

Mawu stands to her feet as well and fixes her dress, making sure to keep the rock in her hand as inconspicuous as possible until she quickly turns to the tree and throws it to hit the eagle.

The eagle (Loki) screeches in surprise and falls off the branch it was perched on and land on the grass in front of her. Slowly, the eagle shifted back to Loki and Mawu huffed, going over to Irawo and picking him up. He groaned from the fall and rubbed his back.

“The next time you easedrop, make sure that your jewelry is hidden better. You were too easy to detect.” She ‘hmphs’ and leaves the God of Mischief to groan in pain.

Later on that night

Mawu made her way to the dining hall around this time, she was just going to eat a bit and then take a couple of snacks back to her room for her and Irawo.

“Mother, you must find a way for her to leave. I cannot take this anymore.” Before she turned the corner where the dining hall was, Mawu pressed herself against the wall and listens. In her view she watched as Loki and Frigga came from another hall walking towards the dining hall.

“Oh, Loki, Mawu is completely harmless-”

“Harmless?! She’s insufferable! It’s bad enough I have to see her almost every hour of the day but, this is too far. Now, I have to deal with her whenever I go to different realms? That is too much of my comfort that you are taking advantage of.” He said to her. Frigga grabs his arm to stop him and Loki sighs as his mother moves to stand in front of him.

“Is it really so bad to have her in your presence?”

“Yes!” He says making Frigga give him a look.

“How about this,” she begins as she moved her son’s arm to allow hers to loop through and they continue walking towards the dining hall.

“If you spend at least three hours with her for the duration of her stay, I will speak to your father about your traveling privileges than just the four realms you are allowed to go to.” She negotiated while her son raised an eyebrow at her.

“You will speak to father? He won’t give me back my traveling privileges just because you asked him.” Loki rolls his eyes while Frigga smirks.

“But, I can my son. I am not the All Mother for nothing.” She pats her son’s arm lightly and Loki gives her small smile.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Mawu made her appearance from around the corner and crossed her arms. It’s not like she was here for her own free will she was just as stuck in this as he was.

“Ibajẹ ẹlẹgbẹ.” Mawu mutters as she paced to the dining hall. Pushing the doors open, the royal family noticed her appearance and Thor raised his goblet in greeting to her.

“Ah, The Great Lady Mawu has arrived!” Thor announces. She smiled at Thor. He was a very loud guy but, he was all around friendly. In the few times they have been together he has always asked her if She wanted to join him on his many conquests on different realms to fight the enemies or in some cases, ‘play with them’.

Mawu’s POV

In spite of being here for the next few weeks, Thor was probably the only thing that has really livened up the place and the fact that Loki didn’t bother me was a great feat as well.

“Hello Thor. Back from your many conquests I see.” I take a seat between him and Frigga.

“Yes, I have returned from the realm Nidavellir. Riding with the dwarves to hunt Biolsïdhs!” He went on to talk about his adventure as a servant placed a plate of food in front of me. I thanked them and took a bite into the bread and cheese.

The feeling of someone watching me made me avert my eyes up to see Loki’s green ones glaring at me. I rolled my eyes at him and turned my head to tune into Thor’s story. It would seem that throughout dinner, Loki’s eyes never left the side of my face and it sent chills down my spine.

Once dinner was over, I walked back to my quarters with a napkin full of carrots and some sweets inside. I was nearly at my room when I saw a familiar being leaned against the wall with their arms crossed. Sighing, I quickened my walk to my door until I felt a whooshing sound and I looked to my right to see Loki now leaned against the wall by my door.

“We are to spend three hours everyday until you leave.” He stated.

“Oh joy,” I reached out to open my door but, my wrist was quickly grabbed by the God before me. I looked at his hand on my wrist then back at Loki, like he had lost his mind.

“Release me-”

“Two in a half more weeks,” he says as he looks in my eyes.

“Two. That is all the time that we have to just spend three hours together. We don’t have to be friends. We don’t have to be allies. As long as you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.” He says.

“Let. Me. Go.” I grit at him and snatch my wrist back opening my door and going inside just to slam it in his face before he had the chance to speak anymore.

“Fucking asshole...” I mutter and move over to my bed where Irawo was grooming himself. He hopped his way over to me and I placed the napkin of treats on the bed and gave him two carrots where he happily began to eat his treats.

Biting into the sweet bun I managed to snag from the feast earlier, I thought back to what Loki said. Spend three hours with him for the next couple of weeks?! I sighed in annoyance.

“I can’t believe this...just what is Frigga planning.” I muffled into the bun, then moaning because I realized how good it was.

“This is really good Irawo.” I say and the bunny begins munching on his second carrot.

Third Person POV

Unbeknownst to Mawu, Loki laid in his bed slightly fuming on the fact that he now has to deal with that woman much longer than he wanted to. Damn his mother’s meddling. Taking a bite from the carrot in his hand, he hmphed in annoyance.

That insufferable woman was going to be the death of him.

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End of Chp. 2

Ch. 1⬅️

Ch. 3⬅️

Here’s another chapter for you guys! As always thanks for reading and make sure to like, comment and reblog!

See you soon!

[sunflowergirl522]

Runaway: That Was Easy

Pairing: Tiefling!Bucky x Elf!Reader

Summary: Bucky takes a lot of jobs to make a living and this one was no different. Except for the fact that it’s for an elf prince and elves tend to avoid him in general. He accepts and with Sam and Steve they start their journey to find the elf prince’s runaway bride.

Word count: 2443

Warnings: Language

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Someone’s looking for you!” Sif announces as she rushes into the dwarves' cottage. The door slams into the table behind it from the force of her opening it. She’s quick to slam it shut behind her and lock it.

“What?” Before she had barged in you had been eating and laughing with Thor, Volstagg, and Brunnhilde. Thor was just finishing up a dwarf drinking song while Volstagg got himself more beer and Brunnhilde was throwing wise cracks at how bad Thor sounded. Sif’s words though were enough to make the four of you stop and turn your heads to her in confusion.

“I just ran into a halfling at La Luna, he said that he and his friends are looking for an elf princess and I haven’t seen any other elf princesses lately.” Sif comes to the table and starts to unpack the food she had brought home with her and putting some off to the side to pack up for you.

“Did he say why?” You stand up not sure how to react to the news that people are looking for you and in the process stop Volstagg from overfilling his mug, taking the pitcher from him.

“No but his friends were talking to the bartender and you know how loose his lips can be with the right price.” 

“They could be right behind you.” Volstagg’s chair topples to the ground in his rush to stand up. Sif just nods at him in response. It doesn’t make sense, why would somebody be looking for you? You were sure that you hadn’t made any enemies in all your years, and the moon elves have no quarrel with anyone, they just live in peace in their kingdom, it was rare for any of them to even leave.

“Milady, you should leave. We can cover for you, tell them you were never here.” Thor looks at you as he starts to help Volstagg pack you up food and supplies.

“They could be dangerous, I can’t just leave you all to lie for me! If anything were to happen to any of you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” The dwarves were some of your closest friends, you had met them years ago while you were out and about and make a point to visit them every time you decide to go on another adventure.

“We’ll be fine Y/n. You must go especially in case they’re dangerous.” Brunnhilde throws more things in the pack as she speaks and you recognize some of it to be the new clothes that she had gone into town to get you yesterday. You didn’t come to them with much, just the clothes on your back and a couple daggers. Your dwarf friends are kind though and along with packing you the clothes and food they get some axes ready to send you off with. Thor comes over and hands you your cloak and the pack while Sif situates the axe holder on your back.

“Tell the others I said goodbye?” Thor just nods at you before leading you to the back door.

“Farewell sweet maiden!” Volstagg yells out to you and you can’t help but smile at it through all the worry.

“Take care of yourself princess, I hope our paths cross again.”

“You as well Thor. I’m sure we’ll all see eachother again soon, I might come back after I take care of whatever is going on.” You kiss his forehead before starting to head out. “Thank you all for everything!” You call out over your shoulder before tossing your hood up and walking into the woods.

 As you start to climb up a tree you think about how you can’t wait to change into your new clothes and get out of your dress. Climbing can be such a hassle when the bottom of a dress snags on the bark and branches. Once high enough you begin to travel from branch to branch back to the front of the cottage. You choose one that’s close enough to see the door but high enough and far enough away that no one should be able to spot you if they were looking in the trees. You weren’t going to leave them to deal with it on their own but you also weren’t going to interfere unless the strangers began to threaten your friends. You sit and lean back onto the tree trunk and wait for the strangers to arrive. And then, after waiting a short while, you hear them before you see them.

“Maybe they’ll have some food we can have.”

“Is that all you think about?” 

“Only when somebody doesn’t let me eat before dragging me out of town and then doesn’t even let me have a snack out of the food pack.” 

You can see the three characters as they approach the cottage from your hiding spot. These must be the people Sif was talking about you think to yourself as you spot the halfling. You sit up straight as they knock on the door, staying alert while Brunnhilde opens it up. The human and the hooded one speak to her for a little bit before the halfling asks her something, causing her to turn around to say something to someone inside. The hooded one looks down at him in what you can only assume is a glare. You bring your hand up to your mouth to help hold in the laugh that threatens to escape as Volstagg brings out a basket of food and hands it to the halfling. The joy you feel from that is short lived though because the hooded one barges into their home. You get into a crouched position ready to jump down to help if needed and watch the other two stay outside politely and you’re pretty sure the human apologizes, though lip reading was never your forte.

You let out a breath as the hooded one comes back out packing something away. They walk straight back into the woods without saying anything to their friends. The halfling is quick to follow him while shoving food in his face and the human stays back for a minute to say something to Brunnhilde and Volstagg before following as well. You follow them from above to see if you can find out anything about them or why they’re looking for you after debating on if you should do that or see if everything is alright with the dwarves. 

“Why are you always so rude? This is why everyone tends to hate you.” The halfling must’ve caused something to snap in his friends because he stops in his tracks before turning towards him real quick.

“Everyone hates me before I even open my mouth to talk! Something you wouldn’t understand, you were lucky enough to be born a joyful trusting little halfling!” His hood comes off as he speaks and your eyes go wide as a handsome blue tiefling is revealed. You catch yourself leaning over the branch to try to get a better look at his face. If he wasn’t so rude to your friends you might’ve even had the urge to run your fingers through his dark shoulder length hair.

“Alright you two, all that matters is that we don’t hate you. Now what did you take from the dwarves?” The human steps between the two men and the tiefling seems to calm down a bit at the distraction of the question. 

“The Princess was definitely there. I found her crown, they tried to claim that she had traded it for supplies but I know enough about princes and princesses that they don’t just trade away their crowns.” He pulls your crown out of his bag and holds it out to his friends on a hooked finger. 

You gasp and your hand flies up to your head to feel for it, even though you can see it. How could you have been so stupid as to leave without it? Of course he knows you were there, crowns are sacred belongings, especially for moon elves. You had crafted it yourself and picked the moonstone that had called out to you. 

“My plan is to loop around the cottage, see if there’s a back exit, then figure out which way she went.” As he leads his friends off of the main path you start to panic a little. You don’t want them to start anything with the clan or bother them anymore than they already have. You might as well interfere now if you plan to later. So without thinking about it anymore you make your next moves. 

A dagger flies through the air, just barely missing Bucky, and lodges itself in a tree behind him. He jumps back and grabs one of his long swords from a sheath on his back readying himself for a fight. Steve takes hold of his bow and reaches back to grab an arrow to ready one to shoot. And Sam, he lets out a yelp and jumps behind Steve’s legs out of, what he’ll call later, shock. A cloaked figure jumps down from the trees, landing in front of them. Their hood is up, hiding them from the sight of the trio. 

“Who are you and why are you looking for the Princess?” Their voice gives away that they’re female but it has a hardness to it that shows that she means business. They point an ace at the trio standing in a threatening stance. 

“Why is that any of your business?” Bucky gets into a semi crouched position and takes a step forward. 

“I asked you first tiefling.” Bucky snarls at the figure just itching for a fight to start. “You answer my questions and I’ll return the favor. It’s how these things work.” Steve steps in front of Bucky to put something between the two of you and holds his hands up in a way to help prevent a fight from happening at all. 

“Let’s all calm down now, there’s no need for anyone to get hurt when we could talk like civilized people.”

“Names, now.” 

“I’m Steve, this here is Bucky, and that’s Sam.” He points over his shoulder to their halfling friend. 

“Why are you looking for the princess, Steve?”

“We were hired to find her. Are you looking for her too?” 

“You could say that.” 

“Uh, Steve, did the prince say anything about hiring anyone else when he came looking for us?” Sam scratches his head in confusion as he asks and takes a step forward. 

“Prince?” And just like that the cold demanding nature of your voice melts away to a more soft concerned one. The question goes unnoticed by Steve and Sam but Bucky hears it. It peaks his curiosity and he tilts his head to the side while squinting and trying to make out the shadow beneath the hood. 

