#I thought the angst train was over in rebels

[fandomrantsandtwittertakes]

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3

summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.

warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3

word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)

Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 

That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 

He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 

He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 

But he couldn’t. 

Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 

Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 

Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 

——————————————————————

Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 

You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 

“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 

“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”

A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 

“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.

Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.

“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”

“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 

The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 

You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–

“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”

You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 

The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 

The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 

There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 

“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.

Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 

Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 

Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 

Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.

“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”

You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 

You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 

You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 

It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 

You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 

“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.

Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 

Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.

You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.

But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.

So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 

You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 

“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.

“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”

“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”

“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”

“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 

A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.

Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.

“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.

“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”

“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.

Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.

“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”

The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.

It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.

He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.

“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”

Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 

“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.

Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.

You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 

Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.

He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 

“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 

Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.

“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.

“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 

Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 

You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 

“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”

“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”

“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”

You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.

You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 

“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”

——————————————————————

The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.

You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.

“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”

The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 

“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.

Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.

“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 

There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.

“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 

Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 

“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 

“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.

“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”

Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”

There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.

“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 

“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”

——————————————————————

Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.

But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.

Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 

Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 

His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.

Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 

Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 

The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 

It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 

You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 

——————————————————————

Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.

He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  

His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 

He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.

It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 

He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.

It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 

You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 

Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.

“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”

You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 

It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 

He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.

“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”

“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”

You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.

It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.

A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 

Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.

So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 

The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 

“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”

“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.

“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 

Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 

“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”

He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 

You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 

You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”

That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.

——————————————————————

Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 

It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 

The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 

A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 

You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 

Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 

Mate…Mate…fuck.

Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 

It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 

The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 

He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 

“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 

“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 

As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 

Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.

Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 

Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.

Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 

“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 

Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.

“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.

The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 

“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 

“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 

“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 

“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.

You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 

“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”

That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 

Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 

“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.

You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?

“What don’t I get?” he implores.

He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.

“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”

You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.

“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”

Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.

He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 

Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”

Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.

“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.

“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 

He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.

“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 

Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 

“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 

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[deathbxnny]

Hello! Can i request some Mavuika, Raiden Ei and Makoto (if you can't do makoto then I'll like to exchange with Yae Miko) (seperately) x Gn! Reader , who is an immortal elemental being (The reader can transform into a phoenix), who is extremely smart and powerful gifted in fire magic and has a absolute mastery of pyro element.

Genshin women with an Immortal!Elemental being!GN!Reader | Mavuika, Raiden Ei, Yae Miko

Hello anon! I decided to go with Yae, mainly because I had a hard time understanding how to write Mikoto due to us not having much on her. But thank you for your request and I hope you'll like this!!<3

Content: Immortal reader, some angst?, fluff, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader is gender neutral!

((Not proofread))

》MAVUIKA

From the day she met you, Mavuika saw you as a symbol of freedom for Natlan. She met you as a Phoenix 500 years ago, which set her heart ablaze with determination, especially when you showcased your intelligence and strength in many ways that left her in awe. Every decision, every word you spoke, aided her plan to save her nation. She felt relief when you agreed to be her lover, a loneliness deep inside her finally filling at your presence.

Many centuries later, she still finds herself seeking out your wisdom for any decision she makes. She respects you as a powerful elemental being that has served her nation for years at her side and therefore made your word more important than her own. Your mastery over the Pyro elemental that rivals her own leaves her in awe every time, too.

And as she watched you fly over her home country as a Phoenix like you did so long ago, she felt at ease to know that her nation could too rise from the ashes of its defeats alongside you.

》RAIDEN EI

Ei, at the height of her obsession with eternity, saw you as someone who perfectly conformed, yet at the same time rebelled against her ideals. A Phoenix flew too close to the sun and got reborn from the ashes its old self left behind, but that meant that you were changed and the same alike. Your wisdom and intelligence are what made her often rethink her thoughts and ideals whilst she meditated in her abode. You often join her there for some tea and sweets, claiming that she wasn't alone anymore and shouldn't act like it either.

Your absolute mastery over the pryo element is something she definitely admired. She likes to train with you every now and then to strengthen herself, as she saw you as a better equal. This also means that she greatly respects your opinions and thoughts, despite her own ideals usually having a priority.

She sees you as the voice of reason that guides her through tougher situations she can't handle.

》YAE MIKO

Yae enjoys spending her own immortal life at your side in the shrine. Your life together is never bland, especially not with her teasing and playful nature. Your intelligence and wisdom meshes well with her own mischief and cunning version of it, which makes you both a very powerful couple unbeknownst to many. She likes taking the backseat, though, and let's you take over most things when she's feeling especially lazy that day. It just proves how much she trusts and values you and your knowledge.

With that said, she's not shy in expressing her love for how strong you are. She'll stay around to watch you train or use your abilities for even the mundanest things with an admiring glint in her eye. She compliments you for it at all times without a fail, practically making it her goal to fluster you as much as she can. She just adores you so much.

Expect her to make jokes about you essentially being a bird and her a fox... they tend to be at times concerningly grim.

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

[justwinginglife]

hi!! may I request something again?^^

may I request soshiro found out that you can turn into a Kaiju or see you transforming into your Kaiju form. a little Angst but with happy ending please:›

You may always request something again! Also story note- for this fic, Imma just ignore that Kikoru Shinomiya exists, sorry yall, you're taking her spot now.

Half Human

Your whole life was one big irony in that your life's mission was to kill kaiju and yet you owed the very breath in your lungs to them. Your father, the Director General, Isao Shinomiya, had already lost his wife and he'd be damned if he was going to lose you too. He secretly brought a kaiju back to base alive and had several talented doctors and scientists exchange its core in place of your failing heart. The doctors weren't even sure it could be done, but when the abomination that was you was finally finished, they were all sworn to secrecy. You were to be the first and the only kaiju transplant survivor.

After all, if word got out that it was possible to enhance the human body directly with kaiju organs, without use of a suit, there would be chaos. For one, the suit industry would take an immense hit and the black market would reign supreme. Not to mention how much ungodly human experimentation could come about from failed attempts to successfully recreate the transplant. It might even make the Defense Force's job more difficult- trying to take Kaiju in alive was significantly more dangerous and strenuous than just killing them.

With all these things in mind, your father kept the tightest lid on the situation. No one but you, your father, and the team that had worked on you knew this secret. But today, one more would find out.

Your father always carefully monitored your vitals in case you ever rejected the organ, and you were always reminded to keep your emotions in check so as to not set off the kaiju side of you. You thought that you'd learned to keep most of your emotions at bay, but apparently that control you had did not apply to anything even remotely related to the Vice Captain.

One time you'd heard someone shit talking him and you accidentally stabbed through your own tongue because your anger had called your fangs to emerge. And it didn't help that the Vice Captain glimpsed the blood dripping from your lips and tried to help you. You always wondered if you'd be able to feel human emotions anymore since you no longer had a human heart, but he quickly put that fear to rest because every time he reached for you, touched you, cared for you, you felt like you could feel your nonexistent heart beating rapidly. It felt like he was the only thing grounding you in your humanity.

Your father must have caught onto this at some point because he'd frequently make excuses to call you to headquarters when he felt like you might be getting too close to Hoshina. Today was one of those days.

You had gotten the summon early this morning and you were annoyed but you knew you that as much as you wanted to rebel against your father as his daughter, as a soldier in his Defense Force you couldn't very well disobey a direct order from the Director General. Especially when no one knew the reason you were called to headquarters so regularly. So you went to him.

By the time you finally concluded your business with your father it was late (you refused to stay the night in his division and let him have anymore hold over your life as it was) and you were waiting for the next train back to the Third Division when you felt your comms buzzing in your pocket. You thought it was strange as everyone should be either asleep or going to sleep soon, but you popped the comms in anyway, eager to hear what was going on so late at night. The base was under attack. It was a Daikaiju. The Vice Captain was fighting him. And losing.

You start to get dizzy. Sweat trickles down your forehead. The world seemed to be blinking in and out. You shake your head trying to get ahold of yourself but you know it's no use. You still haven't learned to get your kaiju side under control and on the rare occasion when you slipped and went berserk only your father could bring you back from that place of darkness. You clench your fists, straining, and gripping onto what was left of your humanity but your lower half had already started to turn.

"No- don't. He needs me. I can't be rampaging in another division right now." You beg the beast inside you.

It doesn't listen.

You feel the transformation reach your neck, a growl already starting to rise up your throat.

"I said stop! Damnit, st-"

Your voice is no longer your own. All that's left of you is one half of your face now, and the beast is slowly closing in on it. It's hungry. It hasn't been let out in awhile.

You look up at the moon, blinking back tears, thinking it might be awhile before you see it again, before you're yourself again. You wonder how long it will take your dad to find you and you wonder if he will even be able to change you back this time. He was getting older, getting weaker. What if you killed him this time?

And what if when you woke up, if you ever woke up again, the Vice Captain was dead? What would you do with your life if you weren't listening for his footsteps in the hallways or listening for his laugh in the air? If he wasn't telling you a joke or complimenting your stance, would you make it through the day? If you went through life not ever having told him how you felt, would it still feel like you were living?

You start to spiral in your own dark thoughts as the transformation spreads across your face, but right before it hits your ear you here the comms crackling.

"Vice Captain! Come in, Vice Captain! Sir, please respond!" Okonogi. She's yelling for the Vice Captain. Something must've happened.

Your vision starts to go red. You punch the lamppost beside you, but you're surprised to find that it's your fist that hits the metal. Not the beast's. You look down. Only your legs are still transformed.

You actually laugh out loud. "That's more like it. Time to go." You jump once, and it propels you into the sky. You use the momentum to launch yourself towards the Third Division. Somehow your legs are faster than a moving train, bringing you bounding towards the training grounds in what seems like no time at all.

Before you can even think about the consequences of being half transformed on base where the officers are literally trained to kill kaiju like you, before you can even think about how your father will probably kill you himself for revealing the secret he's worked so hard to protect, you're already jumping in front of Hoshina as you transform your arms and block a blow that could've been deadly.

He doesn't even have time to be stunned, you're injured.

He jumps to his feet, concern on his face, as you spit blood. You've not fought anything in your kaiju form before (the most you've done is scare the shit out of some pigeons before your father found you and changed you back) and it takes some getting used to.

"Well fuck. That actually hurt, damnit!" You yell at the kaiju. It laughs at you. You raise an eyebrow. It seems to understand you. You're astounded but you don't care to think too much about it before you launch a punch at its abdomen.

It groans but then it chuckles. "Is that the best you've got?"

"Ah so you do talk. That's fucking creepy, not gonna lie." You punch its chest this time.

It staggers backwards and Hoshina takes advantage of the opening, slashing at its legs. It lands on its back.

You hurl yourself high into the air and then crash down hard on its head with a deafening blow that splits its skull. But it starts to slowly regenerate and it shakes you off of it. You land at the ground by Hoshina.

"So are we ever going to talk about the whole 'you being a half kaiju hybrid' thing?" He asks you, eyes still trained on the shuddering beast in front of him.

"Really? Now? We're a little busy Hoshina."

He laughs- he actually fucking laughs. "Oh really, because here I thought we were having a nice little tea party."

You roll your eyes but you can't help but smile at his poor comedic timing. "I'll treat you to some tea if you tell me where the damn core is."

He points to its back. "Lil fucker is hiding it in there."

You nod. "Got it."

The kaiju rises to its feet, ready for another round.

"Do me a favor and be bait, yeah?" You tell Hoshina and then before he can protest, you charge its back.

The kaiju swings at you but you duck.

"Oh I'm the fucking bait? Real classy." Hoshina grumbles but he complies, charging at its front, slashing at it and keeping it busy while you circle behind it.

You run up the stairs of a nearby building and when you reach the top, you launch yourself from the roof.

"This one is for making Hoshina bleed." You mutter under your breath before sending its organs flying as you rip through its flesh and pummel its core to bits. The aftershock sends you flying and you don't have time to land properly. You smack the floor on your side, tumbling in circles until you finally slow.

Your ribs feel like they're caving in but at least the kaiju is down for good. You lie in the dirt, coughing painfully and looking up at the night sky. You're fully human again, like the beast inside you curled up and went to bed, letting you feel the full force of the pain alone.

Hoshina rushes over to you. "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

You cough again. "Not sure if I'm up for that tea party anymore. Might've fucked up a lung or two."

He rolls his eyes. "You would make a joke at a time like this."

"And who was the one asking me stupid questions mid fucking fight?" You tease.

He laughs.

"So... are we going to talk about it now?" You swallow, wondering how he'll react to this new side of you.

He thinks for a moment. "Talk about what? As far as I know, a human saved me from the kaiju. And it looks like," He chucks a rock at the nearby drone, "The rubble badly damaged any footage that might've been captured."

You sigh, relieved, and relax against the ground.

"But... if there's anything you want to tell me later... when you're ready, I'll listen."

There were so many things you wanted to tell him and you being half kaiju was the least important of them. But you'd save that for another day, maybe when less of your limbs hurt.

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

"By the way, did you really brutally murder the kaiju just because it made me bleed? Your comms were on."

"Shut up, Hoshina."

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

• summary: when aleksander has to leave urgent for a mission, saying goodbye to reader.