“He didn’t say anything about hiring anyone else but he did seem like he was desperate enough to have.” 

“Woah, hold on. What prince?” The confusion in your voice confuses Steve immensely. Who else would have hired you to find the princess.

“Oh you know, sun elf, doesn’t know jack shit about the princess, pretty damned arrogant bastard if you ask me.” 

You look down at the ground to wrap your head around the situation. Why would he send a fucking search party for you? You left him a note telling him you didn’t want to fucking marry him. Hell you hadn’t even properly met him yet and you knew he was a prick. Maybe sneaking out wasn’t the best way to go about it but his guards would’ve for sure stopped you from leaving. You take a deep breath before letting out an annoyed and angry shriek and throwing the axe at a tree close to you. 

“That self entitled, spoiled, dandelion eating, scorpion prick!” Your voice drops the veil of being threatening and returns to its normal sound as you curse his name. 

Bucky smirks at the fact that someone else has the same opinion of the prince as he does. When he looks over to Steve and Sam he’s ready to tell them he told them so about the prince but their shocked expressions stops him. And as Sam lets out a little ‘woah’ he turns back to you just to find that as you pulled the axe from the tree your hood had fallen off, revealing yourself to them. 

“You’re the princess.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face as you slide the axe back into its spot on your back before looking back at the group of men behind you. 

“Yeah, alright, you got me. I’m the princess, I’d prefer you called me Y/n instead and gave me my crown back. Please and thank you.” As you speak you walk up to Bucky and hold out your hand waiting for your property to be returned to you. 

“He said you were kidnapped.” 

“Well, Steve, as you can see I very much wasn’t. I’m safe and sound so you can go tell him I’m fine and not to worry about me, it’s not his job to anyway. I’ll just need my crown back and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“That’s not gonna happen princess. We were hired to find you and take you back so that’s what we’re gonna do. You’re only getting this crown back after you get us to the kingdom.” 

His words, as frustrating as they might be, spark an idea in your head. You can take them a long way back so that you can still adventure and visit a friend or two and once you get to the outskirts of the kingdom, you’ll get your crown back and take off again. Maybe you’ll even go home and tell your father about how much of an ass the prince is. You huff to play along with not wanting to go. 

“Fine, lead the way, oh wait he wouldn’t have told you where it was, follow me.” You take your dagger out of the tree and place it back in it’s holster on your thigh keeping your eye on Bucky, trying to think of ways to get your crown back before the kingdom. In doing this you miss Sam all but faint at your action. You then turn and start to lead the way back to the main path, smiling to yourself once your back is facing the trio. Steve follows, carrying a frozen Sam over his shoulder. Bucky hesitates, he can’t help but feel that getting you to agree to go back was too easy.

Bucky Taglist: @puddinsqueen​ @koressecretidentity​ @stevieintheimpala​ @unmagically​ @peachytea01​ @the-chocoholic-writer​ @perksofbeingatrex​ @99-cats​ @rachmmb​ @quokkatrash​ @vanillamaa​ @strawb3rrydr3ss​ @that-sarcastic-writer​ @spideyycents​ @mackycat11​ @crystalsoul2​ @rosiemotion​ @dissectiontime​ @lmf​ @jacelynenursalim​ @aiyanalevina​ @mooncaffeine​ @fanofalltheficsx​ @jewelsrocks99​ @lharrietg​ @yoongisdumplingcheeks​ @clubcesspool @sailormajinmoon​ @girl-obsessed-with-things​ @corvusmorte @sophielovesbarnes​ @collywobbl​ @majo240820​ @alina02​ @toothhurtyam​ 

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Everything Taglist: @florenceyelena​ @ninuffi​ @i-love-superhero​ @kolakube9​ @lexy9716​ @hehehehannahthings​

[solomonish]

longtime listener (solomon x reader)

“Hi, uh, I’m a longtime listener, first time caller. Is it just me, or are we two halves of the same soul?”

It felt like the late night talk show was made for you specifically….and you know what? Maybe it was.

ao3 link: here!

3 a.m. It was 3 a.m. in this nowhere town of yours, the summer crickets screaming loud enough to become a steady thrum in the back of your mind. This insomniac routine had gone on long enough that your bedroom light was not off. You had gone past the empty attempts at counting sheep, spent countless hours relaxing your muscles from head to toe, everything. The orange bottle of melatonin mocked you each time you opened your medicine cabinet, half-full of pills that didn’t do a damn thing for you. Now, surrounded entirely by trees and the sounds of nature keeping you company, you had taken to merely entertaining yourself in the hours of the night when you should be asleep.

If idle hands bored you in the daylight, it was even worse at night. The cover of darkness seemed to bring with it a blanket over your mind, insulating your thoughts with slowly creeping dread and loneliness the longer you allowed yourself to stew. Scattered across your house were projects in varying degrees of completion: a crochet granny square half-completed, a needle still stuck in a loop lying on the small table beside your couch. Sad as it is, it is still better off than the elephant who’s box was opened and instructions spread out, but too indecipherable to a novice like you. On your desk lay scattered coloring book pages and paint-by-numbers, even an adhesive jewel coloring activity that was far too expensive for the one page, delivered by a man who’s baseball hat brim never revealed his face. It was the first unfamiliar face you had seen in a while, even though you technically hadn’t seen it at all.

A small stack of books that you tried to read stared at you from your dresser, begging you to open them again as if the words wouldn’t blur together immediately. Beside them sat your radio, an old thing that you hadn’t touched in years before your sleepless nights came to plague you. Most of the time, static veiled the music that you expected to be playing, even though you could catch slivers of familiar lyrics between the fuzzy noises. The only station you could seem to get was a talk show.

Unlike other radio shows you had heard, this one was uninterrupted by music or, like the other stations, static. There were no guests either, as all you ever heard was one voice. It was a calm voice with a playful lilt, neither too deep nor too high. To you, it was the kind of voice that seemed to pull you in a trance, as if it knew exactly which senses to numb until you were pliable to the way the sound crashed into you. If you hadn’t been having these sleepless bouts, you could probably fall asleep to his voice.

The topic of the show was lost on you. Sometimes, if you listened real close, you could hear the man talk about old urban legends or strange, magical creatures. Other times, he was murmuring about spells and recommending potion recipes. More often than not, though, you spent your time in a stupor, not listening to the yarns he was spinning. Instead, it was as if his voice pulled your spirit out of your body and led you down a path of memories lost to time.

Such an idea seemed scary, but...it was comforting, honestly, and maybe the little bit of rest you needed to prevent your body from crashing throughout the day.

With the voice in the backdrop, you found yourself going on wild adventures you felt like you lived but could not actually remember. Sometimes, you found yourself on the edge of a rocky outcrop on the coast, stormy clouds above warning you to turn away from the ocean as the ebb of the tide beckoned you closer. You could feel the salt in the wind brushing against your mist-soaked cheeks, your hair limp and wet but still blowing wildly around you. Others, you could feel the thick moss sink under your weight as you traipsed through a nameless bog, searching for a vivid, unnaturally colored mushroom you knew you had seen before but could not name. You could even see, on occasion, a dark land lit by multi-colored lanterns, a decrepit manor filled with seven rambunctious figures you thought you remembered fondly.

Then, just before the sun started to peer above the horizon, you were brought back to your body and the voice signed off, almost affectionately. The room around you, bathed in the light purple of an early dawn, almost seemed to shimmer until the sun broke the spell.

It was baffling, but you couldn’t exactly share the experience with anyone without them thinking that you were crazy. Besides, it all seemed too intimate to share, and the selfish part of you thought it’d be best to keep these moments tucked away.

As you settled in the swivel chair with the radio static in the background, aimlessly fiddling with the threads on your old shirt, you began to feel nerves bundling in your stomach. Though you couldn’t quite explain why, it seemed as if something was about to change. You eyed the radio nervously, listening to the static that would soon give way to the voice.

After a few more nerve-wracking moments, the static subsided and the relaxing, smooth voice started to poke through. There was no introduction music and he was starting to come through mid-sentence, but you already leaned back, convinced that whatever he was saying was true. The two of you were on the same wavelength, after all.

He droned on for longer than you remembered him taking, and you remain - frustratingly enough - with your body and painfully aware of the world around you. You can actually hear what he’s talking about - something about coincidences, fate, reincarnation - the stuff of a pre-teen branching into philosophical thought. You can feel your interest waning, and you even debate turning the channel and slipping back into your old attempts at falling asleep when he says something of interest.

“...and if it’s alright with you, I’ll open the line for any callers. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

You froze. What? That wasn’t how this type of show was supposed to go. You had never heard him even speak about anybody else specifically, let along open up his world to anybody who was listening. The thought scared you in a weird way, the kind of fear that you were sure should only be felt in prehistoric times, an almost primal fear of invasion.

Reaching beside you, you grabbed your phone and dialed. You didn’t remember him saying the number to call, but you already knew it. You must have, because before you know it, you’re bringing the phone up to your ear.

For just a moment, as the phone in your ear rings but nothing changes on the radio.Like a child whose schoolyard crush just rejected them, you feel like a fool - until you hear a click, and the voice that greets you matches the one you’ve been listening to for endless nights.

Your voice doesn’t come through on the radio, a fact that both relieves and confuses you. Faintly, you can tell that your heart rate has picked up and your breathing has gotten shallower. The nerves from a few minutes ago pick up again. Gracelessly, you manage to stammer out a nervous, “H-hi…” while your brain catches up with the rest of your body.

“Hello, MC,” he responds, his smooth voice erasing all the bumps in your own introduction. You wonder how he knows your name, but decide to focus on how nice it sounds on his tongue. “What is it that you wish to learn tonight?”

That you’re talking to me. Me, and only me, is what your brain wants to say. Istead, your eyes dart around the room for a less...needy response. “I, uh- gosh, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

He hummed. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing his voice over the radio or the phone, but you could only hear him once - the rest of the world had been turned down to silence. “Perhaps you haven’t, in this life.”

In this life. For a moment, you swore you could see a familiar smirk in the darkest corner of your mind, one slim finger pressed against sly lips in a gesture to keep your secrets to yourself. Your face felt warmer than it had ever been, but your chest felt hollow, like you were grasping vaguely for something just out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to forget, Solomon.” The name felt right leaving your mouth, and now that you had said it, you wanted to repeat it over and over. On the other end of the line, Solomon seemed as pleased as you did.

“As long as you remember now.”

Honestly, what were you to say to that? Simply talking, really talking to Solomon had your breath robbed from your lungs. If you looked down, you could see your hands shaking, and you worried your voice might start trembling if you spoke too soon. The longer you let the silence linger, the colder you felt inside, an empty chill filling the space where something you briefly realized was torn from you should be. Whatever it was, talking to Solomon thawed you out, and you feared hanging up on him now would freeze you solid.

So you swallowed thickly and hesitantly spoke. “Do you ever dream about the ocean, Solomon?” You just wanted to say his name again.

“Who says those are dreams? Maybe they’re memories.” And surely he was right, because there was no way a simple dream could leave such a potent taste of salt in your mouth.

The way he spoke to you felt so familiar, almost safe and welcoming. Even if your conversation was only just beginning, you had the distinct sensation that you were picking up where you left off with an old companion, falling into an easy rhythm you used to find solace in. At the same time, you couldn’t shake the fact that you knew nothing about Solomon, and that this phone call was telling you that tonight was his last broadcast.

“Do you have memories of the ocean?” Your voice was breathy, and you had to catch yourself just before reciting his name a third time. What was your fascination with it? Perhaps you were trying to call out to him, to keep his attention on you. Maybe you were hoping to summon him back to you. You supposed it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

“Yes. Not all of them are fond, though. Some parts are.”

You could practically see the way his mouth turned down at the corners, a practiced display of displeasure. He always managed to express himself without giving away too much information - he was the type of person where you knew he was upset, but you could never begin to fathom why. That’s what everyone else thought, but you were the exception. You could watch his face fall and know what he was thinking. You would be the one to lift his spirits again, once upon a time. That, you remembered. Could you ever forget?

The silence that stretched between you didn’t feel like something that needed filled. It was a language all its own, a space where you could hear the other speak without anything being said. This, you realized, is what it felt like to be so perfectly in tune with someone, to understand them completely, better than you knew yourself.

But how could you know Solomon so intimately when this was your first time speaking to him?

No...no, it wasn’t. You’ve known Solomon for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Which memories are fond?”

He didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He was thinking of you in lifetimes you just learned had already come to pass.

“Are you still on air?” You asked, your voice soft and uneven. As if awaiting horrible, surprising news, you brought your free hand to your mouth and bated your breath. The world around you had come to a standstill as you awaited his answer - even turning yourself mindlessly in your chair seemed wrong, but you couldn’t force yourself to reach out with your foot and stop.

The chuckle you received was rich, velvety, and it sounded much closer and clearer than a man talking to you through a phone. “Who’s to say I was ever on air to begin with?”

Your face warmed, and you gasped. Despite the ominous words, something in your chest told you that you could trust him, that this was meant to be. All at once, the sounds of the world came back to you. The crickets were chirping, the katydids screaming, frogs calling out to one another in their summer song. From a distance away, a sudden low rumble sounded as something made impact with the ground, sending a light shockwave that shook the old branches above you and sent exhilarating chills down your spine. A shocking cloud of purple light, glimmering like all the stars in the galaxy came down to visit you, caught your attention through your window. You should be scared. You really should be, but you weren’t. You felt like the late-night bus just arrived to take you home.

Once you were out of your trance, you brought the phone back to your ear. The line had been quiet since you started asking your questions, but you could tell Solomon was still there. You didn’t need to tell him that you were back - he already knew.

“Why…?” You had no idea what you were asking about, but you did so with a hint of anticipation in your voice. This was the moment you had been waiting for all your life, but you only just realized you’d been waiting. His answer made your heart flip the way it used to.

“I was merely looking for you, my love.”

[sariahsue]

Of Secrets and Snowflakes

What am I doing? What am I doing? What on earth am I doing? The obvious answer—stalking a celebrity in broad daylight—didn't seem to cover the magnitude of her stupidity. Ladybug knew she shouldn't be out here, in the cold, sitting in a barren, snow-glazed tree, staring at her breath and Adrien's front door. She was sure to be caught, and the worst of it was that she couldn't even see his window from here. All of the dangers, with none of the benefits.

It had been twenty-four hours since Chat Noir's accidental identity reveal and Ladybug just wanted to 'check on' her partner. Not talk to him exactly, but just see him. Make sure he was okay. Without him seeing her. But she couldn't really do that from here, so she'd have to loop around to his window.

Not giving herself the chance to change her mind, she unhooked her yoyo and jumped. Each swing closer gave her another ten reasons to turn back. It was too soon. Neither of them were ready. She shouldn't be putting him in danger like this.

But Ladybug was suddenly on his fence, balancing dangerously between making one last leap to his window ledge and retreating. The quiet of his yard made her stop. A breeze skimmed the tops off of snow drifts. Sunlight reflected off the icicles hanging from the roof.

She really should check on him. It hadn't been right to dump him and run like she had yesterday.

She took a breath. It was probably best to leave. Neither of them would be able to act professionally now that his identity was out in the open. If they didn't put up boundaries now, they wouldn't be able to protect Paris. And if they couldn't protect Paris, then Hawk Moth would win. But boundaries could easily become walls, and then they'd drift farther and farther apart and then—

Ladybug heard the wet smack before she felt the cold of the snowball exploding across her cheek.

"HEADSHOT! WOO!" Adrien jumped out from behind a very tall, thin snowman as chunks of snow dripped off Ladybug's cheek.

"Go on, tell me how impressed you are with that throw," he said, pulling off his woolen beanie and flourishing it as he bowed in her direction. "And I'm not even in my suit right now!"

"Shh!" Ladybug hissed, snapping her head around to make sure no one was close enough to listen.

"Who's going to hear me?" Adrien asked, putting his hat back on. The bright red pom pom flopped into his face. "My father?" He waved a mittened glove (again black and red, she was sensing a theme) at the snowman. With its pointed hair and narrow frame, it looked suspiciously familiar. Adrien ducked behind the snowman, raising one of its tree branch arms in a wave.

The snowman was much more a pile of snow if anything, shaped tall and thin into a pointed tip that resembled the twirl of an ice cream cone. It was all angles, even its thin tree branch arms stood from its frigid form and perched above its long carrot nose were a pair of oddly familiar thick-rimmed glasses. Ladybug bit down on her lip to stifle her laughter as she easily recognized the ill-fashioned, candy-cane-striped ascot tied around its neck.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he spoke with an exaggerated deep voice. "'Tis I! Gabriel Snowgreste!"

"Did you steal those glasses it's wearing?" she asked, barely managing to hold back her giggles.

"They're a spare pair," Adrien said. "He won't even notice. I want to show you something." He held up a hand to her, ready to help her down, if she chose.

Ladybug chewed her lip as she hesitated. This was dangerous. The lines between them were already starting to fuzz and disappear, and if she couldn't maintain distance—no, she could. This wasn't any different than the other rare occasions she'd been to his house.

Ignoring his hand, Ladybug jumped down to land beside him. Snow crunched under her feet. "I can't stay for long," she said, looking from her hands, to the icicles hanging from his roof, and then to his lips—ahem, back to her feet. "I'm on patrol and I don't have much time to chat up random civilians."

"Aha, 'patrol.' Gotcha," Adrien said. He took a step closer, and she started to wonder if the pink on his cheeks was only from the frigid air. "Well, thank you, M'Ladybug, for stopping by to see me, someone you've never met before, when you were obviously so busy. Tell me, what's your favorite part of being a superhero? The powers? The fans? Or is it the amazing company you keep?"

She couldn't help a small giggle. Adrien, your Chat is showing. She wasn't fast enough to convincingly cover it with a cough and saw his eyes sparkle and the color on his cheeks deepen, and realized she'd made a mistake already. Professional. Distant.

Dang it.

"Since you're here, want to stay and see what I made?" He took her silence for assent and reached for her hand, leading her across the yard.

Brisk air blew at her back, creeping across the exposed skin of her neck and ears, but Ladybug's brain was overheating. Stay here? With Adrien? Forever? Her steps were halting and uneven. When he turned to see what the matter was, he dropped her wrist immediately.

"Sorry!" he said, putting up his hands. "I didn't mean—I shouldn't have grabbed—s-sorry, I mean, we can hang out if you want? I've got hot chocolate inside. We could talk about—"

Wind whistled through the empty branches above them, carrying snowflakes and another dozen reasons to say yes, that sounded wonderful. Adrien—her partner—was warm and inviting.

"O-or," he continued, looking around the yard for inspiration. "We could watch something? Or I could read something to you? Not that I think you can't read, but …" His voice stuttered and died away under her continued silence. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

It had only been a day, and their sync, their perfect harmony was already ruined, she could tell. How many times had Chat Noir simply looked at her and known what she was thinking? And now he was reading her all wrong.

"I really shouldn't be here," she said. "It's not safe."

"No one's going to see us," Adrien promised, a little desperately. "And we're friends, aren't we? We can hang out, right?"

"Well …" Another gust of wind, and movement caught her eye: the stick arms of Gabriel Snowgreste. Adrien had been out here all alone, ignored by everyone he cared about, and she couldn't have that. Ladybug was a woman of many plans, so from the ashes of 'pretend she had never met Adrien' another one was quickly born. It was called 'pretend everything was under control.' For his sake, and for the sake of the team, she'd set her emotions aside.

"Of course we're friends," she said, before firmly reminding herself, and nothing more. "Lead the way."

In three short skips, Adrien led her around the corner of the mansion, straight toward a mound of snow that went up to his shoulders. "Tada!"

"Oh," Ladybug said. She took in the patches of dead grass peeking out around the edges of the mound, and the shovel leaning against the side. What was it? He'd obviously worked hard, and she didn't want to say the wrong thing. "L-looks impressive?" She swallowed hard, trying to force her stutter down.

"You're admiring the wrong side, LB." He crouched and twisted out of sight. On the correct side of the small dome was a stubby tunnel opening, with a hole just wide enough to crawl through. An igloo. How had he found enough time to build an entire igloo? Shaking her head, she followed him inside.

The interior was small. Even with her height disadvantage, she wouldn't have been able to lie down without her feet sticking out the door, but that only added to the igloo's coziness factor and—she swallowed hard—sense of intimacy. Dim sunlight filtered through the thinner areas of the dome, creating a soft glow. And Adrien smiled sweetly at her as she sat down. She needed to make this quick.

"Thank you," he said, scooting closer to her.

"F-f-for?" There was no reason to stutter. There was no reason to shiver in anticipation as he lined his body up next to hers.

"Coming to see me. It's not a patrol day, so—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I miss you when I don't get to see you."

It was an odd time to realize that igloos had no windows. No one could see them, no one would witness whatever happened next. And she really needed some air, because Adrien was right there, his face illuminating the small space. How many times had Chat Noir—Adrien—told her that he loved her? The heat on her face was going to melt the igloo he worked so hard on.

"Glad I could make you beel fetter—I mean f-feel better!" Ladybug scrambled for the tunnel entrance and for safety. The biting chill brought her clarity. She'd thought she needed more time to adjust to her two favorite boys being one person, but that wasn't the real reason she was running away. She couldn't be trusted around him. Distance and control and careful plans were no match for Adrien Agreste.

"I bet you'd make a good snow angel." Adrien lay in the igloo's entrance, face in his hands and staring at her, freezing her on the spot. "Because you're so angelic."

Ladybug kind of, sort of, maybe, gaped at him for several seconds before hitching her heart back into place and closing her mouth.

"Sorry, was that too much?" he asked.

She managed to squeak out a small, "No!" before she dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead, letting her mouth rest against his skin just a fraction of a second longer than she thought she should. "Maybe next time, Chaton."

And then she bolted.

Ignoring the voice that said to stay, to see where this path led, Ladybug finally achieved her distance. She didn't turn around until her feet landed on the hard sidewalk, and they were separated by the mansion's iron fence. Adrien was still visible through the bars, crouching behind the igloo to watch what she should do, expression obscured by his creation.

Even when she was trying to protect him, she hurt him.

He wasn't just Chat Noir anymore. And not just Adrien. He was her … he was so many things to her that she wasn't even sure what to call him. He was her partner. Her best friend. The person she always wanted to run to …

And was now running away from to protect.

***

That night, darkness fell on an uncertain Ladybug. Shadows stretched beneath her dangling feet as it started to snow lightly. Marinette had known all day that she needed to apologize, that much had been obvious. She'd even prepared a thermos of hot cocoa for a peace offering.

But now what? How could she go on without hurting or endangering Adrien further? The cleanest way to keep him and the city safe was to tell him they needed to only see each other during akuma attacks, to maintain the dynamic that had always worked so well. Would either of them be able to stand that?

The only clear answer was that running away from him had solved nothing. She sighed, scooped up the thermos, and pushed off to find him. She would think of something. She had to.

Ladybug was greeted with the dark, empty windows of Adrien's room. It was too early for him to be in bed, but too late for him to be at a photoshoot. If she knew Chat Noir, and if Chat Noir was Adrien, then she was sure he'd be out and about somewhere. As she raced to all his favorite hangout spots, doubt started to set in. This was another sign of their weakening bond. He had read her wrong before, and now she couldn't anticipate where he would go.

A few minutes later and getting desperate, she swung back toward his house, hoping that maybe he'd already gone home. In between street lamps, hundreds of string lights covered buildings and fences and trees. Icy puddles and piles of snow seemed to blur together as she pushed herself faster. She arced over the park and spotted a lone figure on a bench staring up the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue. Lights hung off her stone counterpart like necklaces and scarves. The person on the bench looked like marshmallow in a puffy white coat that was several sizes too big. But she recognized the red pom pom.

Landing silently next to him, she asked, "Hey, on the prowl?"

Adrien sat up a little straighter at the sound of her voice. "Ladybug! You're here! I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to." He slid to make room for her on the bench, ever hopeful.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" She took the offered seat and uncapped the thermos for him.

"I'm guessing you were dying to see me and have been calling my name for hours."

"You haven't been here out for hours, have you?" she asked in alarm.

"No, no," he assured her. "I was just—never mind." He took a sip of the thermos to avoid her questioning look.

They passed thermos back and forth several times before Ladybug said, "Sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I'm here because I want to spend time with you, but …" The words caught in her throat. What should have followed was, but we can't right now. She couldn't say it. She was here because she wanted to be with him. Another sip hid her struggle, as she tried to buy herself time, so he wouldn't have to see her confusion, to delay the words that would hurt him.

The wind blew, and she shivered, though she resisted the urge to lean into him for warmth.

He noticed her shudder anyway. "Maybe this isn't the best time for this conversation," he said.

Ladybug pressed her fingers into the side of the thermos, trying to draw in its heat. "I'm fine." Her teeth chattered. "Not cold." They needed to have this conversation. She needed to get a hold of herself for his sake, though she wasn't sure if she meant her shivers or her emotions.

As lightly as another breeze, Adrien's arm snaked around her shoulder, bringing with it half of the coat. She tried to protest, but he just leaned over to grab the thermos from her and pulled her deeper into his side in the process. "Sorry, but you're freezing. Don't try to hide it," was the only apology he gave.

Now she'd done it. Given him the wrong impression. He thought she was stopping because of the weather and not because she was choking on her words. He'd misread the situation again. They were out of sync. All of her efforts to fix it had failed. What was she supposed to do now?

"You probably think we shouldn't be sitting out here like this," he said. "I get it."

Ladybug frowned. Did he really? Could he tell how badly they were messed up?

"It's been pretty crazy for me. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. You're always the one with the plan, and there's no way to plan our way out of this. It'll just take some time."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Maybe … she started to hope. Maybe he did get it.