• contains: alexander morozova x fem reader, talks of an attack and violence, possessiveness, protective, a bit on angst

• word count: 1.7k

masterlist || requests

Aleksander’s mind had been a storm of thoughts and emotions lately. His mind constantly ran to his partner. He was currently in a long and tedious meeting with the king, his mind half focused on the conversation while the other half thought about her, when one of the king’s advisors suggested something that immediately caught his attention. “Your majesty, we have received word that there is a group of grisha rebels operating near the Fjerda border, and they are planning a significant attack on both the Grand Palace and the Little Palace.”

Aleksander’s mind immediately snapped back to the present, his eyes sharpening with interest. “How do we know that they are planning an attack?” He questioned sharply.

The advisor replied, “We have received intel from our spies in that region that this group of rebels had been gathering supplies and weapons in preparation for an assault. They have also been training extensively.”

The king’s expression grew grave as he listened to the news. “That is most concerning.” He spoke. “We cannot allow these rebels to carry out an attack on our borders. General Kirigan, I want you to lead a force to go and handle this threat immediately.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Aleksander said without hesitation. He felt a mixture of emotions swirling within him — concern over the rebels, determination to protect his people, and a fierce possessiveness to protect his woman, who was currently within the walls of the Little Palace.

The king spoke up again. “I also request that you take a selection of Heartrenders with you for this, along with Healers and Squallers to provide support and healing where needed.”

Aleksander nodded, already planning in his head which of the grisha to take with him. “I will gather a team of all necessary and depart immediately.”

The meeting continued with the king giving further instructions and details about the mission, but Aleksander’s thoughts were once again consumed by her. He couldn’t shake the feeling of protectiveness and need to make sure she remained safe.

Finally, the meeting concluded, and Aleksander rose from his seat, already itching to leave. He bowed to the king and nodded at the other council members before leaving the room in the Grand Palace, his heart hammering in his chest with a mixture of anticipation and worry.

He made his way back to the Little Palace, determined to find his partner and ensure her safety. With quick strides and a determined expression, he searched for her, his eyes scanning the halls and rooms for any sign of her presence.

Unknown to all the dangers flowing through the air, she walked through the halls of the Little Palace as she usually would. A book rested in her palm as her eyes trailed along the lines of words.

He caught sight of her walking calmly down the hall, a book in one hand and a gentle smile on her face. Seeing her like this, so unaware and vulnerable, made his surge of protectiveness and possessiveness flare up within him.

He quickened his pace to catch up to her, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “Little star.” He called out, his voice urgent but soft, as to not alarm her.

Her head lifted from its slightly bent position and looked towards the sound of his voice. Her expression was soft as she smiled in greeting. “Is everything alright?”

He slowed to a stop only a few steps away from her, studying her face, drinking in her sweet smile. The sight of her, so blissfully ignorant of the impending danger, both eased and fueled his need to protect her.

He walked a bit closer, his tone low and serious. “Everything is fine.” He spoke softly. “However, I need to speak to you in private. It’s… important.”

She looked around them for a private place for a conversation before nodding off in the east direction, signaling silently to follow her before she started walking.

He followed her lead, his eyes never leaving her figure as they moved through the halls. He could sense her curiosity and slight confusion, but he also knew that she trusted him, which made his heart ache at the weight of the situation they were about to discuss.

She led him to a secluded room down the hall from where they first spoke, a small study area usually reserved for the Healers during their study periods. She closed the door behind them and turned to face him, her beautiful face filled with curiosity.

He stood for a moment, taking in her presence, the softness of her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she looked straight at him, the way her body seemed to warm his heart. He took deep breaths before gathering himself, his expression darkening with the gravity of the situation.

“I have news.” He started, his tone solemn as he met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and seriousness. “There are reports of a group of grisha rebels planning an attack on the border. A strike force is being assembled to go and deal with the threat.”

“I’m assuming that you’re going as well.” She spoke calmly, despite the small rush of fear she felt creeping in.

He studied her face, observing her calm exterior and subtle hint of fear that flickered in her eyes. He nodded solemnly, his gaze never wavering. “Yes, I’ll be leading.” He confirmed.

“Let me come.” She said a bit too suddenly.

His eyes widened in surprise, his head snapping slightly at the sound. “What?!” He exclaimed. “No. Absolutely not. It’s far too dangerous. I won’t allow it.”

“You know I want to help, not sit here and feel like some fearful cat.” She protested softly.

He sighed, his expression growing conflicted as he considered her words. He knew her feisty spirit and her eagerness to protect, but the thought of her getting hurt filled him with a primal fear.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, little star.” He muttered, his voice a mix of affection and exasperation. “And as much as part of me likes that… there is no way I’m letting you put yourself in danger. I won’t risk it.”

“Oh, come on.” She continued to speak softly. “You’re walking into this. You knew how I would react.”

He sighed again, his resolve faltering slightly as he met her gaze again. “I knew you’d want to come, yes. But I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to actually try and convince me.” He muttered.

“Foolish?” Her brows knitted together.

He gave her an exasperated look. “It’s dangerous, and you know it. The rebels could be ruthless and unpredictable. I won’t risk your life, no matter how talented you may be.”

“This is so unfair.”

He stepped closer, his hands gently reaching out to caress her cheek. “I know it may seem unfair to you, but you have to understand, little star. I can’t even bear the thought of something happening to you… please, just this once, don’t be stubborn and just listen to me. Stay here, and let me handle the threat.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “When do you leave?”

His hand moved to her other cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her skin. “In the morning.” He murmured, his voice laced with an emotion that was both soft and filled with worry. “I’ll be gone most of the day, but I should return by sundown or by the next dawn. I promise. I’ll come back to you, little star.”

“You better, because I will not bury you, Aleksander.” She whispered, moving to place her hands on his neck.

The feel of her hands on his neck brought a mixture of comfort and longing. He rested his forehead against hers, looking deeply into her eyes. “I don’t plan on dying.” He muttered, his voice filled with both conviction and tenderness.

“Be safe, for me.” She whispered.

Her words sent his heart racing, and a mix of emotions tightened in his chest. He held her gaze gently, his voice soft. “I promise, little star. I’ll come back to you, I swear it.” His voice carried a fierce devotion, both to her and his duty.

She nodded slowly, accepting his answer.

He gently pressed his lips against her forehead, his hands holding her waist tightly as if wanting to memorize her. Even though his expression remained composed, she could see the vulnerability in his eyes as he spoke. “I have to prepare now. Stay safe, and I will return to you as soon as I can.”

She moved to stand on her toes, bringing their faces closer together.

He unconsciously leaned down slightly as she came towards him, their foreheads grazing, his gaze locked on hers. There was an undeniable longing in his eyes, a subtle expression that betrayed a part of himself that was both hardened by years of command and softened by the presence of the woman before him.

His fingers gently traced her side, tracing a soft, almost subconscious path along her waist. It was a moment of intimacy, filled with more tenderness and an unspoken yearning. “I’ll come back to you.” He murmured softly, his voice a mix of determination and vulnerability, his eyes never leaving her face.

“You better.” She whispered before she leaned in to kiss him softly.

His breath caught in his chest, and his eyes closed as her soft lips pressed against his. The touch of her soft lips were like a soothing balm, calming the storm of thoughts and worries in his mind. He leaned into the gentle kiss, the warmth of her body and the softness of her lips a grounding anchor amidst the chaos of his impending departure.

The weight of his responsibility, his mission, and the thought of leaving her behind made his heart ache. He clung to her, his lips moving gently against hers, as if seeking solace and reassurance in her embrace.

Finally, he pulled away, his thumb brushing against her cheek softly as he looked down at her. “I have to go, but I’ll be back as promised.”

He pressed one last, gentle kiss on her forehead before reluctantly taking a step back, his fingers lingering on her waist for a fleeting moment.

“Be safe, little star.” He said softly, his gaze filled with a mix of emotions — concern, longing, and a hint of vulnerability. He lingered for a moment longer, memorizing the lines of her face, as if trying to capture the essence of the woman before him. Then, with a hint of reluctance, he turned and walked away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

And as always, Aleksander kept to his promise.

© lupinsversion 2024

[babiedemon]

THE GREAT WAR . . . katniss everdeen / reader

genre . . . angst, hurt/comfort, mockingjay era, movie-based

tw . . . major character deaths, pstd, slight gore

district thirteen was boring, to say the least. you’d been there for weeks following the destruction of your district. a bunker underground was your last choice for comfort, but it was a lot better than the ashen shambles of the home you’d escaped from.

the only bonus you counted was the presence of katniss everdeen, the mockingjay for all intents and purposes. she was complicated, to say the least, and especially as a roommate.

there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t woken by her tortured screams, by her delirious sleepwalking through the compound. and there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t clambering up to her bunk, sinking in beside her, following her through corridors.

“i’m sorry you got stuck with me,” she’d rasped one night, both your heads submerged in a private world beneath a blanket. you’d chuckled, brushed a few dark hairs from her eyes.

“it’s not stuck if i signed up for it,” you’d whispered back. she’d smiled then, a half smile that hardly reached her eyes.

“i signed up for a lot of things i wished i hadn’t.” the words had hurt your heart, the large portion dedicated specifically for her.

“if i hadn’t, i would’ve spent the rest of my time here wishing i had.” she’d sighed, fought the smile on her lips, avoided eye contact.

it was that night that you first entertained the idea that, perhaps in an ideal world, you could care for katniss. that you could love her in ways other than camaraderie.

katniss looked good in grey. you acknowledged this from the other side of the atrium, your gaze crossing dancing bodies and gleeful faces to observe her steely expression. you could see the contemplation on her placid visage, the slight crease of her eyebrows, the frown tugging just barely at the corner of her lips.

she was planning, brainstorming, setting her sights on a new goal. you could tell from the sea of thoughts swarming in her grey seam eyes. you could see the hint of pain on her face, either from her recent exposure to the shambles of peeta mellark or the bruised ribs occupying her chest.

johanna approached her, the shadowed cheekbones and shaved head only adding to her dismaying persona. she and katniss spoke for a few long moments, johanna’s free facial expressions a stark contrast to the guarded feelings of katniss. it left a bad taste in your mouth, a dread in your stomach. you didn’t like it, especially as katniss seemed to let relief wash over her for the first time in weeks.

something was happening, and it was bound to be a train wreck.

you were right, as your gut typically was. you gave yourself no time to triumph your infallible intuition, the plane jolting as it touched down in rebel headquarters, as it touched down within a half mile of katniss’s whereabouts. you were the first to leave as the doors opened, a bulletproof vest hanging off your shoulders and a rifle weighing on your fingertips. finnick lingered meters behind you, and after him were boggs, pollux, castor, messalla, and cressida.

you couldn’t stop the smile from breaking on your face upon spotting katniss’s dreary face hidden amongst her squad members. you were struck with tunnel vision, briskly walking to your brunette comrade, ignoring the burn in your calves in favor of reaching her.

“y/n?” she inquired, face confused and eyes lit up, already bounding towards you. you opened your arms for her, slowing your pace and letting her fall into you. you could feel the relief settling into her bones, her muscles relaxing into your chest, a troubled sigh heaving from her bruised lung. “what are you doing here?”

“i think the better question is what are you doing here? you’re supposed to be back in thirteen,” you chastised, voice stern despite the aching dread fleeing your stomach. she chuckled breathily, muscles tensing back up, your words chasing every drop of sudden joy from her thin frame.

“i had to kill him. i had to kill snow,” she whispered, loud enough for only your ears.

there was another suspicion of yours confirmed. she’d signed herself up for certain death under the smallest inkling of a chance to murder her worst enemy. so much for being selfish, you mused. there wasn’t a selfish bone in her entire brittle body.

the pods were a nightmare. you decided this as you watched a stream of flame erupt and a peacekeeper vehicle explode, shrapnels of molten metal flying in every direction. they were deadly, unpredictable, unable to be entirely safe from.

somehow, you found peeta mellark’s arrival to be more of a nightmare. he was muttering to himself, trampling over the marble ruins of the capitol, clearly out of his mind as he made his best effort to join your unit. you’d been given the grand responsibility of cuffing him, the battered look on his haunted face sending wave after wave of sorrow wracking through your body.

he was once kind, a sweet baker’s boy with a talent for paint. he’d hugged you once as a child, after helping you up from your uncoordinated trip over uneven pavement. he hadn’t known you then, and he didn’t know you now, the recognition absent from his hollow eyes. that was what pained you the most. he was an empty shell of the kind soul he once was. you could see the pain on katniss’s face, too.

nightfall had arrived, and your watch had finally ended, leaving you exhausted in the wake of your eventful day. katniss sat upright behind your head, her thigh just barely brushing the ends of your hair, her fidgeting sending shockwaves through the cement and into your body. you let your eyes crack open, squinting up at her in the dark ruins of what was once a home.

her eyes were far away, reflecting some distant feeling of chaos and dread. you had a feeling it wasn’t so distant from her, not with the source of all her stresses slumbering a few feet to her left. her hand had begun absentmindedly twirling your hair, her face showing no signs of awareness. it was enough to lull you to a restless sleep amidst all the chaos.

you awoke to her body clambering from the floor and her boots snapping with each quick step from you. you arose drowsily, sweeping your gun into your hand, and followed her outside. she was brittle, as was shown by the tortured contortion of her freckled face. she barely cast a glance your way in all of her inner turmoil.

the most you could do was rub her shoulder and hope for the best.

boggs was in less than top working condition, his legs having been blown off mere moments before. your hands shook as you struggled to secure a tourniquet around what was left of his left leg. he wasn’t going to make it, and you knew this in your core, but you couldn’t live knowing you hadn’t at least tried to save him.

the blood rushed out in copious amounts, staining your hands and the marble ground of his final resting place. wails and cries of one of the leeg sisters, leeg two of you weren’t mistaken, were merely background noise, your hearing taken by the rush of your heart in your chest and your own desperate, whimpering sobs. you were only pulled from your frenzied haze by castor’s hand grasping your shoulder, a somber look on his face as he shook his head.

the grief was short lived, leeg one setting off a pod in her attempt to tend to her sister. you were the first on your feet upon seeing the courtyard closing in, your feet carrying you to the nearest building. katniss lay at the back of your mind, your adrenaline kicking in and your survival instinct prioritizing your own self-preservation.

it was your gun that shattered the glass door, and your footsteps that echoed first in the empty shell of a townhouse, and your mangled cry that carried down the stairs upon finding the stairs dismantled. you made your best attempt at finding a way up them, somehow tugging yourself up onto the crumbling stone by exposed metal braces.

you waited for only a few moments before katniss appeared in view, face red and eyes darting, searching the small crowd of her unit. you noted the absence of holmes alongside boggs, and your heart sunk. you’d lost not one, but two.