"But I trust you, Ladybug. And I'm glad we're in it together," he said. "Right?"

"Always," she said. They couldn't turn back to where they had been. And they couldn't stop their partnership from developing. But as she laid her head on his shoulder and stared up at the sparkling lights illuminating their statues, she thought maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing after all.

For now, she had a new plan …

Trust her partner.

***

Author's note: This was written for the Miraculous Writer Zine: Once Upon a Season. Together, we raised $2,385 for the Organization of Transformative Works. The zine is no longer on sale, so all the authors have been given permission to post their works!

[avasghost]

When We Drown Update #2

[image description: a pale blue photo of a rocky cliff, and a boy at the edge in the distance, standing on a pile of rocks and looking down. in white serif font in the centre, reads “when we drown: update two” / end id]

wip intro here. first writing update here. 

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work, please do not plagiarize in any way.

hi everyone! it’s been a while since i did a writing update (time is fast) and i’ve written quite a lot! up until about a week ago i was in a really, really bad writing slump (which lasted like,,, four months) and so that’s why there hasn’t been a crane anatomy update for a ages because (: i haven’t been writing it (:

i don’t know if i mentioned this in the first update, but this book is now non-linear which has been an ~adventure! the non-linear plotline is kind of freeing because i can just pick a scene i want to write from any time in april’s life and just ... write it? i don’t have to follow the years chronologically. i try to create some kind of causal thread between the scenes but i don’t know how well that’s working out lmao. since WWD follows an entire life story with the protagonist looking back on it and remembering her life, i try to make her memory of one event trigger the memory of the next event, and usually they’re linked by either emotion or information.

current word count: 13,228

so when we drown is officially longer than crane anatomy now, despite being the side project! fun.

anyway lets get into the chapters because i have nothing else to say. tw for death, and other trigger warnings are before the individual chapters!

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 5: faces

[image description: a birds eye view of a forest of snowy pine trees. above the trees in black serif font reads “chapter 5: faces” / end id]

this is a very short chapter (a page and a half) which is a flash forward to when april and elena live together in a cabin in the woods sometime in their late forties. elena is asleep in an armchair and april stokes the fireplace, and then goes outside and sees elias’s ghost and then it dissapears (tbh,,, i think a lot of the chapters will be like this oops) this is the second ghost sighting in the book, but at the point when april is 48 it’s almost a regular occurrence! i might end up moving it to later in the book eventually, since i might want the ghost sightings to be in linear order if nothing else is, to keep the main thread of the book in order.

I closed the door of the woodstove, and glanced over my shoulder to see if Elena had been woken by the clanging of metal. She stirred slightly, a familiar face in her nightmare, an unfamiliar face in a familiar dream. Two fingers clenched against the armrest, then became limp again. Half of me wanted her to wake up, to see me, to speak to me, to see the fire bouncing in the grate and be happy for warmth. But again, she needed rest. She needed to be alone for a while, even if that was just in her head. She’d seen her fair share of fire.

also its snowing in november and its british columbia and i know this is unrealistic but! aesthetics are more important than logic we all know that.

[image description: blurry pine trees and a light snow falling in front of them, with a ridge of snow along the bottom. white serif text in the centre reads “The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball.” / end id]

The snow-tipped pines that cupped the cabin sagged under the weight of unexpected snowfall. Their fallen needles jotted the snow. The sky was white, spotless, like an expanse of faraway ocean or the inside of a crystal ball. No birds flitted between the branches, no foxes slunk between the pines. All was still. All was white. I was alone.

and the ghost is seen then disappears as usual and april goes inside again.

You were gone by the time I reached the door again, by the time I stepped inside and Elena stirred in her armchair, by the time I had stepped out of my shoes and gone to stoke the fire again, which was already starting to dwindle.

i like having elias referred to as “you” because its like april is telling the story to him, but he’s not there, so she’s talking to herself, which is very in character for her to do.

chapter 6: the party

[image description: a slope of pine trees with a grassy field at the bottom. mist shrouds the trees in the distance. a dirt path leads through the grass towards a cabin. in the top right corner, reads “chapter 6: the party” / end id]

chapter 6 follows the day before elena’s fifteenth birthday, and then her party the next day. this is a traumatic time for april because she decides she should mention her first elias sighting at the party. obviously people think she’s crazy and so you can guess how that turns out (aka april goes home and cries because she’s a soft bean)

elena has a cool tree in her backyard apparently!! this seems to be a running theme.

Dribbles of leftover sunlight sifted through the branches of the elm tree that ribbed the sky, its roots furrowing the lawn like varicose veins.

i will admit i didn’t finish this chapter and haven’t written most of the party scene yet so i will probably update on the rest of it in my next update (if i’ve written it by then which i probably won’t have but! we’ll see.)

chapter 7: sacred ground

[image description: the ocean stretching into the distance, with small waves. a blurry girl with long brown hair stands in front of it, facing the water. in the middle in white serif font reads “chapter 7: sacred ground” / end id]

the aftermath of the first elias sighting, when april goes and tries to talk to elena about it. i actually don’t know if this or the party comes first and the non-linearness might be catching up to me oops but we’ll just pretend everything makes sense okay <3 

first she tries to decide who to talk to about it and her options are quite limited. she picks elena because she’ll probably take her seriously, and then goes to her house in a state of shock.

I considered my options. Elena: the calm one, either pretending to be wise or really wise. Magnolia: probably less stupid than she made herself out to be. My mother: still crying over a tragedy of five years ago and a tragedy of fifteen years ago and the tragedy of a lifetime wasted in crowded cult meetings and stark bedrooms, tears always falling, thoughts either always whirlwinding or too dead to pay attention to. I found myself winding up the jittery pathway to Elena’s house, or maybe it was me that was jittery. Maybe it was me, who made the world blurry like this. Maybe it was me who was seeing things, not those things drifting into my line of vision and then falling out of sight. The pearly birches jagged the edges of the valley, their leaves chartreuse in the wind-rustled sunlight.

and then elena rejects her plight and april returns to where she saw elias. turns out elena isn’t as accepting of april’s hallucinations as she was supposed to be! here’s a bit of dialogue i generated from that incorrect quote generator that seems fitting for this moment!

April: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something.

Elena: April, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

this IS april and this IS elena how does this generator know what my book is about!! anyway back to excerpts:

I ran back to where I had seen you, all slow wonderment vanished, and found the place where my old footsteps in the sand looped around. I knew you wouldn’t be there, I wasn’t surprised that you didn’t appear again, your face bobbing in a rice paper mist. I wasn’t surprised that Elena didn’t chase me out, eyes drained of tears, to apologize. And I wasn’t surprised that from that point forward, I thought of that place as sacred.

chapter 8: always falling

[image description: a blurred black-and-white close-up image of water falling. white serif font in the center reads “always falling: chapter 8″ / end id]

tw: death, drowning, blood, fantasizing about drowning

eight-year-old april and magnolia visit a waterfall with magnolia’s parents. feat. april’s dog, august!

The waterfall coiled down the cliff face, cracking the surface of the river like a thousand strands of thunder. I could hardly hear Magnolia’s parents shouting something up ahead, their voices lost in the blare of water.

shortly after:

When I heard suspension bridge, I pictured one from old fairytales I read: wooden, burlap ropes for railings. A thirty percent chance of falling in. I was reassured by the stability, but August shivered at the way it jilted underfoot. He had never walked on ground that shifted under his feet, maybe it was an earthquake, maybe the ground was breaking in.

and here’s sweet eight-year-old April fantasizing about what it would be like to drown. If you think that’s foreshadowing no it isn’t 👁👁

[image description: a slightly grainy photo, half water and half sky, both tinted turquoise. a hand lifts out of the water toward the sky. above the hand in white serif font, reads “What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it.” / end id]

I stared over the edge, tried to pierce the thick buzz of mist that separated me from what would be the teeth of my fall. I imagined the bridge giving way, like it always did in the stories I read. One end breaking, the ropes snapping, the entire bridge swinging into the bottomless river. What it would feel like to drown, water snagging in my lungs, sharp stones shattering my ribcage until the entire river turned to blood. Being sucked by the current until someone finally found my body, far from where I lost it. Maybe it would be an old fisherman, hauling a girl in with the day’s catch, or his frail wife, who would faint on the spot at the sight of a dead child, bloodied and mangled and already tearing apart.

they cross the suspension bridge, and august unfortunately falls in! this is just a bit of april’s childhood trauma and i wish i didn’t have to cause her this pain but i do i’m sorry 😭

chapter 9: dead letters

[image description: a close up sheet of paper with a few lines of cursive writing across it. a fountain pen lies across the page. in the bottom right hand corner, a black serif font reads “chapter 9: dead letters” / end id]

a very young april and elias get caught in a hailstorm then go inside and find letters from their father, who they never met because he still lives in the cult their mother escaped from the day april was born. their mother tries to hide the letters from them but! these children do not relent. 

We tracked through the colourful forest in autumn, our rubber boots tore trails through the scattered maple leaves. Pronged pinecones crackled under my heels as I chased you, threading between the trees.

I was eight, you were faster but I managed to keep up all the same. A haze of rain sizzled on my skin, but rain didn’t phase me back then. I didn’t mind the water droplets that pearled down my neck into the hem of my bright yellow rain jacket.

they escape from the hailstorm and find their mother in the kitchen making tea (rare!) 

When we tripped over the doorframe and found ourselves panting in the kitchen, the kettle wheezed and mother emerged from her bedroom to take it off. The scent of green tea wafted through the air as she poured it, steaming, into a ceramic teacup with a crack veining down the side.

april tries to take one of the letters but her mother stops her. later during the night, she and elias get out of bed and read the letters and it turns out their father left the cult as well, and wants to meet up with them. april wants to meet him, but elias is bitter about it and doesn’t really even consider him their father because he was never there for them. 

chapter 10: frostbite

[image description: two pale hands reach towards the sky, in front of a blurry indigo background. in the top left corner, white serif font reads “chapter 10: frostbite” / end id]

tw: freezing to death

there are those weird times when their mom tells stories about her life. these incidents never end well but happen occasionally! she tells april about a time when her and a few other cult members were in the mountains and one of them froze to death. at this point april is around fifteen (which is where the main plot of the book is at right now)

She cut off there, blanched, stared out the window at the sun-speckled backyard, but I could fill in the rest of the details myself: skin a cold stone blue, frostbite jittering through the lungs and spine like a poison, eating everything slowly. Lying in the snow, letting the cold overcome them. Dead before morning. I wanted to ask if they buried the body, dug a grave of snow that would be melted by spring, or just left the corpse lying in the snow for someone else to find, or be eaten by a wolf pack, or to deteriorate, and haunt those lonely slopes forever.

afterwards, april goes outside (yes its snowing again 😭 as someone who dislikes snow i sure write about it a lot) 

On those days, my desperation to leave the house rose to a high and I would slide into a pair of ragged sneakers and a cable-knit sweater and push out into the cold. Once vibrant green leaves now greyed with frost, a snowfall months early but not unwelcome. Striking before the trees had the chance to shed their leaves. Frost brittled the branches of the oaks so I could snap them without an effort, not that I wanted to snap them. The concrete of the road was spined with ice that made it look like the ground was caving in, icicles barbed the eaves of our house like jagged teeth. Sometimes I thumbed snow into my mouth like a child, hoping no one was watching a seventeen-year-old eat snow, and let it blot my tongue and dribble down my throat. The cold shock to my system helped clear my mind of whatever mother had been talking about, helped me cope with the pain I shouldn’t have been feeling in the first place.

aaannd that’s everything i’ve written so far! this has been the worst writing slump of my life and i’m not too happy with most of the stuff i’ve written lately, but hopefully that clears up so i can update y’all again soon!

- ava

wips taglist (ask to be added or removed!) @shaelinwrites​ @august-iswriting​ @wildswrites @nodeadnarrators @annlillyjose @shaonharryandpannisim @letsgetsquiggly @strangerays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @dallonswords @teaandtypewriters @chewingthescenery​ @kahaaniyaa @coffeeandcalligraphy @47crayons​ @writing-is-a-martial-art​​

[adenei]

Summer of Jily Week 4

It's week 4 for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily challenge! You sure did send me for a loop with this one, but I've managed to keep the one-shots turned multi chap story going!

This week's prompts: Picking Berries and "I know I kissed you before, but I didn't do it right."

Read on AO3

************

James didn’t sleep at all that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the carnival. His thoughts shifted between being mad at Sirius for winning that damn prize and presenting it to Lily—that was his stupid, cheesy plan that his best mate had hijacked—and the Ferris wheel ride.

About saving your letters or waiting for you to ask me out?

How could he have been so thick? And how is it that he keeps royally mucking things up? He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss Lily right there on the ride, but then it had to move again, and he’d gotten sidetracked at the feeling of flying on a muggle contraption.

Hadn’t he come along with the boys to crash the girls trip so he could spend more time with Lily? He’d devised the perfect opportunity to sweep her off her feet, and he swore to himself he would only ask her out if she made it blatantly obvious that she wanted him to. As much as it killed him, he’d rather not lose her friendship over pressing her one too many times.

But now, she had made it clear that she was waiting for him to make a move, and what does he do instead? Lets her walk away after the sunrise, hits her with a ball by the lake, and then avoids her throughout the entire carnival until their friends force them to share a compartment on that bloody ride.

He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss her right there, to ask her to be his girlfriend, and what does he do instead? Freezes. James Potter, master of smooth pick-up lines, carefree, easy-going Gryffindor heartthrob (says the Hogwarts gossip circle, not that he pays attention to any of that—why would he when he’s got his heart set on one girl?) freezes.

Well, he didn’t totally freeze. After they’d apparated back to the cabin, he and Lily were the last two in the sitting area before they went to bed. He walked her to the door of the girl’s room and kissed her on the cheek before bidding her goodnight.

It had taken all of his willpower to not pull her into his arms and snog her senseless after her confession earlier that evening. Yet, after seeing her disappointed face before she shut the door to the bedroom, he wished he had. She’d thrown his entire game off, and he needed to fix it before he lost his chance with Lily for good.

Resigning himself to the fact that he was awake to see another sunrise, James dragged himself out of bed and picked up his glasses on the nightstand before stepping around the mattress on the floor where Peter currently snored away. He grabbed the nearest shirt he could find and threw it on before slipping out of the bedroom.

It was lighter out than he was expecting, meaning he’d probably missed the sunrise. The boys preferred to sleep in pitch black, but the spell they cast on the window the night before was fading, allowing the daybreak to sift through and consequently throwing off his sense of time. He started the coffee pot and leaned against the counter while he waited for the pot to brew.

Caffeine would be necessary to stay awake today, or maybe he could sneak a nap in at some point. Hell, maybe he’d be able to convince Lily to join him for said nap. He could think of plenty of things they could get up to whilst they were in bed together. James let his mind wander to thoughts of getting to know her in a more intimate setting. The kind that he’d often wank to when he needed a release.

The rich smell of dark roast wafted through the living area. James forced his thoughts away from images of Lily writhing beneath him as he reached for a mug. He only barely heard the click of a door as he pulled the pot off to pour himself a cup.

“Another early morning?”

James looked up to see Lily standing there, her hair messy from sleep. She ran her fingers through it in an attempt to comb it out. The green of her eyes were barely visible under still somewhat droopy eyelids. Something stirred within him, and despite the fact that he was only seventeen, it was a view he knew he could get used to.

“That would imply I slept. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, but I couldn’t resist the smell of coffee. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Peter’s snoring reached new levels last night.”

The lie slipped off his lips with ease, although it wasn’t altogether convincing. A simple Muffliato charm would have allowed him the peace and quiet he needed to fall asleep. Her skeptical look wasn’t lost on him as he absent-mindedly began fixing the cup he’d poured with the amount of milk and sugar Lily preferred. He wasn’t aware he was doing it until he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Since when do you know how I take my coffee?”

“Come on, Evans, you don’t think I’ve noticed? Some things stick after eating breakfast with someone over the last year.” James smirked.

He grabbed another mug from the cabinet and poured his own cup without adding anything to it. James blew over the dark brown liquid to help cool it off as he watched Lily take a minuscule sip of her own.

“That’s fair. I still don’t know how you can drink yours black.”

“Some say I’m sweet enough on my own.” The quip was automatic as Lily laughed at his humor.

Merlin, her laugh is infectious. James swore the reason he said half of the stuff he did was so he could hear her laugh.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

The question came from nowhere, but the early morning was so peaceful that he wanted to experience it with her, preferably hand in hand.

“Sure.”

They left their coffee mugs abandoned on the Formica as they headed to the door and slid on their shoes. Lily grabbed a jacket off the coat rack and zipped it up halfway. James closed the door quietly behind him then led her over to the trail he and the boys explored yesterday. The path wasn’t terribly long, but it ended up in a quiet and secluded area where the lake met pebbled terrain.

“So, was the dolphin a good sleeping partner?” James’s voice cut through the light layer of morning fog.

Lily chuckled. “I don’t know, I let Marly sleep with him instead.”

“Ah, Sirius will be heartbroken if he learns of your betrayal.” His words were meant to be a joke, yet they didn’t come across as lighthearted as he’d hoped.

“Well, good thing you won’t tell him. Right?” Lily’s questioning eyes made James’s heart skip a beat.

“I suppose I can keep your secret, Evans, but it’ll cost you.”

“Oh? And what might that price be, Potter?”

The green of the trees and shrubbery only enhanced the sparkle that glinted in her eyes. James wondered if she was testing him. Shouldn’t she know by now that he never backed down from a challenge?

“Ditch your friends and spend the day with me instead.”

“Like a date?”

“Yes, Evans, like a date.”

“Well, good thing we’re getting an early start. Now we can make the most of the day.”

James grinned at Lily’s acceptance as they continued down the trail.

They were nearly at the clearing by the water when Lily stopped, causing James to turn around. “Is this the path you and the boys were on yesterday afternoon?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, when Mary asked if you found anything interesting, you said no.”

“Because there isn’t…”

“That’s not true! Look at the blackberry bushes over there!”

James’s head turned to the direction Lily was pointing at, and sure enough, there were several bushes, low to the ground and full of clumps of blackberries. Lily bent down to pick a few off the branches.

“How do you know they’re blackberries and not nightshade or something?”

“Honestly, Potter, did you not pay attention when Sprout taught that unit on edible plants and where to find them in the wilderness?”

“No? Guess I was a bit distracted.”

“Nightshade grows off the stem in one circle. They look more like blueberries, except they’re shinier and darker. Blackberries have all the little bumps on them like this. Almost like a raspberry, but a different color.”

Lily picked a handful of berries during her explanation and stood when she was finished. James saw her holding them delicately in an effort to stop them staining her hands. Using her forefinger and thumb, she picked one up and held it to James’s mouth.

“Try it.”

James opened his mouth and let her place the berry on his tongue. He locked eyes with her as his lips closed around her fingers. An explosion of flavor bursts on his tongue as he bit down on the fruit. The tartness caused him to squint and pucker his lips slightly. Lily smiled at his reaction as she popped a couple berries in her mouth.

She was right—they tasted way better when picked fresh. He held out his hand for more, and she gave him a couple to munch on as they continued walking through the woods. James’s brain was fixated on the way she fed him as his feet moved him forward. Their hands grazed against each other, and James held on after the third bump. He felt her fingers intertwine with his as their steps aligned on the dirt path. As they inched their way toward the rocky clearing of the lake, a plan formed in his mind, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to match Lily’s brazenness of the night before and kick off their day-long date properly.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered as the trail gave way to the stunning view of the calm water ahead of them. The fog had settled across the still water, preventing them from seeing the other side of the lake.

“Lily—”

“Okay, the berries were one thing, but hiding this view from us? How—” Lily froze mid-sentence as comprehension dawned on her. “Did you just call me Lily?”

“Yeah, I did, but please go on about how we didn’t tell you about this.”

“No, I think I’d rather hear what you have to say instead.”

“You sure? I know how much you love being able to prove us wrong.”

James paused, waiting for Lily’s reaction. He loved riling her up like this. The way he alluded to something but then held it just out of her grasp to ensure that she truly wanted to know what he had to say. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Would I have asked you to tell me if I wasn’t?”

He thought about keeping up with the banter, but he was tired of waiting.

“That’s fair. Look, I know I kissed you before—y’know, last night—but I didn’t do it right, and I’d like to make up for that right now if you’ll let me.”

There was a sharp intake of air, and if James could pat himself on the back for catching Lily off-guard, he would. But she regained her composure before shooting a challenging look in his direction.

“Since when does James Potter ask permission before kissing a girl? I thought he—how did Sirius put it? Sets his eyes on what he wants and goes for it?”

James chuckled and cringed at the same time, remembering how Sirius explained James’s intentions during fifth year.

“Well, as true as that may be, I still try to be a gentleman about it. I’d never make an unwanted advance if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Interesting, considering I thought I made it clear what I wanted last night.”

Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did Lily just take a tiny step forward?

“Is that so?”

“It is. And it sounds like you’re stalling.”

“Please, Evans, you’d know when I’d be stalling.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

The words barely escaped her mouth, James didn’t waste any more time as his hands lifted to cup Lily’s face. He leaned in and captured her lips with his, the tangy taste of the berries still lingering on her mouth. Everything about Lily’s lips were soft and inviting as her hands found a home on his lower back. He felt her mouth open slightly as her teeth grazed his bottom lip, eliciting a small moan from his mouth.

James deepened the kiss as his tongue swiped across her lips. Her hands pushed him closer as her mouth widened, inviting him to explore. A quack in the distance was the only thing that reminded them where they were, as James slowly broke away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, with her lips swollen from his kiss and the dazed look of bliss on her face.

“Well, I’m used to ending the date with a kiss, not starting it,” her words were breathless.

James chuckled at Lily’s words. “Am I to take that as a good or bad thing?”

“Good. Very good.”

“And just imagine, we’ve got the whole day ahead of us now.”

“This is true. Should we head back and get ready for the rest of the day?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

James had no idea what they were going to do for the day, but he planned on making the most of their time spent together. Nothing could go wrong.

[javistg]

A Second Chance CH 4.

Chapter 4 is ready!

I want to thank you all for your messages and support. I can't believe you've stuck with me and my story for this long and I'm incredibly grateful.

Also, I have added one more chapter to the story.

The next chapter is almost ready, but it won't be very long. It's just a short epilogue. Still, I hope it will be enough to answer all those questions I haven't answered so far.

In the meantime, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy. ❤️

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird For EFE 2019]

Want to read from the start? Go to AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTTER 4. 

Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms all around the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”




As soon as the clock runs out, Katniss jumps from her platform and makes a beeline for the nearest backpack.




She’s almost at the tree line when she feels the impact of Clove’s knife sticking into her bag.

Right on cue, Katniss thinks as she slips into the woods.




Relying on her memory, she runs through the narrow paths and slopes until she reaches the lake. Getting on her knees, she shrugs the backpack off her shoulders and makes a quick inventory of its contents.




One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of night-vision glasses. And a half-gallon plastic bottle with a cap.




After filling her water bottle to the brim, Katniss starts walking again. She doesn’t want to go too far from the water —she refuses to deal with dehydration once more. Still, she tries to keep to the route she followed the first time she was there.




As she retraces her steps, she eventually comes across a familiar tree. A willow that’s not terribly tall but set in a clump of other willows, offering concealment in its long, flowing tresses.




She climbs up, sets her sleeping bag, straps herself to the branch, and waits.




The sky has already gone dark when she sees a small fire begin to bloom.




Katniss curses under her breath. Even now, she can’t bring herself to feel any sympathy for the tribute who’s decided to advertise their location in a place full of predators.




A few hours later, the Careers come traipsing through the forest. They’re about ten yards from her tree when an argument breaks.




Katniss grabs onto her branch and holds her breath in expectation.




Peeta’s words cut the bickering. “We’re wasting time! I’ll go finish her and let’s move on!”




Up on her tree, Katniss presses her lips together to contain her smile. The cameras are on her, watching her every move, and she stubbornly refuses to let the Capitol see her relief.




As Peeta walks away, she tries to conjure up all the anger and hurt she felt during her first Games so she can glare at him as he disappears from view.




XXXXX




Katniss runs through the woods, crushing branches and trampling down leaves and flowers in her rush to escape her nightmares, but it’s no use.




As the tracker-jacker poison courses through her veins —turning the world into a big shimmering bubble— Katniss berates herself for her carelessness.




She can’t believe her bow and arrows ended up stuck in Glimmer’s hands again; or that she needed Peeta’s warning to start moving.




Now, as she rushes through the forest trying to fight the ever-growing hallucinations, she knows that, once more, her clumsiness has placed Peeta’s fate in Cato’s hands.




Katniss turns a bend on the road. The earth shakes beneath her feet with the force of an explosion. She knows it’s not real, but she can’t fight it anymore. She sinks to her knees, exhausted, doomed.




Her nightmares have found her, and all she can do is give in.




XXXXX




Katniss wakes up a few days later to find her bow and arrows placed neatly by her side and Rue hiding behind a tree.  




Together, the girls hunt and forage and --just like the first time-- their fast, easy friendship blossoms.




When the time comes for Katniss to leave to blow the Careers’ supplies up, she hesitates. Maybe I should take Rue down to the river, she thinks. We could dig Peeta from the mud and start treating him. The three of us could hide in the cave and…




With a shake of her head and a heavy heart, Katniss gives up. Thanks to Peeta’s intensive training for the Quarter Quell, she knows how that story ends. Alliances in the arena never last.




She would only be postponing Rue’s death. And for what? So that she can end up holding her mutilated body after a strange mutt kills her? The thought makes her shudder.