“where’s y/n?” you heard, her voice frenzied and dripping with her anxiety. the black goo had infiltrated the building, gushing in at such high velocities you were scared you’d all drown in it. it kissed the edge of the stairs, climbed up them slowly, slowing to a complete stop just as it touched the top of the staircase.

“shit,” gale muttered, his face crestfallen as he mourningly gazed out to the sea of black flooding the courtyard. it was then you remembered you had a voice, your throat having been closed the entire duration of the short lived conversation. you peaked around the corner from where you’d climbed up to the next landing, now sobered from your adrenaline rush and realizing just how far of a jump it would be to get yourself down. how had you gotten up here?

“up here, kat,” you called, voice breaking mid sentence, breathy and terrified. relief leaked into her not because of the lethal goo draining from the building, but from the realization that you had in fact made it out.

“how in the hell did you get up there, sunshine?” cressida breathily chuckled, her nose scrunched as a crooked smile took her face and her head tilted. you shrugged, eyes darting as you attempted to plan your descent.

“i haven’t the slightest clue. can someone help me down?” you asked timidly, slowly inching to the edge of the decimated staircase. gale and pollux made their move, both being the largest men, with finnick ready to support if need be.

you got down, but not without a few bruises and a hefty amount of brute force. you’d jumped to save time, gale barely catching you and ending up slamming into the plaster behind him. it was katniss who settled you on your feet and it was katniss who pushed you behind her.

“give me the pod, everdeen,” jackson demanded, her face somehow harder than usual. katniss was defiant, refusing the give up the pod, a lie tumbling from her lips faster than the rate at which all weapons were lifted. you were just as steely as jackson, rifle lifted to your chest, aimed for her head, eyes narrowed and fierce.

“it’s true,” cressida interjected, stepping in the direct line of fire. you admired her bravery, the gall she’d never hesitated to make use of, remained unfazed by the barrel of a weapon aimed at her head. “coin wants it televised.”

you all knew it was a lie, every last one of you. the mission from the start was to film propos until the rebels took president snow into custody. it was common knowledge amongst both the soldiers and district thirteen’s film crew. katniss was a terrible liar, but with more against her than supporting her, jackson had no choice but to back down. it was an outnumbered match and there were peacekeepers minutes away. your unit had to move, and quick.

seeing your face paired with a canon was the last thing you’d expected to see broadcast in a capitol home. you and gale had made quick work of devouring handfuls of snacks left by the homeowners, a frown on your face as your mind struggled to wrap around the events transpiring moments ago.

the leeg sisters were dead, blown to bits by peacekeepers nearly an hour before. boggs was dead, holmes was dead, and there was no way out except down. you knew this, and you knew it well. your numbers were dwindling, and if your unit had any chance at survival, the best way to proceed would be through the sewers and underground railways.

katniss was in a worse state than you, her entire body down to her eyes dissheveled and frantic. she hadn’t stopped shaking since you’d arrived in the townhouse across the courtyard, a distracted gleam in her grey eyes. you hoped she could make it through this alive.

sewer water was surprisingly cold, chilling you to your core. you lingered just behind katniss, the light of the holo guiding your way, your hand braced against the hem of her vest. the water reached your shoulders, smelling rancid and leaving a grimy feeling against your skin.

“i don’t like this,” you whispered to katniss, your voice echoing in the flooded pipes. she let out a shaky sigh and nodded, a smile hardly lifting the corner of her mouth.

you reached a resting point at last and you were hot on her heels, just behind her in clambering up the ladder. you were panting as you collapsed on the lifted platform, chilled as the dirty water dried to your skin and protective clothing.

“get some rest,” katniss heaved, eyes darting to meet yours, knuckles brushing yours. a jolt of electricity jumped through your arm. you could feel the heat of your face in your eyes. she smiled, a small gesture that barely stretched past the small curl of her lips and the slight crinkle of her eyes, but it was enough for you — enough to show she cared.

“i don’t think i could if i wanted to,” you whispered, punctuating your statement with a chuckle. you looked down at yourself, at the other rebels hidden away with you. your gaze lingered on peeta, the exhaustion clear on his dozing face. “besides, our watch starts soon. we’ve still got peeta to look after.”

“still, get some rest ‘til then.” you nodded hesitantly, letting your head lean back against the concrete railing. she sighed, a soft sound that echoed in the crowded space. her forearm slid behind your head, hand curling to cup your cheek, and guided your temple to her shoulder. the scratchy gear was uncomfortable against your skin.

you hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep until your watch started. katniss jolted, waking you with such suddenness that a violent gasp escaped your lips and your hands automatically came to grip your rifle. your eyes darted around, finally piecing together the situation, and you let yourself heaven a soft sigh of relief.

peeta and katniss exchanged a few words as you sat, words you couldn’t bring yourself to eavesdrop on. your eyes, instead, scoped the dark enveloping your unit. there wasn’t much to see, wasn’t much to hear beyond the drip of water and the faint light rippling in the sewer water.

it was a long while until there was something to hear, screams of avoxes echoing distantly in the sewer system. katniss was quick to descend the steel ladder into the murky abyss below. you followed diligently, rifle up and aimed at the dark tunnel she shone a light down. your own light was on, shining a bit further than the holo’s, casting a white glow on the walls and water a hundred meters away.

“what is it?” you whispered as quietly as possible. katniss was equally as confused, eyebrows furrowed and eyes large. it wasn’t until peeta jolted awake that you realized there was something truly to fear lingering in the tunnels.

“we gotta go,” he gasped, horrified, eyes as wide as saucers and face paler than you’d ever seen it. he practically jumped down from the platform, using only one rung to guide himself down. “they released mutts!”

all was well, until it wasn’t. you’d been the second person to climb through the small concrete window, joining pollux on the other side. gale crept across next, then katniss, and peeta, and finnick, until jackson remained. she swept over her surroundings with a piercing light, turned to face you, and froze. you didn’t need any other sign, taking hold of pollux’s hand and dragging him along with you. your warning bells were going mad, adrenaline flooding your muscles and sending you into overdrive.

an explosion lit the passageway behind you, and gale’s fiery shots illuminated your way through the winding sewers. the mutts were gaining, castor’s agonized screams echoing hauntingly loud in your ears. you pushed down your tears, your sorrow, and ran. you ran until you reached an opening, until you reached a ladder, and swung around with your rifle in hand.

“go! go!” you shrieked, shooting down every grotesque capitol creation you could aim for. katniss disappeared into the water, dragged off the metal platform by a mutt. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, shooting anything that moved, even after katniss had ascended, until you and finnick were the only soldiers remaining in the convergence. finnick shoved you, breaking your spell, a mutt only barely missing your jugular. its teeth sunk into your shoulder, ripped apart by finnick’s small dagger. your scream echoed, tearing through your throat.

“christ, y/n, go!” he bellowed. it took nothing more for you to spin on your heel and begin your ascent to your unit, to katniss. her eyes jumped between you and finnick, her arm outstretched to help you up. the pain radiated into your spine, your rib cage, your elbow. it was blinding and it was everywhere. you finally grasped katniss’s shaking hand, letting her and gale rip you away from the opening quicker than the mutt had ripped into you.

“oh my god, y/n. oh my god,” gale gasped, fingers applying pressure to the gaping, bloody wound stretching into your nervous system. you smacked his hand away, a hiccuping sob shrieking from your chest. you dragged yourself onto your feet, scooping up your weapon, tugging pollux’s hand with teary eyes.

“please. pollux, please, we need out,” you wailed, eyes blindly darting for an exit. you pushed through once you’d found it, rifle up and aiming the second you passed through. you were running, the footsteps of your comrades sounding behind you. you saw the peacekeepers before they saw you, a gut feeling guiding your aim. you’d shot down as many as you could see, bullets whizzing past.

circular panels in the ceilings began lighting, dread sinking into your stomach. upon a glance over your shoulder, you realized messalla hadn’t noticed in time. an unidentifiable mass of smoking cubes made up what was once a dear friend, another piece of your heart breaking as the capitol stole yet another life from your grasp. you turned your attention back forward, pushing against the wheezing in your lungs and the ache in your shoulder and the burn in your legs. you reached the stairs before the others, pausing to let them catch up.

peeta lay crumpled on the floor, rotating saws having broken the tile floor where you’d all ran mere moments ago. you struggled to catch your breath, the adrenaline proving to be the best natural stimulant. if it weren’t for the pure terror coursing through your veins, you were sure you wouldn’t have made it out of the sewer. you were certain finnick would’ve had to leave you.

where was finnick?

you gave yourself no time to dwell, cressida’s body pushing past you, darting up the stairs and leaving nothing but a gust of wind in her wake. you followed closely behind the others, holding up the rear, your rifle aiming in every direction.

“open the door!” cressida was shouting, slamming her hand repeatedly against the glass door. “open the door! let us in!”

the shouting didn’t stop until you filed in, slamming the door shut with your injured shoulder. it sent a violent wave of agony through your body. you collapsed with a hand cradling your bleeding wound, tilting your head to the ceiling.

“come on,” katniss breathed, thumb stroking your cheekbone. you shook your head, sob after sob wracking through your body. you’d never felt such a horrible pain in your life, stretching to your very core, leaving all your organs aching in its wake.

“i can’t, i can’t,” you wheezed, struggling to find your airway again. katniss was grounding, her fingers stroking yours, her hand settling on your chest above your vest. you found your breathing that way, with her palm reminding you where your lungs were.

“one more ladder. i promise,” she spoke, voice calm despite the alarm you spotted in her eyes. you crawled to the edge of the trap door. your hands found the railing. you managed to drag yourself down, to plant yourself on the concrete ground. katniss landed seconds after you, her arm wrapping around your middle. she helped you to the nearest unoccupied wall, the two of you collapsing together.

“i’m so sorry,” she wailed. “there was no plan. coin didn’t send me to kill snow. i killed them. i killed them all — finnick — oh god, i’m so sorry, pollux.”

“we knew,” you gritted out, vision growing black around the edges. “we all knew you were lying. we made the decision to come with you.”

you blacked out seconds later, the blood loss finally getting to you as your adrenaline dissipated.

you awoke late the next day to a quiet shuffling about. your shoulder was still painful, but it was a bit less excruciating now, and your head was absolutely killing you. you sat yourself up slowly, letting the blood flow slowly move through you as you situated yourself. you found that you were the only person remaining in the hidden bunker, soft chatter carrying through the open hatch.

“hello?” you called, voice croaky and hoarse. all movement on the higher floor stopped, heavy shoes trekking over top of you until cressida’s mop of blonde hair sunk over the edge. she looked relieved to see you awake, in all your undressed glory.

your top half had been undressed to your undergarments, a thick layer of gauze holding pressure to your wound, your skin prickling as cold air wafted over it.

“morning, sunshine,” she breathed, a bit more relief in her tone than you were comfortable with. gunfire sounded in the distance, hardly loud enough to touch the underground bunker, but loud enough to alarm cressida. “shit.”

“katniss is out there, isn’t she?” you asked meekly, an unsettling dread weighing on your stomach like a boulder. the blonde gave a nod, worrying her lip between her teeth. her head disappeared and her feet appeared, scaling down the ladder to join you in your underground prison.

“she and gale went together, disguised themselves as refugees. they were hoping to infiltrate the manor, but it sounds like the rebels got there first.”

you sighed as you settled back onto your makeshift cot, wincing as the uncomfortable floor brushed your shoulder the wrong way. cressida shook her head with a faint smile, touching her fingers to the white bandaging.

“you’re lucky you’re even alive, sunshine. we almost lost you. the blood loss got to you before i had a chance to let you decide how much of your clothes i cut off,” she mused, her eyes alight with pain.

“i’m sorry about messalla,” you croaked. “i know you guys were close. castor too.”

“don’t worry about them. it wasn’t your fault. we knew what we were getting into. we were all willing to die for this cause. we made this choice.”

you let out a sigh, eyelids growing heavy. “i’m falling asleep again,” you muttered. you were out before you’d had a chance to hear her response.

district twelve was quaint as ever. the seam was in shambles, the merchant square in scarcely better shape. you’d finally been given permission to return home following correspondence with katniss and haymitch, gifted a spare room in katniss’s home. you knew she needed the company. lord knows how suffocating it must be in that vacant manor, without her mother, without prim.

“i missed you, kat,” you sighed as she finally wrapped you in the embrace you’d missed painfully. she let out a chuckle, the first authentic laugh you’d heard from her since the seventy-fourth games.

“missed you too, sunshine. let’s get inside,” she breathed, cupping your face as she released you from her gentle grasp. she smiled at you, and it was different this time. there was something different shining in her eyes — something different from the way gale looked at her, from the way haymitch looked at effie, from the way finnick looked at annie. there was something different, but something so similar.

“let’s go home.”

the great war was over.

the great war was over, and with the end had come peace. you still held the scars as a reminder, as most of panem did. you held them in your heart, in your mind, in the skin of your shoulder. katniss held them too, in the occasional wheezing, the tormenting nightmares, the fragments of her heart.

“your scars are healing nicely,” she murmured, standing in the doorway to the bathroom, a soft smile lingering on her full lips. you gave a weak smile, tracing the raised, grotesque bite marks spotting your bare shoulder.

she was right. they were healing nicely. but they were a reminder, of finnick, of castor, of messalla, the leegs, primrose, boggs, holmes, jackson. they were a reminder of all those you’d lost, all the lives taken in the great rebellion. they were a reminder of johanna, finnick, annie. a reminder of cruelty and unnecessary bloodshed.

“i wish the inside ones would heal too,” you hummed, tugging a loose shirt over your head. katniss heaved a great sigh, past memories reflected in her granite eyes.

“i do too, sunshine.”

her hand found yours, and your faces found the sun, and your bodies finally found the relaxation they’d craved for generations.

all was at peace.

the peace lingered until the dreams came. they were suffocating, torturous, unbearable. katniss had them worse than you ever would, but she’d never vocalize that. she’d never belittle your suffering because hers was greater.

instead, she’d crawl into your bed, wrap her thin arms around your waist, cradle you until the crying stopped. she usually hadn’t gotten to sleep yet anyways.

your bed had become hers. she spent more time curled around you than settled in her own sheets. it was reminiscent of your days in district thirteen, of the bunk beds and the grey clothing. it was different now, though.

the hesitation in her movements had gone, along with the hefty wall she’d used to guard her inner workings. it was all gone, and she was revealed to you, unraveled before your eyes like some sacred scroll only you had access to.

“remind me why i let you sleep in my bed, again,” you mused late one night, your fingers stroking her cheekbone, your eyes unable to leave the sun kissed skin of her round face. she chuckled, rolled her eyes, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“because you love me.” a pause. “and i love you.”

you captured her lips in a chaste kiss, rested your forehead against hers, took a deep breath.

“i love it when you say that.”

“then i’ll keep saying it, every single day until you grow tired of it. and then i’ll keep saying it, every single day until i can no longer speak.” her nose brushed yours, her breath fanning over your face, her lips just barely brushing yours as she spoke.

“that sounds like a long time.” she kissed you, firmer, longer, until she couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t think, until you could no longer distinguish where your skin ended and her skin started.

“i’m hoping for forever.”

[agustdiv1ne]

❆.*.•°◞8:02 p.m. — huening kai

genre: jack frost!kai, fantasy, fluff, a sprinkle of angst (brief description of frostbite/hypothermia)

wc: 1.4k

the tips of your fingers are turning a deep, inky blue.

the sight should concern you, and yet you cannot find it in yourself to care. your muscles refuse to function, as if having a mind of their own, rendering you unable to lift yourself from the snow surrounding your body, to find your way out of this damned forest. bones frozen over, you exhale, watching with glazed over eyes as your breath creates a fog in the air. much akin to the rest of your body, you are unable to feel your lips.

you are tired, so very tired. stars twinkle above you — glittering, joyful, taunting. get up, get up, get up. chase after us.

perhaps a small nap would be of help, then you can find your way out, following the stars all the while — you simply must regain some energy first. close your eyes and rest, and when you wake, everything will be okay.

“close your eyes,” a sharp, icy voice whispers within your mind. “give in to me.”

finding no reason to rebel, your eyes flutter to a close. everthing will be fine. you will soon wake and trace your steps back to the edge of the forest. tendrils of sleep curl around your mind, pulling tighter and tighter as you begin to slip into unconscious. you tiptoe on the edge of dreams when the rapid crunch of snow underneath boots catapults you back into reality. the sounds grows louder before it stops next to your ear. your eyes open a crack, blurry vision taking in the stranger. you catch a streak of fair blonde hair, a worried voice floating through your ears, before your eyes close once more. at last, darkness whisks you away.

you are unsure how long you remain unconscious, but when you do finally wake, death no longer sinks its talons into your chest. your entire form is bathed in a delicious warmth, and when your eyes blink open, you find a fireplace crackling with orange flames before your eyes. a blanket has been wrapped around your body, a small pillow cushioning your head from the hard floor. unfurling your limbs from their curled up state, you sit up. you look around with a frown pulling at your brows, noting the onyx sky outside through a nearby window. it is still nighttime — you mustn't have been asleep for too long.

the front door clicks open, a blast of cold mixing with the warmth of the room. a man who seems to be near your age quickly shuts the door before his gaze meets yours. physically, he is slightly intimidating — long-legged and a bit broad, the thinness of his striped sweater unable to hide his wide shoulders. you should be concerned about being alone with a man in his cabin seemingly in the middle of the woods, but the relieved expression his features melt into when he realizes you have awoken soothes your apprehension.

“you’re awake! i am glad,” he says as his lips curl into a gentle smile. in that moment, you find yourself thinking that he’s pretty, with strong yet kind features that further relax the tension in your muscles. “you had me worried.”

“i—” you start before hesitating for a moment. “thank you. for helping me.”

he hums, giving you a wide berth as he makes his way over to a dark wooden table, sitting down in a rickety chair that squeaks as he adjusts his long limbs. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. his thin sweater and slacks concern you; how could he have gone outside in such thin clothing and remain so unfazed?

“why were you in the forest? at night, nonetheless.”

you pause for a moment before you respond, heat spreading across your cheeks. “i...got lost.”

his brows furrow at that, but he doesn't press any further, shifting so that he leans against the back of the chair, chestnut-hued eyes still trained on you, studying you. his icy blonde hair brings out the natural flush of his cheeks. you shake the thought away. he is beautiful, yes, but he is a stranger to you. untrustworthy.

“how are your hands?” he questions, playing with his own in his lap, fidgeting in his seat.

your hands! the cold had all but taken them when he had found you, but as they emerge from under the blanket, the frostbitten tips of your fingers have somehow returned to their normal state. your jaw drops, mouth parted. this isn't possible. this should not be possible. no, no, no.

“h-how?” you panic, rubbing at the skin. “how did you—”

“my powers- i mean, i created a salve that can reverse the effects of frostbite,” he says, but the first part of his sentence is not lost on you. you have heard many stories of this forest, of the creatures that lurk within the shadows. he couldn’t be...

“your powers?” you squeak, backing yourself against the wall next to the fireplace. “y-you—”

he remains on the chair. a beat of silence. two, three.

“my name is kai,” he begins, and though he does not receive anything but a fearful stare in return, he continues. “i have resided in this forest for my entire life. most humans refer to me as ‘jack frost,’ though i am simply a myth to them.”

he allows you to simmer with that information, fixing you with a neutral expression. it makes some semblance of sense now; there's something different about him, in his aura. you are unsure how you have not noticed before, but his ears come to a point, unlike any human.

“i wish not to hurt you,” he finally says when he senses your body relax slightly. “however, the forest is dangerous at night, so it would be best if you remained here until morning. i will guide you out.”

you inhale deeply, weighing your options. you could stay, sleep in warmth with a seemingly benevolent mythical being protecting you — or you could take your chances in the pitch black, ice-cold woods, unaware of what could be watching, waiting to pounce on a vulnerable little human like yourself.

easily, you choose the former.

“i see. thank you again for your kindness,” you say with a lethargic smile. sleep seems to weigh your eyelids down now that your safety is essentially guaranteed. his presence screams sincerity, comfort, and, ironically, warmth. something inside of you tells you to trust him, and against your better judgment, your name tumbles from your lips.

“well, it is nice to become acquainted with such a respectful human,” he says, and you wonder what that could mean. you ponder what other humans had done to him to elicit such a response. “i do have a spare bedroom, but you may sleep out here if you would like.”

“a bed would be wonderful.” you nod, attempting to get up, but your limbs betray you. you collapse back to the ground. the man — kai — winces, but does not act to help you. you see him eye the fire next to you as you finally stand.

“heat...makes me weak. i apologize,” he says as you move towards him. his hand wraps around your wrist, fingers cold, guiding you down a hallway until you reach the door towards the end of the hall. you say nothing.

“i will leave you alone,” he says, the hand around your wrist dropping to his side as he opens the door for you. “if you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask me. i will be next door.”

you are unsure what comes over you as you lean up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a grateful smile, cheeks hot as you realize what you have done. “thank you, kai. i shall see you in the morning.”

a ruby red blush stains his cheeks, and he stutters out a brief good night before he's slipping into his room and slamming the door shut. you giggle a little — how odd; you, of all people, causing an immortal being's face to flush. quietly, you close your own door, dropping onto the bed to snuggle into the soft sheets. sleep arrives without delay, your eyelids drooping more and more as snow falls outside of the window next to the bed. you watch in wonder as frost begins to cover the expanse of the glass pane, your eyes blinking open a final time to find the entire window coated in ice.

among the fern-like patterns that riddle the window, a heart is tucked into the center.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[eternallytxt]

RED LISTED || Chapter 1

Author: Eros

Warnings and themes: futuristic au, dystopian au, non-idol au, asshole!Johnny, female reader, blood, violence, cussing, some suggestive themes, angst, some fluff, featuring some other idols.

Words: 3500

Summary: In high-tech dystopian SoKo, the right to trial by court is obsolete. Instead, criminals are marked as Red-Listed in society. When your mother frames you for murder and you become Red-Listed, you're forced to live life on the streets and desperately evade law enforcement. In a turn of events, you meet Johnny, another framed criminal, and leader of a group of rebels fighting to get justice. Along with Johnny's seemingly cold and unempathetic exterior, he appears to hold secrets about your past. Will you be able to become closer to the temperamental leader, or will you be thrown back into the unforgiving city with no hope of clearing your name?

Playlist: Cyberpunk - ATEEZ, I Really Want to Stay at Your House - Rosa Walton, Villain - TRENDZ, GODS - NewJeans, Runaway (U&I) - Galantis, Odd Eye - Dreamcatcher, Ash - SEVENTEEN, Sayonara Wild Heart - Daniel Olsén

Author Note: Hi everyone. It's been years since I posted the teaser to Red Listed. I've decided that I want to try focusing on my creative writing more recently, so I've been going back through my old WIPs and working on them when I can.

I would also like to warn you that the updates will NOT BE SCHEDULED.

I hope you guys like Red Listed!

At this rate, you were going to be caught. You weren’t very athletic at all, and despite the adrenaline keeping your boots slapping the pavement, your lungs and muscles were screaming for mercy. It didn’t help that the wounds from the LAW officers’ light phasers were throbbing and making spots dance in your vision. You skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a group of businessmen. The light bullets whizzing past your head were coming too close, and you instinctively duck your head as you barrel on through the mass of people.

It was times like this that you cursed your mother for what you had become. You had a normal life. You were a college student. The only things you had to worry about were catching the bullet trains and making sure your assignments were completed on time. When you walked into your house after class and saw that puddle of blood on the floor of your living room, none of that mattered anymore. Not when you screamed over your sister’s lifeless body. Not when your mom came in shortly after and accused you of taking a sibling squabble too far. None of it mattered when your mom pressed the emergency button and you took off running into the streets of Neo Chicago. All you had to worry about, now, was staying in the shadows and evading the LAW. 3 months later, It was working out fantastic.

The chase had led you to the west side of the city, and as you looked around, you noticed that upper-class civilians and familiar skyscrapers had dwindled. Scary-looking criminals in all black, half of them with the signature “RED-LISTED” lettering floating above their heads, peered at you from the sidewalks. They were probably pissed you brought the cops into their neighborhood. Just great, you thought. If you’re lucky enough to escape the officers hot on your trail, you’ll still need to worry about the criminals coming after you.

You rounded another corner, pumping your legs in hopes of giving you a headway from your pursuers so you could duck into an alley. And it worked. A look over your shoulder revealed only loiterers. You let out a short breathy ha! and faced forward. Your glee didn’t last for long.

Too quick to process, a hand grabbed the back of your shirt and yanked you into a dark alley. Before you could let out a scream, a hand slapped over your mouth and an arm went around your waist, pulling your back into a hard body. 