I need to weaken the Careers, she reminds herself as she walks towards the Cornucopia. Otherwise, Peeta and I won’t stand a chance.




XXXXX




Katniss is perched up on a tree, waiting.




A part of her mind is still consumed with Rue. Images of her, bloody and speared, play on a loop behind her eyes. She tries to block them out, to distract herself with something else, but she doesn’t have the strength; she’s too disgusted with herself.




Overcome by despair, Katniss hates the choices she’s made.




She hates that, despite having a second chance, she’s still helpless to do better, that she still thinks she has to put her life first.




As the sun sinks behind the trees, her mind flies back to Peeta. He’s somewhere out there, hurt, slowly bleeding to death by the stream.




She wants to drop this stupid pretense and rush to him, but she can’t.




There is one way out of this arena, and she needs to stick to her past actions to find it. So, Katniss wraps her arms around herself and waits.




She’s almost reached the end of her rope when the sky finally lights up. No deaths.




Her heart nearly jumps out of her chest when she hears the trumpets. Eager, she perks up in anticipation.




Claudius Templesmith’s voice blares down from overhead, congratulating the six tributes who remain. “There’s been a rule change in the Games. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive.”




Claudius pauses, giving his audience time to digest the news. He repeats the change again, “Two tributes can win this year. If they’re from the same district.”




He’s barely finished speaking when Katniss reaches for her belt and begins unbuckling herself. The last time she was there, she waited for day to break, but she can’t do that this time. Not when she knows Peeta needs her.




With quick fingers, Katniss packs everything in her bag and slips the night-vision glasses on.




“Hold on, Peeta,” she says as she shimmies down the tree. “I’m on my way.”

XXXXX




As soon as she reaches the edge of the water, she realizes her mistake.




It’s a cold night. A bright round moon bathes the arena in pale light but, even with her glasses, that's not enough to make her way through the slippery mud.




Muttering obscenities under her breath, she backtracks until she finds a tree to spend the rest of the night.




With the first light of day, Katniss heads downstream.




After a while, the stream begins to curve to the left into a part of the woods where the muddy banks, covered in tangled water plants, lead to large rocks that increase in size.




Keeping her eyes to the ground, she spots a bloody streak going down the curve of a boulder.




Her heart picks up speed. Hugging the rocks, she moves, as quickly as she can, in the direction of the blood.




The blood trail stops. There’s no sign of Peeta.




She knows he’s close, though.




Crouching down, she whispers, “Peeta?”




The voice that answers back is hoarse and weak, but she would recognize it anywhere. “You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”




Katniss whips around.




“Peeta?” she whispers, biting back a smile. “Where are you?”




There’s no answer. So, Katniss creeps along the bank. “Peeta?”




“Well, don’t step on me.”




Katniss jumps back.




His voice is right under her feet. Still, there’s nothing.




Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves.




Katniss’s gasp is rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs.




“Close your eyes again,” she orders.




He does, and his mouth too, and completely disappears.




Katniss kneels beside him. “I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.”




Peeta smiles. “Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”




“You’re not going to die,” she tells him firmly.




“Says who?” His voice is so ragged it makes her chest hurt.




“Says me. We’re on the same team now, you know,” she tells him.




Peeta’s eyes open. “So I heard. Nice of you to find what’s left of me.”




Katniss pulls out her water bottle and gives him a drink. “Did Cato cut you?”




“Left leg. Up high.”




Her heart drops, she had hoped Peeta would fare better this time around, but it seems that they’re exactly in the same situation as before.




At least I didn’t leave him lingering here while I had breakfast, she thinks as she helps him take a few more sips. “Let’s wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you’ve got.”




“Lean down a minute first,” Peeta says. “Need to tell you something.”




She leans over and puts her good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”




Katniss bursts out laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”




Remembering how hard it was to move him, she decides to skip that part and strip and clean him right where he is.




“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” she says as she begins digging into the mud and plants which seem to have imprisoned him.




To her surprise, Peeta shakily pushes his upper body away from the ground. A little push from her, and he’s sitting up.




His new position doesn’t last long, though. With a pained grunt, Peeta slumps against a nearby rock.




“How do you feel?” she asks, brushing the matted hair from his face.




“Woozy.”




Using her two water bottles and Rue’s water skin, she begins cleaning him up. It’s slow going. The water is cold, and he’s so caked with mud and matted leaves that she can’t even see his clothes.




When she’s done, she gently unzips his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and eases them off him.




His undershirt comes next. It’s stained, but at least it’s not stuck to his skin.




“Can you lift your arms?” she asks.




Peeta complies, lifting one arm at a time and dropping them limply by his side as soon as he’s done.




With one last tug, Katniss pulls the undershirt over his head.




Tears well up in her eyes when she takes him in.  




He’s badly bruised. There’s a long burn across his chest and a superficial cut on his arm. There’s also a bit of good news, though.




Only one of his tracker jacker stings looks bad. The skin around it is swollen and angry. The other three have been treated, Peeta's covered them with wads of chewed-up leaves.




“Did I do OK?” Peeta asks.




“You did great,” she tells him as she gently peels the dried leaves from his skin. “You only missed one.”




Peeta closes his eyes. His head lols back. “Where is it?”




“Right under your ear.” Carefully, she pours some cold water on the spot to clean it. Just looking at it makes her chest hurt. “Hold still,” she says as she digs the stinger out of the lump.




Peeta winces, but the minute she applies a fresh batch of chewed-up leaves, he sighs in relief.




Cleaning his clothes seems pointless right now that the sun isn’t hot enough to dry them. So, she uses the cleaner side of his undershirt to pat him dry and applies some burn cream to his chest.




His skin is warm but not excessively hot. This feels like good news but, Katniss isn’t sure. They’re out by the stream, and the nighttime chill hasn’t dissipated yet. The cold weather could be masking Peeta’s fever.




Since they can’t afford to waste any time, Katniss keeps going. Standing up, she shrugs off her jacket and gently drapes it over Peeta’s shoulders to protect him from the cold. Then, she digs through the first-aid kit she got from Marvel until she finds the pills that reduce temperature.




“Swallow these,” she tells him. Peeta obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”




“Not really,” says Peeta.




“We need to get some food in you,” she insists. Remembering what happened last time, she forgoes the groosling and gives him the dried apple instead.




“Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks after he’s had a few bits.




“I need to look at your leg first.”




Gently, she removes his boots and socks and then very slowly inches his pants off of him.




Her heart plummets when she sees the tear Cato’s sword made in the fabric over his thigh. Gritting her teeth, she keeps going.




As Peeta’s leg comes into view, Katniss gasps.




The wound isn’t exposed. Just like the tracker jacker stings, it’s been covered with leaves.  




With trembling fingers, she carefully removes the green plaster.




The wound is terrible, a deep inflamed gash, but Peeta’s done a better job of taking care of it. It’s not oozing as much blood or pus as it did the last time.




“Pretty awful, huh?” says Peeta. He’s watching her closely.




Katniss shrugs. “I’ve seen worse,” she tells him honestly. “I just need to clean it well.”




Scooting her square of plastic under him, Katniss begins washing down his lower half.




Except for Cato’s cut, Peeta’s legs have fared pretty well. There’s one more tracker jacker sting, which he’s also cured, and a few minor burns that she treats quickly.




After pouring a few water bottles over it, the wound doesn’t look any better but, at least, it doesn’t look any worse.  




Katniss applies a handful of chewed-up tracker jacker leaves to the wound. Within minutes, pus begins running down the side of Peeta’s leg. She repeats the process. This time, very little pus comes out.




“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” Peeta asks.




“I have a bandage I can use, but there’s something I need to do first.” Reaching behind her, Katniss pulls out Rue’s backpack. “Here, cover yourself with this, and I’ll wash your shorts.”




“Oh, I don’t care if you see me,” says Peeta.




Katniss sets her jaw. Anger and humiliation rush through her veins as an image of Johanna --stripping in front of Peeta-- comes to her mind.




Fixing him with a blistering glare, she growls, “I care, all right?”




With an aggravated huff, Katniss stands up and turns to look at the stream.




As she waits for Peeta to shimmy out of his undershorts, his words come back to her. “For the Capitol, you’re pure,” he had said, clearly trying to mollify her. “For me, you’re perfect.”




Placated by the memory, Katniss sighs.




As soon as Peeta’s undershorts splash into the current, she turns to look at him.




There he is, her boy with the bread, so strong and fierce and brave. He looks small right now, pale and weak and vulnerable, but she’s not worried. Peeta's done better this time, and he’s going to push through. Just as he always does.




Katniss walks over to him and puts a few dried pear halves in his hand. “I'm going to wash your clothes. In the meantime, you eat these,” she says before heading down to the stream.




XXXXX




Katniss holds the small vial of sleep syrup in the palm of her hand. She doesn’t like what she’s about to do, but she knows she has no choice.




Peeta’s condition is not as critical as the last time. She’s managed to keep his fever from spiking, but the wound on his leg isn’t getting any better.




Besides, if she doesn’t go to the feast, Thresh won’t kill Clove.

With grim resolve, she gets to work. She mashes up a handful of berries and adds some mint leaves for good measure. Then she heads back up to the cave.




“I’ve brought you a treat,” she tells Peeta, “I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream.”




XXXXX




“You better run now, Fire Girl,” Thresh tells her.




Katniss doesn’t need to be told twice. She flips over, digging her feet into the hard-packed earth, and runs away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato’s voice.




She reaches the woods and keeps going. Blood pours into her eye, but she just swipes it away.




After a few minutes, she hears the cannon. Clove has died.




When she finally reaches the water, she slows down. She’s fairly certain Cato headed out after Thresh. Still, she doesn’t want to waste any time.




Katniss pulls off Rue’s socks, which she’d been using for gloves. Setting them aside, she splashes water over her forehead to clean the cut.




Moving quickly, she presses the socks to her forehead to staunch the flow of blood.




She knows the socks will be soaked in minutes. So, she reaches for the bandage in her small backpack and wraps it, as tightly as she can, around her forehead.




That should do the trick, she thinks, standing up to continue her trek downstream.




She makes it back to the cave in record time.




After squeezing through the rocks, she pulls the little orange backpack from her arm, cuts open the clasp, and dumps the contents on the ground—one slim box containing one hypodermic needle.




Without hesitating, she jams the needle into Peeta’s arm and slowly presses down on the plunger.




Exhausted, Katniss sighs. Her head is throbbing.




Her hands go to her forehead. When they drop back on her lap, she sees they’re clean.




After taking one of the fever pills, Katniss snuggles next to Peeta and drifts off.




XXXXX




Cato rushes through the woods, making a beeline for the Cornucopia.




Without question, Katniss follows him.




Her hands have just landed on the metal at the pointed tail of the Cornucopia when she turns back to look at Peeta. He’s not that far behind, but the mutts are closing in on him fast.




She sends an arrow into the pack, and one goes down, but there are plenty to take its place.




Peeta waves her up the horn, “Go, Katniss! Go!”




Katniss starts climbing, scaling the Cornucopia on her hands and feet. The pure gold surface has been designed to resemble a woven horn, so there are little ridges and seams to get a decent hold on. But after a day in the arena sun, the metal feels hot enough to blister her hands.




Cato lies on his side at the very top of the horn, twenty feet above the ground, gasping to catch his breath as he gags over the edge.




Katniss stops midway up the horn, loads another arrow, and points it at him, but just as she’s about to let it fly, she hears Peeta cry out. She twists around.




Peeta’s just reached the tail, and the mutts are right on his heels.




“Climb!” she yells.




Peeta starts up while Katniss keeps her eyes on the mutts. When one of them places its paws on the metal, she shoots her arrow down its throat.




Peeta reaches her feet. She grabs his arm and pulls him along.




Remembering Cato is waiting at the top, she whips around. He’s still doubled over with cramps and apparently more preoccupied with the mutts than with his fellow tributes.




This is my chance, Katniss thinks. She’s replayed this moment hundreds of times in her mind. She’s ready.




At the bottom of the Cornucopia, the mutts are beginning to assemble. Katniss can hear their calls for blood. She knows they won’t stop until they get it.  




She tugs Peeta’s arm to get his attention. “Think you could push him over?”




Peeta glances at Cato. He still hasn’t regained his feet, but his breathing is slowing. Soon he’ll be recovered enough to come for them and hurl them over the side to their deaths.




“Shoot straight,” Peeta says before taking a step in Cato’s direction and crouching.




Katniss aims her arrow at Cato’s head.




In. Out. Katniss breathes as she tries to block out the sounds of the mutts sniffing and tasting the metal, scraping paws over the surface, and making high-pitched yipping noises to one another.




Smirking, Cato pushes himself up and ducks his head under his arm to deflect the attack.




Katniss’s arrow flies and reaches its mark, piercing right through Cato’s unprotected hand.




Cato cries out and doubles over in pain just as Peeta slams against him.




Knocked off balance, Cato plummets to the ground.