“Shh. Be quiet or they’ll hear you.” a male voice whispered in your ear. You felt a click and something sharp pierce your neck. The alley was immediately swallowed by darkness, the red glow from your “RED-LISTED” sign disappearing. 

You couldn’t move. The tight hand over your mouth prevented that. All you could do was listen to the blood rushing through your ears and your thoughts racing. You were going to be killed, or even worse. You were sure of that. One of the criminals you saw earlier had you in a tight hold, and you were too weak to fight back. 

“Stop struggling,” the voice hissed in your ear again.

On one hand, you could stop struggling and let this unknown assailant drag you away and have his way with you. On the other, you could try to break free, only to run right into the LAW’s hands. After weighing your options, you stopped struggling and relaxed into the guy’s hold. You would let this guy keep you, but as soon as the officers were out of sight, you would break free and escape.

Multiple rapid footsteps echoed in from the street, paired with yelling and radio beeps. You watched in disbelief as the officers ran past the alley opening, their footsteps fading out. After a moment, a sigh of relief escaped your mouth, misting your assailant’s hand. You managed to escape again, but how long would that last you?

“Be quiet. I’m going to see if they’re gone.” The hands never left your body, and you were dragged to the mouth of the alley. The assailant peered his head around the corner and looked down the street. From the minimal lighting, you could only see his side profile for a brief minute. A murmur of, “Good. They’re gone,” escaped his lips, and the tight hold on you was released.

You didn’t even hesitate before attempting to book it down the alley. Savior be damned. You only were able to make it a few steps before two arms wrapped tightly around your middle, a cry of pain leaving your lips and he pressed into the wound on your hip.

“Will you shut the fuck up! I’m trying to help!” You struggled desperately, only stopping when his hold tightened. Tears pricked your eyes, and only the sound of the two of you panting could be heard bouncing off the brick walls.

“Don’t run off.” his warning made you shiver, and you were soon let go. You dropped, wincing when your knees collided with the hard concrete. “Jesus. You’re insane, you know that?” A small light surrounded you, and you slowly brought your head up, only for your eyes to finally meet with your crouched assailant. 

From what you could see, he was fairly attractive. He was young, probably not much older than you, with medium-length, chestnut-brown fringe laying over his eyes. Plump lips sat in an annoyed scowl on his tanned face, glowing from the small light. He held a small, electro-lighter in his gloved fist, his cold sharp eyes narrowed at your figure.

“I was trying to get you from the cops and this is how you thank me? Running off and beating the shit out of me?” His voice was no longer in a whisper, but now an aggravated shout. You panted in response, unable to escape the tightness in your lungs and the pain from your injuries, which had now tripled.

“How was…I supposed to know…trying to help me?” This man had the audacity to call you insane when only moments ago, he had grabbed you like one of his kidnapping victims. How the hell were you supposed to react? The unknown man sighed and stood up, taking you aback at how tall he was. 

“What did you expect me to do? Walk out and be like ‘Hey, come here! Let me rescue you!’? Be pissed at me all you want, but I saved your ass. If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve been a bloody imprint on the road.” You tried to push yourself up but only managed to irritate your wounds further, making you collapse on your side. The man quickly dropped down beside you, pulling your arms from your abdomen and spitting out a “Shit.” All you could do was whimper pathetically, squeezing your eyelids shut when black spots danced in your vision. “Your wounds are severe. We need to get you help or you aren’t going to make it.” you cried out again when you felt arms slide under you and jerk you upwards, cradling you into his chest. As he took off down the alley, your vision went in and out of focus. You were only vaguely aware of the man’s hushed whispers. “You’re going to be fine. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep.” Your eyes shut despite his pleas, the echo of his footsteps and words fading with your consciousness.

You were only able to get bits and pieces of the world outside of your unconscious state as you faded in and out. At one point, you thought maybe you were in a hospital. A harsh light penetrated through your eyelids, and a lot of muffled voices surrounded you, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying. The pain had gotten so immense at some point that you couldn’t feel anything anymore. You were probably dying. You hoped that it would just be done and over with soon.

When you fully came to, you couldn’t open your eyes. Your entire body felt heavy like only your gravitational pull had been kicked up. You simply lay there, taking in your sensory-deprived state. The steady beeping of a heart monitor filled the room as your hearing returned to you. 

When you mustered the strength to peel open your eyelids, you expected to be greeted by some sort of hospital room. Instead of white walls and a holo-flower vase by your bedside, grey, cinderblock walls surrounded you. The room was relatively dark, too. Probably due to the lack of the window. Despite this, It kind of looked like a normal room in a small clinic. Were you in some sort of basement?  I guess that guy sold me for parts. 

There wasn’t a soul around. Nothing but an empty chair in the corner of the room. Sitting and listening for a moment revealed the only sounds being the quiet beeping of the monitor to your left and your own heartbeat. No muffled voices outside the door, no steady hum of a security system keeping you locked in the room. Maybe you could escape. You looked at the IV tubes sticking out from your left arm and began yanking them out. You winced at the sting and waited for a moment for any sort of alarm to go off. Nothing. 

You hopped off the bed. It was now you noticed you were no longer wearing the torn and bloody clothes you last remember wearing. Instead, you were dressed in a nude-colored monochrome set, a sort of high-neck sports bra-like top that had a zipper in the middle, and skin-tight shorts that ended mid-thigh. The lack of covering allowed you to see the bandages that wrapped around your midriff and upper arms. Your feet were bare, allowing the coolness of the concrete beneath you to seep in.

You only made it a couple of steps toward the door before a voice resounded behind you, making you jump.

“You still need rest.” You wheeled around, to find a woman standing in the middle of the room. She seemed around your age, perhaps younger, with a pretty, slender face. Her skin was like porcelain, adding to her doll-like appearance. Light brown eyes stared back at you.

What the hell? You were sure that no one was in the room besides you. The only door out was the one you had just tried to escape from, so where–

“Please come back to the bed. In the meantime, I will alert Yuta, the doctor, that you are awake,” the woman spoke again. It was now that you noticed a slightly electronic lilt to her voice. Ah, she was an AI Holo. A very…interesting one, you might add. Most of the ones you've had the rare pleasure of seeing certainly weren’t as pretty looking as her. They definitely didn’t wear fashionable clothes, either. 

You remembered what she had said about “alerting” someone named Yuta, and you slightly panicked. “No! No, no, don’t do that,” you stepped towards her waving your hands. “I just…uhm…” The AI pursed her lips and said “You must have your vitals checked. Please have a seat. I have already alerted Yuta.”

Shit. Why the hell did this have to be difficult? Also, what kind of black market organ thieves have a Holo AI? As far as you saw it, you currently have two options.

The first was to take off running out the door. However, that had a ton of risk. You had no clue what lay beyond that door. For all you knew, the entire crew of criminals could be out there, gathered around some bucket full of organs they stole off of other people (you have to admit, your overly active imagination was a tad dramatic). The Holo AI said it alerted someone, and that person was most definitely on their way. They could spot you and chase after you. You were certainly in no condition to be running like a crazy person through a crime den.

The other option was to simply agree to the AI’s wishes and play along. To your annoyance, this was the option you would have to go with. Besides, you already feel the pain beginning to come back. With a hesitant side-eye towards the AI, you slowly climbed back into the bed.

“Can I ask who you are? Or where I am?” She seemed to straighten at this, and you could almost see her programmed script running through her head.

“I am WINTER. I am an AI Holo developed to assist with any task instructed to me. Currently, you are in the clinic room of the base.”

“Base? What base?” Before Winter could answer you, the door was thrust open, and in stepped a man who looked the farthest thing from a doctor. The man was clad in an all-black ensemble of jeans and a short-sleeved button-up with the top two buttons undone, allowing a sneak peek of tattoos on his neck and chest. More ink covered his arms, and if you had to guess, his entire body. Dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun to reveal a face with strong features. 

“That’s enough, Winter. You can go back to Ricky now,” The man spoke with a smirk and a shooing gesture toward the AI. Winter’s short, silver bob shimmered in the light as she bowed toward who you assumed was Yuta. She then turned toward you. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said, and with that, dissipated. 

There was a moment of silence as you actively avoided looking at Yuta, though you could feel his eyes on you. You wondered what he was waiting for. You didn’t necessarily get evil, organ-stealer vibes from the guy, but you were obviously hesitant nonetheless. 

You heard a sigh and he approached you, pulling out a tablet and tapping away. “So…You tried to make a break for it, huh?” You frowned. That damn snitch of an AI.

Yuta chuckled a bit at your expression. “What? You thought she wouldn’t tell me? Don’t worry, we aren’t trying to hurt you.” He swiped up on his tablet and a hologram of information appeared in the air between you two, your personal information.

“F/N L/N. 23 years old, Junior at SMCU, no body modifications. Currently at large for the murder of her younger sister,” He looked at you with an eyebrow cocked. You glared heavily at the man. How the hell did he have all of this info? You were starting to wonder if you were instead in a government prison. How else would he have all of your info?

“So what? You work for the LAW or something? Are you gonna kill me,” you bit. You were really starting to get fed up with all of this. The running, the judgemental glares, being treated like a criminal. All you did wrong was not escape from your mother's clutches. If you’d just cut her off the second you went to school, none of this would be happening.

Yuta smirked, a look that made you feel like a mouse caught by the cat. “Not at all, sweetheart. We’re all just like you.” The projection disappeared with a beep, and Yuta pocketed the tablet, finally settling his arms in a crossed position.

“So how did a smart little SMCU student end up becoming a cold-blooded killer?” 

“I didn’t do shit.”

“Relax, it was a joke. Of course, you didn’t. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Yuta smiled with his teeth this time, a more gentle expression than what he had previously shown you. You were honestly a little taken aback. He had one of those smiles that, if you had seen under any other circumstance, would’ve made your heart skip a beat.

“Where exactly is here?” Yuta now strolled over to your left side and began to fiddle with the monitors. There were a few minutes of silence as he pressed a couple of buttons on the machine. He tsked when he saw the IV tubes dangling. You watched as he dug a packaged IV needle out of a drawer nearby.

“You’re in our little hideout. Hold still for a second.” You winced as he inserted the IV needle in the top of your hand, taping it off and gesturing for you to lay back down in the bed. 

“We’re a group of false and small-time criminals, all of us considered rejects by the so-called ‘perfect’ society. Ex-cops, mercenaries, hackers, wrongly accused, you name it.”

He shined a small light in both of your eyes, then gave a satisfied hum. The tablet was pulled out once more and he tapped away.

“You were unfairly Red-Listed, correct?” Yuta glanced up at you and you nodded. “Then you’re just like us.”

You blinked back at him and he laughed a little, his pretty teeth making a reappearance. “Johnny brought you in here because he wants you to join us.”

Johnny. That was the first you heard that name. You could probably assume that he was the one that you had met. The asshole that yanked you around and make the whole kidnapping experience so… kidnap-ey. But, he was admittedly the one that also brought you to a doctor. Regardless of whether that doctor was legitimate or not.

“Hold on. I never agreed to join…whatever you guys are doing–”

“We’re trying to take down SoKo,” Yuta said. You laughed. When he didn’t laugh back and instead just stared at you with a steady expression, you stopped. 

“Oh my god, you’re serious. Yeah, absolutely not. Do you think I’m insane?” 

Yuta leaned back a little, hands going in his back pockets and a small smile appearing on his face. “Why is it so crazy? I mean, when has SoKo ever been a good thing? Well, besides for the big wigs making the fat stacks.”

You waved your hand, forgetting there was a needle in it which tugged a little and made you flinch. “No, I’m not talking about that. Of course SoKo is awful. Power to you guys who wanna take over the government and whatnot. I’m talking about me. I’m a normal freaking person. Not some,” you wracked your brain, “mercenary or whatever else you said.”

“You’re Red-Listed, right?”

“Well, yeah, but–”

“Then you’re one of us.”

You paused, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. “...But why me?”

Yuta shrugged at this. “Johnny wanted you here. What Johnny says kinda just goes.”

You took some time to process his words. A little crime syndicate, basically. That’s who had “captured” you. Though, from the sounds, and, so far, looks of it, they weren’t as big of a threat as you had initially imagined. That, and you were technically also a criminal. 

Still, you weren’t planning on joining some little gang. You just figured you would be living the rest of your most-wanted-list life on the streets alone, scavenging for scraps of food, outrunning LAW officers, sleeping in boxes in alleys while the rain poured on you.

Wow. Sounds like a bright future for you. 

But then again, what the hell could you offer to some little gang? You were just a (former) normal college student! You’ve never dabbled in anything even remotely crime-related. Why did “Johnny”, whoever this guy was, want you in their little group?

Yuta could practically see the steam coming out of your ears as your brain worked in over-drive processing all the new information. He chuckled a little.

“Look, no one is forcing you to stay here. If you want, as soon as you’ve recovered, feel free to leave. I could always just…Look the other way.” He winked at me, then fiddled with the machine again. A teal liquid began to flow down the tube and into my hand. “I’m gonna give you some sleep juice. It’ll make the pain go away.”

“Honestly, though, Johnny’s gonna be pissed if we wasted our meds on you and you just dip. Again, no pressure.” Yuta smirked. You wanted to hit him, but damn, the medicine works quick. You could already feel your body getting heavy. 

“It kinda sounds like you aren’t giving me a choice,” you muttered back instead. “I didn’t say anything like that, Y/N,” Yuta replied to that. 

You really wanted to ask more questions. You wanted to ask more about their group, dig around, and try to figure out exactly why you were wanted. You definitely wanted to ask to talk to Jonas, who was most likely the leader. The medicine was beginning to make it hard to think, though.

“I need more information. I’m not gonna join some anti-government rebel group just because I'm homeless and being hunted down.” Your head felt like it was floating, and your eyelids were beginning to droop. “But…I guess I don’t have any other options…”

Yuta smiled at you. It was the last thing you saw as you finally let your eyes close.

“Welcome to Kwangya.”

masterlist || Chapter 2 >>

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[the-halloween-jack]

One Little Difference ➳ Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor!Pureblood!Reader

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader x Harry Potter  

Synopsis: Draco and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy. 

WARNINGS: There aren't any unless you consider silent pining bad. And angst, of course.

Words:  1,475

Masterlist

Draco knew he could never have her; his family would never allow it. Y/N was a blood traitor with her mud-blood friends and a lack of respect for her pure ancestry.

He yearned to return to the days of chasing each other through the old ornate manor, their laughter echoing through the tall chambers. They had always been close, attached at the hip. But as they grew and their parents bestowed their prejudice and hate upon them, Y/N rebelled whilst Draco conformed. 

This difference acted as the catalyst for the decay of their friendship.

She had never seen the world like they did; she gazed upon muggles and their innovations in wonder and awe. Draco tried pleading with her to understand the importance of her status but to no avail. Y/N was an embarrassment to her family’s name and a stain on their bloodline. It came as no surprise to anyone when she was sorted into Gryffindor. 

‘It’s better this way, Draco.' His father, Lucius, had said over an issue of The Daily Prophet one morning of his summer holidays, 

‘Her family, your mother and I had been discussing an arranged marriage once you were older. It is good Y/N's true colours were revealed before we could have made that mistake.’

Draco’s heart had sunk at his father’s words. Her true colours did not matter to him; he wanted her anyway.

As Draco sat alone in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express, he thought of how his life would be different if that wretched sorting hat had placed Y/N in Slytherin. He would not have to hide his reddening cheeks when she spoke and avert his eyes as she looked his way. He would be free to love and be with her, have children and grow old with her. 

It had been the longest Draco had gone without seeing her. In the last few years, domestic life had not been easy on Y/N; her parents finally kicked her out early in the summer. From what he had heard, she had stayed at the Weasley’s. He bet she had hated imposing herself on them. 

That was the worst part about her being in Gryffindor; in their first year, she very quickly became friends with people Draco considered his enemies: Harry, Ron and Hermione. There were many reasons why Draco did not like these three, though he was too proud to admit that the main reason was that he was bitter; they got to be her friend, to know and love her without pressure from their families. 

When he gazed out the window of the immobile train, he saw something that made his stomach contort in pain as though an unseen force was twisting his insides.

Her hands were intertwined with someone he hated more than anybody.

Harry Potter.

When had this happened? He thought they were only friends. Though the longer he watched them, the more the opposite seemed true. 

They were together; Harry and Y/N were in a relationship. 

As the aftershock of the pain he felt echoed hollowly in his stomach, he drew the blinds of the compartment shut; he could not bear to watch them any longer. But shutting them out had not been as easy as Draco had foreseen. Everywhere he looked, he saw her with him. In every corner of the castle, they stood, smiling at each other, holding hands and leaving small kisses on each other's cheeks. Draco saw them sit together in his classes, staring into each other's eyes in the great hall over meals. And though Draco tried not to let it bother him, he could not help but imagine himself in Harry’s place; she was supposed to be his.

It had been years since Draco could call Y/N his friend, and although he pined for her from a distance, he accepted that they were estranged. But the reality of her loving someone else rattled him to his core, and just like a spoiled child whose toy was being played with by another, he wanted her back, to snatch her from Harry’s arms and never return her. 

He needed to speak with her, beg her to see reason. Surely, all those days of laughter and fun as children would amount to something; surely, she would remember the person he used to be. 

He decided to speak with her after charms class; he noticed she was usually alone then, her friends heading to different lessons.

As Professor Flitwick called the end of their class, Draco watched as Y/N quickly collected her things and exited the classroom; he had to rush to put his belongings together and follow her. 

But by the time he left the room, she was halfway down the grand hallway. 

‘Y/N! Wait up!’ Draco could not remember the last time he spoke her name out loud; it felt strange on his tongue, as though it shocked him on its way out. She turned, skin creased between her brows, her face donning a bewildered expression. She, too, seemed shocked that he had called out for her,

‘Y/N, I need to speak with you; it’s important’ he pleaded,

With surprise still evident on her face, she opened her mouth to speak,

‘Draco, I don’t have the time, my next class is in ten…’ He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her to an empty classroom; despite her protest,

‘Draco… What are you…’ she trailed off, instead staring at him, eyebrows furrowed once more. Draco stood back and nervously scratched the nape of his neck, realising for the first time that he had no idea what he was going to say,

‘What is this about? I thought you didn’t talk to me anymore.’ 

Draco cringed, remembering how he had given her the cold shoulder in their first year. She had still wanted to be his friend, and he had pushed her away.

‘Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been a lot closer with Harry this year…’ Y/N's eyes sharpened, daring him to say more, 

‘And?…’ she spoke carefully, with a warning; she already knew where this was headed,

‘I just think that… that,’ his words cut short; he knew he was out of line and had no right to have an opinion on the matter. He took a different route.

‘I just can’t believe you chose to be friends with him, let alone partners; you could have picked anyone in this school, and you chose him.’ His words made Y/N gasp in shock, but he continued nonetheless, 

‘Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Did the fact I loved you mean nothing?’ 

Although Y/N looked angry, her eyes softened slightly,

‘Draco, did you ever stop for one moment and consider that this has nothing to do with you? You and I are not friends, Draco. You saw to that… I loved you once too, no, I loved a kind, sweet boy by the same name… but he died a long time ago, quelled by his very own father.’ Y/N's voice rose and trembled; Draco could see that talking about this upset her; once again, he felt the twisting pain in his chest. 

‘None of this would have happened, though, if you were sorted into Slytherin…’

He continued, but Y/N interrupted, 

‘But I wasn’t, was I? Don’t you see that our houses have nothing to do with this? You’re hiding behind them; you’re too scared to admit that we grew apart because you were a bad person.’ She took a deep breath,

‘Good people don’t bully and belittle first years and think people are lesser because of who their parents are. Good people don’t bully anyone; they’re kind and compassionate. And they’re selfless; not everything that they do is for themselves. And that is not who you are anymore.’

Draco could no longer see Y/N before him; she became shrouded by his tears, the truth of her words leaving him feeling winded, like blows to the stomach. Everything she had said was true. Of course it was; she had just unknowingly described herself. 

Kind, compassionate, selfless.

Y/N was a good person; she was the best person in his life. 

And he pushed her away because of one little difference.

As Draco stood in silence, unwilling to respond, Y/N’s frustration grew, 

‘You know what? Forget I said anything; you won’t change.’ She muttered, ‘I need to get to class.’

She pushed past him to get through the door, looking back as though she were going to speak again, but decided against it. She shook her head and left.

Draco did not try to speak with her again; he knew nothing he could say would change her mind because she was right. He was a bad person, and she deserved better than him. 

That is what she had with Harry Potter.

And as much as it killed him to watch, he could admit that.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively - Yours (Finale)

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N:

When I orginally started this story in November 2022, I never thought I would get here, 101,100 words, 45 chapters and a story that has been a joy to write.  To those who have been with me from the beginning, thank you so much for your support. To those who climbed on board my crazy train, thank you for not jumping off.  

I now present to you the final chapter of “Yours, Submissively.” 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Dreams

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Three Years Later… 

“James! Lucy! Get back here!” 

Belle chased after her children as they ran around the bridal suite. The giggles and shouts filled the room as the ring bearer and flower girl chased each other in their own game of tag.  Morgan itched to join but her mother was trying to fix her hair piece that had fallen out.  

“Whoa! What is going on here?” Steve stood in the doorway as his children froze.  

“Only took you five minutes after my text,” Belle complained with her hands on her hips.  

“Sorry, sweet pea, we were having a toast to Bucky.  How’s the bride?” 

“She needs a drink herself,” Ava piped in. Steve sucked in a breath.   

“Ava, you look beautiful. Bucky is a lucky man.” 

“Thanks Steve.” She blushed at her former boss’s compliment.   

Belle elbowed Steve and he grunted.  “You look gorgeous as always, sweet pea.”  He grinned, looking like a young man again.  

Belle giggled. Her children started up again, but Steve swooped and picked them up. “Jamie, Lucy, are you supposed to be running in your nice clothes?”  

“We want to get married already Papa!” Lucy wiggled in his arms.  

“And who do you think you are marrying Princess?” 

“Jamie, duh.”  Her three-year-old attitude shining through as Steve laughed. “Uncle Bucky gets to marry Auntie Ava. Morgan said that she gets to marry Uncle Peter when she’s bigger but I always want to be with Jamie, so I’ll marry him.”  

The beauty of logic for three-year-olds.  Steve sighed, put his children down and kneeled in front of his daughter.  “Princess, you don’t have to marry Jamie for him to be with you forever.  He’s your brother, he’ll always be there for you.”  

“Just like you Papa?” 

“Just like me.  Now, no more running around until after church, ok? If your Mama has to call me, there will be timeout and no cake.”  

She nodded with big eyes. Lucy was truly daddy’s princess, and she would always obey her father.  Her older brother, however, was his rebel and only really listened to his idol, Uncle Bucky. “Young man, Uncle Bucky told me to tell you that you better behave or no launch pad.” Steve was curious what the hell "launch pad" was but it was something that his son looked horrified to lose so he didn’t question it.  

‘No! Daddy, tell him I’m good.’ 

“Ok, you have to listen to Mama or else, James.”  His son grimaces but nods, understanding that losing his favorite game is worse.  Steve stand and finally takes in his wife, in a dusty rose ball gown, the tiny swell of her belly holding their third child showing. He walked over and grasped her face, tilting it towards him. “You do look amazing today, my love.”  He placed a gentle kiss on her lips.  

Belle could hear her son gagging over his father’s affection for his mother, a learned trait from his uncle no doubt.  “You look just as handsome amore.”  

Steve’s hand drifted down. “How’s my boy?” 

“Sleeping, I think. Still only flutters.”  She smiled.  They had just found out that they were having another boy, much to Lucy’s delight.  She wanted to be the only princess.  

“Good.  Ready to walk down the aisle again Mrs. Rogers?”  

“Only with you.”  

Watching his best friend marry his perfect girl was wonderful.  Belle continuously wiped at her eyes during the ceremony as matron of honor.  Steve watched his girl, knowing that her hormones definitely amplified her reaction, but it wasn’t out of character.  Once the minister declared Bucky and Ava husband and wife, he clapped hard, happy that his best friend found a home just like he did. As the newly married couple exited, Steve extended his arm to his wife.  “Mrs. Rogers.”  

“Mr. Rogers,” Belle smiled up at her husband as she took his arm.  They had a hand on each of their children and headed out for photos. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of his wife.  Belle moved effortlessly while five months pregnant.  Of course, only carrying one was easier than the twins.  

“Stop staring, punk.  It’s my wedding day.”  Bucky stands next to Steve as he watches the girls take photos.  

“Like you don’t stare at Ava, jerk.”  

“That’s fair.  Who would have thought, 100 years later, that we would be here, married to the loves of our lives?”  

“After everything we have seen, we are just a couple of lucky bastards.” Steve slaps Bucky’s back.  “I’m proud of you Buck.”  

“Thanks pal. Never saw myself a married man but Ava, she’s my Angel.”  

“Just like Belle was mine.”  

The reception is beautiful, very light and sparkly, just like Ava.  Steve stood up to make his speech about Bucky.  

“As most of you know, I grew up with this jerk all those years ago.  He was bigger than me, always getting me out of scraps. He tried to save my ass during the war, telling me not to do anything stupid until he came back. Of course, I had to follow up because he took all of the stupid with him.” 

The crowd laughed and Steve cleared his throat. “Ava, I want you to know that I think you are completely nuts marrying this jerk.  But I also think you couldn’t find anyone who is more loyal, loving, amazing and just generally a good guy.  He has loved my family since before I knew I loved my wife and I know he will make you very happy.  With that said, Bucky, you break this amazing woman’s heart, and they will never find you.”  A roar of laughter and Steve raised his glass.  “To James and Ava, may your new life be as happy as mine.  To the bride and groom.”  

After Ava’s father spoke, Belle got up to the piano and sat, smiling at the couple.  “Bucky and Ava are so special to me and my family.  And when they asked me to sing for them, only one song came to mind. I love you guys.”  She started to play as Bucky and Ava stood up for their first dance.  