XXXXX




“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed,” Claudius Templesmith says. “Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”




Katniss looks at Peeta in dismay. She’s exhausted. She just wants the whole thing to be over.




“If you think about it, it’s not that surprising,” Peeta says softly as he pulls the knife from his belt and throws it into the lake.




Katniss doesn’t falter. She immediately drops her weapons.




“No,” Peeta says, reaching for her bow and pressing it back into her hand. “You need to use this now.”




“I can’t,” Katniss says, shaking her head. “I won’t.”




“Do it.” Peeta tightens his hold on her wrist in a silent plea. “Before they send those mutts back or something. I don’t want to die like Cato.”




“Then you shoot me,” she says furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. “You shoot me and go home and live with it!”




“You know I can’t,” Peeta says, discarding the weapons.




He turns to look at the lake. Frustration drips from his voice as he says, “This is why I didn’t want you to go to the feast, why I didn’t want you to risk your life for me. I knew it was pointless, that in the end, they were going to make us choose.”




Peeta drops on one knee and begins untying his shoelaces.




Katniss scowls; this is something new. “What are you doing?”




“I think I’m going to go out for a swim.”




Panic rises within her. The lake isn’t too deep, but Peeta doesn’t know how to swim. What if the Gamemakers decide to create waves or a strong current?




She needs to think. Fast.




Katniss kneels next to him. “Peeta, please don’t!”




“Katniss,” Peeta reaches for the end of her braid and gives it a little tug. “This is my choice. It’s what I want.”




“You’re not leaving me here alone,” she says, reaching out to grab a fistful of his jacket.




“Listen,” he says, pulling her to her feet. “We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me.”




Katniss swallows thickly. This is the opening she was waiting for.




Her fingers fumble with the pouch on her belt, freeing it.




Peeta’s eyes widen. His hand clamps on her wrist. “No, I won’t let you.”




“Trust me,” she whispers.




He holds her gaze for a long moment, then lets go.




Katniss loosens the top of the pouch and pours a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm.




She fills hers. Her heart races in fear and anticipation as she asks, “On the count of three?”




Peeta leans down and kisses her once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says.




They stand, their backs pressed together, their empty hands locked tight.




“Hold them out. I want everyone to see,” Peeta says.




Katniss spreads out her fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun.




She’s not afraid this time. If the Gamemakers call their bluff, she and Peeta will have a quick death. Protected by their anonymity, Prim, Gale, and the rest of District 12 will be safe.




Still, as she gives Peeta’s hand one last squeeze as a signal, she hopes it’s not a goodbye.




They begin counting.




“One.” Did she get it right?




“Two.” Maybe this do-over is not for her but for Snow, who’s wanted her dead from the start.




“Three!” She’s about to find out.




Katniss lifts her hand to her mouth.




The berries have just passed her lips when the trumpets begin to blare.




The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. “Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you — the tributes of District Twelve!”

XXXXX




The tribute train speeds back to District 12.




Alone in her compartment, Katniss washes the makeup from her face and puts her hair in its braid.




As she stares in the mirror, she tries to remember who she is and who she isn't.




My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me, but I came back. Peeta is safe. Our families and our district are waiting for us.




With a steady hand, she pins the mockingjay back on her shirt and adds, Snow’s days in power are numbered.




The train makes a brief stop for fuel, and they’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air.




There’s no longer any need to guard them, so Peeta and Katniss walk down along the track, hand in hand.  




As soon as they’re out of earshot, Katniss leans into Peeta’s side and asks, “Have you talked to Haymitch?”




Peeta shakes his head. “About what?”




Remembering how poorly this conversation went the last time, Katniss grabs his arm to keep him close. “He told me the Capitol didn’t like our stunt with the berries.”




Peeta’s body tenses under her touch. “What?”




“He says it seemed too rebellious.”




“Seemed?” Peeta deadpans.




Katniss’s jaw drops open. This is not the reaction she was expecting.




“Come on, Katniss, you can’t be that surprised. We basically forced their hand into doing what we wanted. It’s no wonder they’re upset.” Anger and suspicion quickly flash through his eyes. “Why didn’t he tell me anything?”




Afraid that he’s going to storm away, Katniss tightens her grip on his arm. “Because he didn’t want me to mess up in front of the cameras. He was afraid I’d be all prickly and aloof. So, he told me I needed to act like I was so madly in love that I wasn’t responsible for my actions.”




She knows she’s messed up the second Peeta takes a step away from her. “Act?”




“For the interview,” she quickly clarifies. “Only for the interview.”




The explanation seems to placate him, but he still asks, “So, what you did in the Games, was that—,”




“That was not an act,” she tells him. This time it’s the truth. Her only hidden motive was to bring him out with her.




Peeta nods but, before he can say anything, Haymitch appears by his side.




Even in the middle of nowhere, the old mentor keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be OK.”




“Thanks for the update,” Peeta growls under his breath.




A deep frown settles on Haymitch’s face. “What’s up with you?”




“I just told him what you said about President Snow,” Katniss whispers.




“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” Peeta asks.




Haymitch lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since when do you need coaching on how to act in front of the cameras, kid? You’re smooth and personable, and you always know exactly what to say.” Hunching closer to the two victors, he adds, “Besides, the walls have ears, even here. I didn’t have that many openings, you know?”




Mollified, Peeta nods. Katniss knows it's just a reprieve, though. Peeta's never liked being kept in the dark, and he'll probably go after Haymitch once they're back home.




“Alright,” Haymitch says, “fun’s over. Time to hop back on board.”




The three victors head back.  




Katniss is already on board when she notices Peeta has fallen behind.




Alarmed, she whips around to look out of a window. Peeta’s just a few steps away. A smile splits her face when she notices the bunch of wildflowers in his hand.




As soon as he climbs up the stairs, he presents the pink-and-white flowers to her.  




Katniss bursts out laughing. Her eager hands reach for the offering. “You brought me lunch, how thoughtful!”




Peeta tilts his head in question. “Lunch?”




Katniss nods. With soft fingers, she traces the edge of a pink petal. “They’re wild onions. Gale and I gather them sometimes.”

Peeta’s face turns serious. “Katniss, I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to snap—,”




“No,” she cuts in, “I get it. We’re a team. We’re in this together.”




Peeta reaches for her hand, interlacing their fingers to bring their palms even closer. Hope lights up his face when he asks, “Together?”




Katniss nods. Standing on the tips of her toes, she presses a soft kiss to his lips and whispers, “Together.”




XXXXX




The Tribute train pulls into District 12.




Katniss and Peeta stand side by side, watching their grimy little station rise up around them.




Through the window, Katniss sees the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching their homecoming.




Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Peeta extend his hand. His eyes are warm and soft, her safe place in the storm that’s about to be unleashed.




Smiling back at him, Katniss takes his hand and holds on tightly as she prepares for the cameras. Her heart feels full, grateful for the fact that she won’t ever have to let go.  

XXXXX

On the first Sunday after the Capitol cameras leave, Katniss sneaks out of Victors’ Village.

Partially hidden by the dim light of dusk, she quietly walks to the Seam.

A part of her wishes she could sneak under the fence and go to her and Gale’s meeting place like she did before. She mises the sounds and the smells of her woods and longs to hold her father’s bow, but she knows the rock ledge isn’t safe. Not today.

President Snow has eyes and ears everywhere, and she can’t afford to repeat her past mistakes. Not when what she has to say is this important.

Two blocks away from Gale’s house, she finds the perfect spot; a narrow corridor that stretches between two shacks. Despite being open on both ends, it’s dark and much too small for foot traffic or lampposts —which makes it a perfect hiding place— and it faces the street Gale uses to go to the woods.

She’s only been there for a few minutes when a silent silhouette walks past.

“Gale!” Katniss hisses as loud as se dares.

Gale stops on his tracks and turns towards the sound, leaning slightly into the small dark corridor.

Smiling fondly at her friend, Katniss lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers in greeting.

The glimmer in his eyes tells her he’s surprised to see her there, but he doesn’t hesitate. In two long strides, he’s by her side with open arms.

Just like she did the last time, Katniss jumps into his embrace.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembers crying —sobbing in Gale’s arms until she began to hiccup and tremble— but she doesn’t cry now. She doesn’t have time for that. Instead, she buries her face in his jacket and breathes him in, letting his fresh, clean scent comfort her and give her the strength she needs to carry on.

Pulling away from her friend, Katniss smiles. “Hi!”

“Hey!” Gale points his thumb back towards the woods. “I was on my way out to meet you.” Dropping his hand, he turns around and inspects their tight hiding place. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you’d pass by.” Her smile drops. “We need to talk.”

A dark cloud passes through Gale’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Catnip?”

Grabbing a fistful of his jacket to keep him from storming away, Katniss begins to talk. As quickly as she can, she tells him about President Snow’s anger.

“He’s mad at us for showing the Capitol up in the arena and turning it into the joke of Panem,” she says. “It’s something that wouldn’t have mattered much before, but Snow’s control over the country is slipping. His enemies are gaining strength, and he can’t afford to look weak in front of them.”

Anticipation lights Gale’s eyes. “His enemies?”

“Rebel forces are organizing all over the country,” Katniss says, “even the Capitol has a few dissenters, but Snow’s biggest problem is District 13.”

Gale takes a step back. “Thirteen? There’s no Thirteen. It got blown off the map.”

“No, it didn’t,” Amused with the look of shock on Gale's face, Katniss smiles. “District 13 is still there. That footage we’ve seen, with the rubble and the ruins, is always the same shot. The Capitol just uses it as a backdrop for its TV presenters.

“The people of Thirteen have spent the last 74 years living underground, and they're done waiting. They’re eager to get rid of Snow.”

Gale shakes his head, still too disconcerted to fully grasp what’s happening. “How do you know all this?”

“I heard about it while I was in the Capitol,” she lies, convinced that this is the only possible explanation she can give him that will make some kind of sense. “I overheard some conversations during my training, and then, while I was recovering, I was... approached.”

“Approached?”

Katniss nods, hoping Gale won’t press any further. She’s ready to tell him what she knows about Eight and a few other districts, but she doesn’t want to go into any specifics in case someone decides to check up on her info later on.

Luckily, Gale is a man of action, and his hatred for the Capitol runs deep. He has all the information he needs. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well... All eyes are on me right now, so there’s not much I can do —not if I want to keep my family safe— but I was thinking...”

Katniss looks up, silver eyes bright with trust and hope. “Nobody knows who you are, Gale. No one is following you. You could go. You could just sneak under the fence and march down all the way to Thirteen and tell them everything I know."

"Wait a second," Gale says, raising his hands as if to shield himself from her plan. "If what you're saying is true, District 13 must have agents in every district. So, why would they need me to relay your information?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Thirteen is in contact with a few people, but they don't have access to every district. My information is not very detailed, but it comes from every corner of Panem. The leaders of Thirteen might be able to use it to band the rebels together before Snow sends his Peacekeepers to start cracking down on us."

Pulling his shoulders back, Gale backtracks until his arm touches the cold cement wall. Looking past Katniss, he stares at the empty street at the end of the corridor.

Enveloped by silence, she sees his mind working, turning, and churning ideas as he tries to come to terms with what he’s heard.

“What about my family?” he finally asks.

“I’ll take care of them,” Katniss promises, “just like you took care of mine.”

When Gale looks back at her —full of fire and determination— she knows, clear as day, that she’s made the right choice.

Gale Hawthorne wants the revolution more than he wants anything else.

“I’m going to need a few supplies,” he says, his mind already thinking ahead.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll help you get whatever you need.”

Crossing his arms, Gale tilts his head to study her closely. Uprisings and rebellions are far from his mind when he asks, “So…you and the baker’s son. How long has that been going on?”

Katniss shrugs. What should she say? A year and a half? A month? A week? She doesn’t really know when to start counting. So, she sticks with the vaguest thing she can think of. “A while.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “I can’t believe I never noticed.”

“Well," Katniss slips her hands into her pockets. Discussing Peeta with Gale --or Gale with Peeta-- has always made her uncomfortable. Luckily, her friend's tone is a lot more subdued than it used to be.  "We weren’t exactly shouting it over the rooftops, you know?”

Raising a questioning eyebrow, he locks his gray eyes with hers. “I thought you didn’t want to get married.”

“I changed my mind.”

As soon as the words pass her lips, she knows they’re true.

She still doesn’t want to have children. If her trips to the Games have taught her anything, it's that Panem is not a safe place to live. But she doesn’t want to be alone anymore, not when she can be with Peeta.

Hoping to put the conversation to rest, she lifts her chin and adds, “Peeta changed my mind.”

Gale nods, slowly taking her in as if he's seeing her for the very first time.  

In the small space, Gale offers his hand. "OK, Catnip, I'll do as you ask."

Smiling, Katniss reaches out to shake it and seal their deal.

Katniss heads back to Victors' Village feeling lighter than she has in weeks. Her plan is in motion. Gale is going to District 13.  

As she reaches the steps of her new home, a thrilling thought crosses her mind.

She's back on uncharted waters. The future is about to become uncertain once more.

[bigkyloenergy]

𝙃𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙊𝙈

CHAPTER III: A HARD RIDE.

a witcher!kylo x reader fic. dark themes, smut ahead. 18+.

summary: you are a barmaid / stablewoman at an inn in toussaint, kylo ren, one of the last of the witchers from the school of the viper regularly stays at the establishment. you wonder what keeps him coming back.

read on ao3.

  “Ten barrels then?”

Nodding, you wrote off your name on the order sheet. “Like always, Betty wants to make sure they’re pre-bought before the new fisherman's haul arrives this weekend.”

 “Expecting a crowd? I heard about a bard that everyone seems to be itchin’ to see.”

You wouldn’t normally make small talk with the brewer--he wasn’t a very bright or entertaining man--just like how you didn’t normally go for the orders, only if Betty was extra busy. But you needed to occupy your time as much as you could. Ever since the alley you couldn’t even look at the coral buildings of Toussaint without remembering how the Viper’s tongue felt even better than his fingers. At least it kept true to his title.

 “Hopefully.” You gave him a tight smile before you turned to finish the rest of the small errands that the innkeep had given you to get off of her back, having cleaned every crevice of the Pheasantry before it had even opened.  

You’d eavesdropped on other conversations every time you heard the word Witcher , but most of the time they weren’t talking about the Viper. You’d only caught a few, which seemed to come and go just like the boats--but they were hesitant, tip toeing around their words as if he would interrupt.

And most days, you wished he would.

Sighing, you gazed over to the river, the breeze greeting you as you tried to lose your train of thought, let your muscle memory walk you through the sunny city. You knew it well enough now. It never really rained, so you weren’t worried about the extra time you took avoiding those alleys.

Too often you would find yourself frustrated, wondering if he’d ever come back, promising yourself that he would get a mouthful from you if he ever did. If he never came back to the inn, oh well. Couldn’t be any worse than pining after a ghost--or, that was what your mind was determined to play on a loop.

Until the sight of his dark cloaks broke that.

Your chest filled, nearly dropping the list you had clutched between your fingers. He was making his way over the bridge, high upon his stygian steed. A perfect picture of death.

And your first instinct was to follow him. Your boots clicked against the ground as if someone had shot a gun to urge you forward. He was over the bridge by the time you even got close to it, slicing through the crowd like butter. Meanwhile, you nearly had to shove men to get past them. Bravery was one of your downfalls, and you only confirmed this as you waded to the edge of the forest Kylo had disappeared into.

The sun still hung high, the trees hosting a darkness that it wouldn't touch. Your feet crunched a branch, and you used a thick trunk for assistance. As your eyes adjusted, an eerie the only thing you could identify.

There was a trail--that much you could tell, but no one in sight. If you listened close enough, you could still hear the river running through Toussaint and that comforted you enough to move on. As you kept on the path, you saw a broken wagon tossed aside, obviously stripped by bandits— you wouldn’t stay long enough to find where the owner was.

Your hair fell around your face as you tried to keep focus on your footing while still being aware of your surroundings, knowing that this was a bad idea. Yet the thought of finding the Viper in action beckoned to you like a siren call. You’d been away from the inn a few hours, so you couldn’t know if he had already checked in. Maybe he’d even looked for you.

A sickening shriek whipped your head so fast you almost kinked your neck to peek around one of the evergreens. There you found a dead knight-- that wasn’t what horrified you.

There were creatures around it, tall as any human, their flesh was rotted, holes on their body exposing the decimated tissue. They craned over the corpse, feasting on the carcass, the noise shuddering your bones.

Stumbling slightly, you were unable to take your eyes off of them, too afraid if you did, they’d notice you. You wouldn’t even have a running chance.

Then your heel caught, not having time to look back, sending you tumbling into the grass.

Something seized your wrist, jerking you back to meet the Viper’s angry, yellow eyes. He tilted his head slightly, aiming his ear toward the monsters as he lowered you to the ground with a gentle thud. You squirmed, leaves crunching underneath you--Kylo didn’t hesitate, following you to the forest floor, serving as a personal shield. Your throat thickened. He was so close that he invaded every one of your senses. His body was achingly heavy, even while he used his elbows as a kickstand to not crush you under his weight.

Nose filled with his scent, forest — fresh cut pine and mint, so strong that dizzied you. You didn’t notice how hard your breathing was until your chest touched his.

 “What are those?” you asked in a panicked whisper, nodding toward the beasts. “And why… is this necessary?”

He pulled his chin down to his chest, looking between your bodies before his gaze bore through you again. “You’d rather be in the knight’s position.”  

 “No. No. It’s just…”

Warmth already crept between your thighs--even as danger weighed in the air. Only intensified by the Viper’s presence.

 “Stop talking.”

 “Are they still there?”

He didn’t answer you, but he didn’t look away from you either. You couldn’t stand it, burning under him, you almost debated your survival rate if you would have just ran.

 “Is that who you were after? Or... what?” you asked. “There were like, five of those things around it. Eating him. I couldn’t even see anything other than the helmet, really I —”

 “No.”

 “No?”

 “That isn’t what I was after.” He hushed you through the muzzle.

You took a beat, looking him over. You couldn’t remember if you had ever seen him blink.

 “What were you after then?”

The Viper grunted, a deep sound before collapsing a large hand around your mouth, the leather warm against your skin. It only gave you more time to notice his body positioned, how his large thigh was between both of yours. You couldn’t get over how good he smelled, how you’d never smelled any soaps like it in all of your life, unable to compare it to fresh flowers or a rare rain.

It was a few more minutes with his hand silencing you before he was lifting, pulling you with him.

 “Come.”

 “Oh no. Not this again. You’re not gonna trick me with your fucking--” you gestured toward him, having pulled yourself from his grip now, “--whatever it is that you do to me, Kylo.”

His name left your mouth differently this time, full of spite, and his fists squeezed at his sides.  You waited for him to say something, you figured you were better off continuing.

“You do know there’s brothels for that? I know that you probably get everything you want as the local nightmare, but I’m not exactly okay with being a toy at your once-a-month disposal. Were you even going to come to the inn?”

Another deafening silence. You swore he didn’t move a muscle the whole while you spoke.

 “You followed me.”

Your stomach sank, your eyes darting to the scattered leaves he’d made your sanctuary.

 “I’m not coming with you. I’ll walk back. We aren’t even far.” Your confidence was very convincing. At least you thought.

 “Hm.”

He brought his attention from your toes, to your eyes, then back again before he was turning. You hadn’t noticed Luxe before, but she was barely standing a few feet away from the Witcher, waiting patiently.

You weren’t pouting, but your brows furrowed as you watched him, mouth puckering like he’d just failed a subconscious test. The Viper sent a leg over his horse, mounting it in an easy sweep. You’d get back with or without him.

Brushing some of the mud from your skirts, deciding you needed to tie them up so you could get out of the forest more efficiently.

You leaned down--and were snatched up by your blouse, placed perfectly in front of Kylo on the saddle, facing him, your chests touching as they had before. One of his hands twisted in the reigns, using his fingertips to kick your legs over his like they were an irritant.

And when you did, you felt a hard outline through his trousers. Your heart shot into your ears.

You found your hands tightening into the chainmail at his arms, earning another look from him. He surveyed you under thick lashes before scooping your skirts to your belly.

 “You followed me into the forest.”

Swallowing a whine, you made an effort to keep eye contact with him, finding a new speck of amber each time.

 “I— told you I would follow you back to camp, get you alone…”

Your jaw was captured in his stitched fingertips, turning you toward his eclipsed gaze while the horse continued to walk along.

 “Naughty, naive thing. Trying to get yourself killed.”

His hand moved between the both of you and unzipped his pants--you couldn’t help but watch. It released his cock immediately, breaking any restraint you mustered, a whine coming through parted lips.

You’d never seen it, only felt it against your belly when he’d fingered you in the stables. And it was more than you could have ever imagined. Your mouth watered at the sight of the pink tip, already lined with precum. It was the only skin he’d revealed--other than what you saw around his eyes--but you imagined his cock would reach his navel if he were naked.

You wanted him so badly you couldn’t wait. And it was written all over your face. He lifted your hips, peeling your wet underwear from your cunt. A hiss pushed through his mask, before he jerked his wrist and tore them off in a single motion.

Kylo kept you against the front of his saddle, using it as leverage to angle you down onto his cock. Your jaw nearly unhinged at the feeling of him splitting you open, burning and satisfying all in one go. His brow furrowed, his focus between your thighs as he sunk into you.

It was almost too much to handle, your spine arched against the sculpted wood, desperate to fill yourself with every inch of him. You’d thought about it so many times, spun so many fantasies at your fingertips at the thought of his cock filling you, but nothing matched this.

It was unrivaled.

 “Hold onto me,” the Viper demanded through clenched teeth.

His thighs tightened under your knees, and you did as he asked. Your forehead fell on his shoulder, and his hand left you, sinking you down to the hilt, packing you to the most undiscovered bits.

He snapped at the reigns, and the steed went from a steady trot to a fierce gallop, bouncing you off his lap, his cock pounding your cervix--you squealed, biting at the material of his armor. His body was so easy to hold onto, one of your arms hooked under his, the other draping over his shoulder, fingers linking to secure yourself against his frame.

But that didn’t give you any relief against him. Lewd slaps melded with hooves hitting the ground, not even sure where you were or where you were going now. Your eyes rolled back into your head, an impending orgasm taking hold just as the curve of Kylo’s glove found your throat.

 “My name,” he growled.

You clenched around him and conceded to his demand. A sharp cry broke through your climax, giving the knowledge of exactly who was wrecking you to all of the forest. The Witcher was not in control of the motions that were snapping you to his dick, dropping the lead to lock both of his murderous hands on each side of your waist in order to change that.

Kylo used your weight to slam you down, primal, lascivious noises puffing from the mask. You could barely keep your eyes open, stars fuzzing in your blackened gaze while you just took every delicious inch he was forcing into you.

 “Fuck, slut. You have no idea what you’ve done.”  

You couldn’t answer him, you could barely even comprehend what he was saying. Every time the metal-plated hooves hit the ground it vibrated through Kylo’s body to make home in yours, unyielding in its wreckage.

Another noise fled you--this time it seemed to stir up the horse, nearly knocking you off of the path that was a blur behind the Viper’s back. He removed his hand and waved it behind you, somehow soothing the steed before it found a new home on your already-pulsing clit, using your juices to easily swipe it back and forth with tight urgency. Your body would have twisted if it wasn’t for your heels locked under his calves, but Kylo showed no mercy. He forced you to take all of him once he felt your rigid walls flutter in warning, only the motions of your ride adjusting his cock in the stubborn burrow it found. You felt like human gelatin as you came again, and he gave you no time to relish in it.

He strangled you, snapping you back against the neck of the steed, giving it the perfect angle for your back to curve. He grabbed the ties of your bodice, tugging them and releasing your breasts from their confines. The Viper grunted, keeping his cock deep while he pushed the skirts back above your waist. You could barely breathe. But you didn’t care.

He wanted to see all of you.

Whines combined with quick breaths as you watched him, awaiting his next move. Then he pulled his mask under his chin.

Your heart stopped.

But you only got a glimpse of his lips, perfect and full, before they were on your breasts, suckling as if he would get oxygen from your perked nipples. His hands snaking under your back to force you further into his face. His teeth sank into the soft flesh of your tit, drawing blood as his canines dragged against the skin. You hissed, invading his hood with his hand to find the hidden tendrils of his hair. You couldn’t even wrap your mind around the fact that you had seen a flash of his full face. It was too good--he was your mind and body.

He fucked you relentlessly, your ass starting to sore from the way it shifted on the straddle every time you bounced on it. Your thighs grazed his leather trousers, red with an angry rash that you would feel tomorrow. When he let go of your throat, you sucked in a deprived breath.

Kylo’s mouth was hot, needy, devouring every bit of your chest, leaving possessive purple marks in his wake. He groaned at each force of motion into your saturated cunt, forcing himself over the edge, no warning before he was spilling his seed into you. The only thing you could feel was the slow force of his hips, needing the extra friction, becoming feral on your chest. You glistened with his spit.

Again, the Viper returned his mask before you even had a chance. His back straightened, towering over you as you desperately tried to catch your breath. But he didn’t pull himself out of you, tugging you to the seat properly, your skirts falling back over it. 

You felt dizzy, your cheeks hot with blood, only hiding your tits when you realized you were trailing back into town, crimson staining your top when you redressed.

Your walls still pumped, the aftermath of your orgasm reminding that he was inside of you, his cock softening at every passing building. Still, he made no effort to empty you. Not until you made it to the Phesantry.

He huffed and scooped under your armpits to lift you off his horse, leaving you bare with a cocktail of juices flowing down your legs.

The only thing you noticed was Kylo tucking the ripped material of your panties into his pocket. Then he was gone, without so much as another glance.