Heart beats fast  Colors and promises  How to be brave?  How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?  But watching you stand alone  All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

Time stands still  Beauty in all she is  I will be brave  I will not let anything take away  What's standing in front of me  Every breath, every hour has come to this 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

One step closer 

One step closer 

I have died every day waiting for you  Darling, don't be afraid  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

And all along I believed I would find you  Time has brought your heart to me  I have loved you for a thousand years  I'll love you for a thousand more 

  Bucky and Ava finished their dance with a kiss and the crowd applauded as Steve helped Belle down to hug her brother and sister-in-law. “Love you guys.”  

As the wedding came to a close, Tony and Pepper walked over to take the twins with them to their cabin for the weekend.  Belle became teary for the idea of her babies leaving but Steve looped his arms around her.  “They will be ok.  Uncle Tony and Auntie Pep have it.”  

“I know. I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes as the twins came over to give her a hug.  “Promise you will behave for your Uncle and Aunt.”  

“Yes mama,” Jamie answered.  

Steve kneeled in front of his son.  “You take care of your sister. ok?” 

Jamie nodded.  “Yes daddy.”  

“Good.”  He kissed his head and then hugged his princess. They watched them leave and Steve took his wife’s hand.  “All to myself, sweet pea.”  

“Yes sir.” Belle smirked as she watched Steve’s eyes darken slightly.  He pulled her to the elevator to get back to their room in the hotel.  As soon as the doors closed, Steve lifted Belle to his hips with a squeak, wrapping her legs around him, her back pressed against the wall.  

“You are a vixen, my love.”  He placed gentle kisses around her neck and collarbone.  Belle whines when he gently nipped at her skin.  “Hush, baby.”  

“Stevie,” she whispered.  

“I love it when you call me that.” The elevator pinged and the doors opened to their floor.  Steve carries his pregnant wife to their suite. He never lost stride, never lost his grip on his precious cargo. He opened their door and moved to their king sized bed.  He laid her down and began kissing every part of her body he could reach, eventually reaching up and pulling the zipper of her dress. He yanked the fabric away and moaned at the sight of his girl in just panties. “Jesus doll.”  

“Something you like Captain?” she purred and at that point Steve went feral. He tore his suit away, literally and was down to his boxers when he began to kiss Belle’s legs starting at her ankle. His kisses were feather light and driving Belle wild.  “Steve, please.”  

“You know what you have to say, princess.” Steve got closer to where she needed him, her hormones now in overdrive.  

“Wreck me sir. Take me to heaven.”  

In an instant, Steve ripped her panties away and drove his tongue into her warm heat.  She arched her back and cried out, his ministrations sending her head spinning.  He worked her body like he had known for the last five years. He could feel her building but holding back.  “Let go princess.  Let me drink you in.”  

She shook her head, wanting it to last.  Steve chuckled at her stubbornness.  “Ok then.”  He slipped his large digit in and hit her spot inside. Belle moaned and then screamed at Steve latched onto her clit, gently nibbling it.  She couldn’t stop the rush as she climaxed all over him, losing sight of her surroundings as the blood pumped behind her eyes.  

Steve slowed to let her come down before he pulled away to remove his boxers and he laid next to her, pulling her on top.  This was his favorite, where he could watch Belle lose herself on him. He placed her right over his rock-hard cock and guided himself in. They both moaned at the fullness, and Belle began to move her hips, her small bump sliding across Steve’s abs.  

“Oh, princess. So good, sweet pea, so fucking good.”  

“Stevie, I can’t,” as she began to slow.  

“Yes, you can because you’re my good girl, my baby mama.” He put his hands on her hips to help her. He could feel her being to grip him. “Always so warm and ready for me. Fuck Belle.”  

“Steve,” she moaned, “fuck Captain, please.”  She felt him grow harder and she knew he was almost there.  

“C’mon baby, one more time, let go for me. Cum all over me Isabella, make me yours.”  

“Mine, all mine!” He was thrusting his hips to hit her spot over and over and she was lost again as she clamped down on him.  

“Mine,” Steve grunted as he let go in her, filling her up again. Belle slumped forward and he caught her before she crushed her stomach and turned them, so she was on her side and he was still inside her. “So beautiful my Isabella.”  

“I love you,” she mumbled as exhaustion took over.  

“I love you more, my beautiful, sweet pea.”  

The next morning, Belle woke with Steve still sleeping next to her.  Five years later and she never got tired of seeing him asleep, looking younger and more at peace.  She quietly got up and went to the ensuite coffee maker, checking her phone.  She saw an email from her publicist.  She opened it and squealed loudly.  

Steve ran in a moment later in just his boxers.  “Baby, you ok?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, but the New York Times has reviewed the restaurant!”  

A year after the twins were born, Belle wanted to pursue her dream of opening a restaurant. Steve and Tony wanted to invest and helped find the perfect spot for her.  But what was a hidden blessing was Ava wanting to be her partner.  Ava has restaurant management experience and was invested in Belle’s concept.  American fusion.  She took the recipes she knew and elevated.  After extensive testing (with Bucky being her taste tester, of course,) they had the final menu set and opened “Home Kitchen” just six months ago.  

“What did they say, sweet pea?” 

“Three stars, Stevie, he gave me three stars. Oh my god!” Steve picked her up and swung her around.  

“I knew it baby.  I knew you would be great!” 

“I can’t believe it.” She read the review, raving about the simplicity of her menu but the sophistication of it made it other-worldly. He labeled it the “must eat” restaurant in Manhattan. “Steve, he’s raving about it. I gotta tell Ava.”  

“Ava is probably a bit busy at the moment love.” He sat them on the couch, with his girl on his lap and caressed her bump. “How’s my son?” 

“He’s moving around. Excited for his momma.  He’s...” she went still.  

“Belle?” She grabbed his hand and moved it to one side.  And he felt it, a movement against his hand.  He smiled. “Hello son.” He tracked his movements until he calmed.  

She watched the wonder on his face. “Do you regret it?” 

“Regret what love?” 

“Giving up the shield. Just being Steve Rogers and not Captain America?” 

After Belle’s near death from the birth of the twins, she had told him about her dream with her father.  And while Steve didn’t believe in ghosts, he did believe that family would visit when they needed to tell their loved ones a message.  He had seen his Ma a couple of times, so he had no doubt Phil had visited her. Phil’s instructions were clear; Steve needed to be with his family but holding onto the shield would stop him from that.  

Sam was surprised when Steve handed the shield to him.  He assumed that Bucky would be the next, but Steve knew, his best friend was done with the fight, especially when he had proposed to Ava.  Sam and Nat were still ok with going on missions when needed.  Sam was the obvious choice.  And Steve felt at peace, knowing the world was in safe hands.  

“My only regret is not kissing you more often and I would regret not watching our family grow.  You and the kids are my whole world.” He kissed her softly. “I am devoted to you Isabella Maria Rogers.”  

“And I am submissively yours Steven Grant Rogers.”  

He looked into her beautiful violet eyes.  

“Mine.”  

She looked back into his ocean blues. 

“Yours.”  

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

[dee-writes-angst]

BURNING HOUSE

FEATURING Steve Harrington x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING mentions of possible character death, actual shit writing (like its really bad), loads of angst, sadness

SUMMARY Even a burning house couldn't touch your love.

AUTHORS NOTE I hate this so much, like it is so bad, but I wanted to post something for you all because it has been WAY too long.

TAGLIST @livsters

You jolted awake, the acrid scent of smoke assaulting your senses. It wasn't the familiar aroma of your laid-back indulgence; no, it was the ominous scent of something much more sinister—a house engulfed in flames. Disbelief washed over you as you lay there, momentarily frozen in a haze of confusion and shock, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding around you.

Steve was due to arrive in just an hour, an evening planned to be a pivotal moment when you finally confessed your feelings for him—those three words, so heavy yet so long overdue: "I love you." The anticipation had infused every action as you meticulously prepared a lavish dinner of two succulent steaks paired with creamy mashed potatoes and tender asparagus spears.

Yet, exhaustion from a day spent tirelessly working with the children had taken its toll. Unbeknownst to you, fatigue had lured you into an unintended slumber while the food simmered on the stove. Now, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train as you sat perched on a barstool, head heavy against the countertop, witnessing the inferno that had consumed your kitchen. Flames danced greedily from the pan, hungrily devouring your countertops like a ravenous beast unleashed upon a feast.

The acrid smoke filled your lungs, searing with each breath, while the scorching heat of the flames licked at your skin. Panic surged as you realized the dire truth—you were trapped in a rapidly escalating inferno, the feeble extinguisher in the coat closet down the hall a futile defense against the voracious blaze.

In a moment of stark clarity, the gravity of your predicament spurred you into action. With a surge of adrenaline, you propelled yourself from the chair, the urgency to survive propelling you forward into the chaos that now threatened to consume everything you held dear.

Coughs wracked your body, each one a painful reminder of the toxic haze that enveloped you. Progress down the hallway to your bedroom, where a window offered a slim chance of escape, was agonizingly slow. Every step felt like wading through thick molasses, your lungs struggling against the suffocating smoke that blurred your vision and stung your eyes.

With each labored breath, the world around you seemed to shrink, collapsing into a tunnel of darkness edged with fiery tendrils. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other became an insurmountable task, your once steady gait reduced to a feeble shuffle.

As the noxious fumes tightened their grip, your body rebelled, betraying you as muscles weakened and limbs trembled. A wave of dizziness swept over you, sending you crashing to the floor just beyond the threshold of your bedroom, a heap of limbs entangled in desperation.

You didn't want to surrender to the engulfing darkness, to succumb to the relentless assault on your senses, but the overwhelming exhaustion and the crushing weight of the smoke rendered you immobile. Each breath became a Herculean effort, a battle you were losing with every passing moment. In the suffocating grip of the inferno, the line between survival and surrender blurred, leaving you teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

With Steve's image haunting your thoughts, the anguish of imagining his devastation at your untimely demise propelled you to summon the last vestiges of your dwindling strength. Dragging yourself across the threshold of your bedroom, you managed to seal the door behind you, hoping to stall the relentless advance of the flames, if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep down, in the recesses of your consciousness, you knew the bitter truth—you were trapped, a prisoner within your own infernal tomb. The window, a beacon of salvation mere feet away, might as well have been miles distant, for in your weakened state, the prospect of reaching it was as futile as grasping at shadows.

Resigned to your fate, you surrendered to the inevitability of your demise, seeking solace in the feeble comfort of knowing you had tried, however futilely, to defy the merciless grip of fate.

As you lay upon your bed, eyes closed against the encroaching flames, a sense of grim acceptance settled over you. The searing heat, once a torment, now enveloped you in a macabre embrace, consuming you in a maelstrom of agony. Each lick of flame was a cruel reminder of your mortality, each scorching caress a testament to the merciless whims of destiny.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, the pain ceased, leaving behind a deafening silence that reverberated through the void of your consciousness. In that final moment of clarity, as the flames claimed you as their own, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air—an eternal lament for the love never declared, for the life never lived to its fullest potential.

Steve's frantic steps echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital as he raced towards the receptionist's desk, his heart pounding a frenetic rhythm of panic. Tears blurred his vision, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he approached the woman behind the desk, his voice trembling with desperation.

His cry of your name reverberated off the walls, laced with a raw intensity that spoke of his deep-seated fear. He reached out as if to grasp onto something solid in the tumult of his emotions. "Where is she?!"

The receptionist, a bastion of composure amidst the chaos, rose from her seat with practiced grace, her movements slow and deliberate. With gentle hands, she attempted to steady Steve, her touch a fleeting anchor in the storm of his anguish.

"Sir, please, try to calm down," she implored, her voice a soothing melody amidst the cacophony of distress. She met his gaze with unwavering empathy, understanding the depth of his anguish.

But Steve was beyond consolation, his anguish too potent to be assuaged by mere words. "No! You don't understand!" His voice cracked with emotion as he pushed away from her gentle touch, his desperation palpable. "I need to know she's okay. Where is she?!"

The receptionist's expression softened, a silent acknowledgment of his pain. "She's in surgery," she replied, her tone gentle yet resolute. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

Though her words offered a glimmer of hope, Steve's heart still clenched with fear. He hung onto her every word, his breaths shallow and uneven as he waited for reassurance.

"But for now," she continued, her voice a soothing lullaby in the midst of his turmoil, "she needs you to take a deep breath and stay calm."

As Nancy stood on Steve's doorstep, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her words seemed to echo in slow motion, each syllable weighted with a gravity that threatened to crush him. He listened in stunned silence, the world around him blurring into a haze of uncertainty and dread as he hastily grabbed his keys, his mind a whirlwind of fear and hope.

Driving to the hospital felt like navigating through a thick fog, his thoughts consumed by one singular prayer echoing in the recesses of his mind: "She needs to live." The words tumbled from his lips in a broken sob, a desperate mantra repeated over and over again like a lifeline in the darkness.

The hospital waiting room became his temporary sanctuary, a silent witness to the agony etched upon his features as he sat vigil, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of unbearable suspense. Visitors came and went, their concerned faces a blur as he mechanically recited the same refrain: "I don't know."

Hours stretched into an endless expanse of time, the rhythmic ticking of the clock a cruel reminder of the minutes slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Exhaustion threatened to claim him, pulling at his eyelids like weighted anchors, but still, he remained, unwilling to abandon his post until he knew her fate.

And then, just as weariness threatened to engulf him, a voice pierced the silence, jolting him from the edge of sleep and back into the harsh reality of his uncertainty.

It was a nurse who had called your name out into the waiting room, waiting patiently by the door with a clipboard in hand.

Steve's heart leaped at the sound of those words, a surge of relief flooding through him as he declared himself her husband, a title that felt both surreal and achingly real all at once. The weight of those two words—her husband—pressed against his chest, filling him with a sense of purpose and belonging that he had never known before.

As the doctor delivered the news of her condition, Steve's mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of her injuries, each word landing like a heavy blow against his fragile hope. Severe third-degree burns, a long and painful rehabilitation process—the reality of her suffering threatened to overwhelm him. But amid the flood of information, one fact remained steadfast: she was alive.

Clutching onto that lifeline with all his might, Steve's trembling voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, a desperate plea to be near her, to see with his own eyes that she had indeed survived the ordeal.

"Can you take me to her?" His voice wavered, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within him.

"Of course, right this way," the doctor responded, his tone a beacon of reassurance amidst the chaos. With a nod of gratitude, Steve followed the doctor, his steps heavy with anticipation and trepidation.

As he approached her room in the ICU, anxiety gripped Steve like a vice, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared to face the sight of her injuries. But in that moment, as he stood on the threshold of her room, the enormity of their love washed over him, a beacon of strength in the face of adversity. For even in the wake of tragedy, their bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love. And as Steve stepped into her room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew with unwavering certainty that together, they could overcome anything.

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

The Clone Wars: Return of the Thoughts

I’m over half way through my first watch through of The Clone Wars (I’m part way through the Onderon rebels arc at the moment) and it has been An Experience. I have really enjoyed watching it, even though so much of the story is just pain and despair. If it isn’t already completely obvious from my reaction posts, I have completely fallen for the clones. New hyperfixation unlocked. I love and adore all of them. This brings about its own problems because for a show called The Clone Wars, there isn’t exactly a great focus on the clones. They’ve basically been sidelined in their own show (Hmmm, I wonder where we’ve seen that done to a clone before?). When we do finally get some decent clone-centric episodes, they are all just pain, misery, angst and despair. Which explains why I’ve been dreading watching so many of the various arcs in TCW.

I’ve found that my anticipation of episodes falls into either 'outright dreading', 'generally looking forward to', 'somewhat interested in', or 'fairly ambivalent about'. Out of the three seasons I have left to watch, the only arc I’m actually looking forward to is the opening arc of season 7, because:

a) Baby Bad Batch b) ECHO c) More clones! More clone interactions and personality and character development and depth and emotions and all the things! d) Jesse and his ARC tits running around being an absolute unit e) Kix! *weeps for his beautiful hair* f) Rex being a BAMF as usual but also being all soft and concerned when he gets one of his Domino Twins back after he thought he’d lost them both. g) We even get a bit of Cody too, before he gets squished by a larty and Wrecker has to lift it off him. h) Non-chip controlled Crosshair! He smiles! He laughs! He’s snarky and sarcastic! We finally get to see the toothpick with a soul before it’s ripped out and trampled into the ground by the Empire. i) I think the season 7 premiere is where Obi-Wan cuts an actual missile in half to save Cody, and if that isn’t the most hyper competent way of conveying your love for your space husband, then I don’t know what is.

On the other side of things, there are a number of arcs that I am dreading and almost don’t want to watch. 

I’m not overly looking forward to the Mandalore arc in season 5, mainly because we have to watch Obi-Wan watch Satine get brutally murdered in front of him by Maul. Along with being utterly cruel and completely devastating, it’s also another wholly unnecessary fridging of a female character. There’s already enough man pain in this series as it is, we don’t need to add to it by killing off one of the few female characters with depth. 

Straight after this is the Jedi temple bombing arc, which I almost don’t want to watch. The way Ahsoka was treated was utterly horrendous and appalling. No wonder she left! What they did to Barriss was just as awful. 

Then it’s straight into the chip conspiracy arc, which is just more pain, misery, suffering and death for the clones. First Tup, then Fives, in what seems to be generally regarded as one of the most devastating deaths of the entire Clone Wars series. I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a lot of sobbing at the end of it. I also cannot wrap my head around the fact that Fox is the one to shoot Fives. I cannot believe that a clone would ever shoot another clone. That a vod would kill another vod. It’s just inconceivable. From what I’ve read, the generally received headcanon seems to be that Palps was controlling Fox via the chip or the Darkside. This makes complete sense, is a believable in-universe reason, and is definitely the headcanon that I’ve accepted. Blasters have a stun setting! Fox is the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. He’s a command class clone and he has a kama so presumably he’s got ARC training as well. There’s no way he’d be that sloppy as to not have his blaster set to stun. I know this is leading up to my inevitable internal conflict between fandom Fox and canon Fox (which is already brewing), but that’s another rant for another day. Either way, I'm absolutely dreading watching this arc.

I’m not really looking forward to watching the Rush Clovis arc in season 6. I touched on this in 2.04 ‘Senate Spy’ and I should imagine that this arc involves more of Anakin being abusive and controlling of Padmé, which both @0bianidalas and @coraex basically confirmed in the comments. For a multitude of personal reasons, I am really not comfortable with watching something like this. That said, I should imagine it will be a clear example of Anakin’s further descent to the Dark side and give a greater understanding to how it happened, which I gather was a key reason for the existence of The Clone Wars series in the first place.

Finally, there’s the Siege of Mandalore arc, which is just pain, misery, death and despair for everyone involved. We have to watch another perspective of the genocide that is Order 66, and by all accounts this one seems to be one of the most heart-wrenching and devastating. All of the clones are forced against their will to turn into brainwashed, controlled, mindless monsters. Jesse is turned into the very opposite of everything that he is, stood for, and believed in. Ahsoka is hunted by the very men she thought were her friends. Rex has to shoot his brothers out of self defense and to protect Ahsoka. All of the 322nd die. Rex cries. The only saving grace to all of this is that Rex is finally free, but at what cost. At what cost.

(Editor Me: My heart is already aching just going through the various gifs from these arcs. I'm going to be an absolute wreck I watch the actual episodes.)

After all of this, I somehow have to power through 4 seasons of Rebels before Ahsoka premiers on August 23. I’m probably going to have to binge watch Rebels and come back to it later for the reaction posts but we’ll see. While I have spoiled myself on Rebels in the same way I did for TCW, I haven’t been looking up what happens in Rebels quite as much as TCW. I’ve forgotten a fair amount of what happens so I think I’m going to try and keep myself as spoiler free as possible for Rebels. Hopefully that way I’ll be able to avoid this ‘dreading watching particular arcs’ problem that I’m encountering with TCW.  

It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are moments in particular episodes that I’m looking forward to.

Hondo turns up again in the younglings arc and I am all for more Hondo. My interest in this arc falls somewhere between ‘somewhat interested’ and ‘fairly ambivalent’ but Hondo is an absolute riot and I love his particular brand of chaos. He was hilarious in the season 5 premiere and stole every scene he was in so I’m very glad to see him appear again.

We finally get to meet Gregor! He seems like a fan favourite and I’ve been looking forward to meeting him. If the droids mission is anything like R2-D2 and the reprogrammed B1 droids in the Citadel arc then this should be fairly amusing too so I’m generally looking forward to this.

In a way, I am looking forward to parts of the Mandalore arc in season 5. Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armour! More sass and snark from Obi-Wan is always enjoyable and at least we get to see him rescue Satine before it all goes horribly wrong. I know I’ve made this point before but I also love it when we get to see just how damn good a Jedi Obi-Wan is. There’s a little bit of this in the season 4 finale when Obi-Wan teams up with Ventress to fight Maul and Savage (after he’s thrown about like a rag doll and we get even more Obi-Wan whump. TCW has been a surprisingly excellent source of Obi-Wan whump.) But you really get to see it in the season 5 premiere. At one stage Obi-Wan is dual wielding lightsabers like an absolute madman while fighting both Maul and Savage at the same time. Sir, your lightsaber form is Soresu, what are you doing?

I’m looking forward to ‘The Lost One’ because we get to see a bit more of Wolffe, Plo and the Wolf Pack and I am always happy when we get to see more of them. Even if it's only for a tiny bit at the start of the episode.

As painful as the Siege of Mandalore arc is going to be, there are also some good moments that I’m looking forward to. Rex and Ahsoka reunite after she left the Order. I’ve really been enjoying watching the gradual evolution of their relationship, from Captain and Commander, to colleagues that respect each other, to friends, and then brother and sister. Or ori’vod and vod’ika, if we’re going with the headcanon of clones knowing Mando’a and creating their own culture out of what they can glean from their Mandalorian origins. Rex is definitely ori’vod. 

Rex is finally promoted to commander so we get a little bit of Commander Rex for a while, and isn’t that just a delicious thought thot. 

Ahsoka essentially gets her own company in the form of the 332nd and they all paint their helmets in a pattern inspired by the markings on her montrals, which is just so damn sweet and adorable.   

Rex and Ahsoka fighting side by side, even if some of it is against chip controlled clones.

From what I can gather, this entire arc is mainly about Rex and Ahsoka, with a showdown with Maul thrown in. They both go through the wringer and there’s going to be everything from hilarious one liners, to heartfelt moments, to the absolute emotional devastation that is Order 66 and all that it wrought upon them.  

Out of the arcs that are left, they’re a mix of ‘somewhat interested’, ‘fairly ambivalent’ and ‘really not sure what to expect’. I’m fairly ambivalent about the rest of the Onderon rebels arc, which ends in another unnecessary fridging of a female character. At least Steela was more sensible and had more nuance. I could see her evolving into a great leader, in a similar vein to Leia. Saw is just another boring arrogant male who turns into a ‘for the greater good’ monster. The consequences of his actions have disastrous effects for the Empire and the rebels, or anyone who even slightly opposes the Empire. He’s not a good person and definitely falls into the ‘an enemy of my enemy is my friend/temporary ally’ camp.  

I’m ‘fairly ambivalent’ to almost disinterested in ‘The Disappeared’ arc. Anything involving Jar Jar Binks is always deeply painful and uncomfortable to watch, a point I’ve made before, so I’m not going to blither on about it again.

The final arc of season 6 just sounds weird and all very ~mystical~ Jedi. Or more Jedi osik as the more cynical of the clones would probably say. 

The Ahsoka arc in the middle of season 7 is one I’m really not sure what to expect from. I’m looking forward to meeting Trace and Rafa and I’m all for more women of colour in Star Wars. It’ll also give more context to the episode ‘Decommissioned’ from The Bad Batch and help understand exactly who they are and why they’re coincidentally looking for the same Separatist tactical droid as the Batch. It’ll also be interesting to see what happens to Ahsoka after she leaves the order and get a sense for what she’s been up to and how she’s managed to survive and cope since. I’m not sure if this arc is in chronological order with the rest of the season. Though the last episode does appear to link into the Siege of Mandalore arc, so maybe it is. The official chronological order lists this arc as happening before the Bad Batch arc and after the season 6 finale arc, so I guess that solves that then.

Aside from The Bad Batch arc, there’s no whole episode or arc that I’m actually looking forward to watching. This seems to be the main structure to TCW, hilarious comedic moments and heartfelt scenes interspersed between a whole lot of emotional devastation and heart wrenching endings. I’m still glad I’m finally watching The Clone Wars but the emotional ride from certain episodes and arcs has been something else. I’m so glad fix-it fics exist, because I’m going to need to read so many after all of this is said and done. 

I know this might seem like I’m complaining but I’m not. I’m simply being open and honest about my experiences watching The Clone Wars. I am enjoying watching it all, even if ‘enjoying’ doesn’t quite feel like the right word with all of the pain and despair and misery that happens. 

I’ve got a lot left to watch and not much time to watch it in but I’m also going to make sure I enjoy it as well. I’ll be sad when it’s finished but I am very happy and glad that I finally started watching The Clone Wars. 

[error6gendernotfound]

Nu Kyr'adyc

TW: Tech angst, spoilers for tbb s2 finale

Summary: Omega finds herself in a cell with Crosshair after being kidnapped by Hemlock

AN: This lil baby fic is written for @cross-my-heartt's art post, which you can find here. Thanks for reading!

He awoke with a small groan, the stiff cot not doing his back any favors.

“Crosshair?” a small voice asks, “Are you awake?”

His head whips around to look at the figure crouched in the corner of the small room. It had been a long time, but he recognizes the blonde halo and heavy accent. He quickly sits up, ice-hot panic running through his veins.

“Omega? Why are you here? I distinctly remember telling you guys to hide. For your sake.”

“I know.” she says. She looks down, trying to hide the emotions still shaking her every breath. “We were just trying to help you. I just wanted to help you.” Her voice gets smaller with every word, and he sees a small tear fall. He sighs inwardly.

“Where are the others?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wails. “Before they stunned me, Echo helped Hunter and Wrecker get away. I just know they’re not here.” He can’t help but notice the absent name, but he doesn’t push right now. He sighs.

“Come here.” he swings his legs off the cot and pats the space beside him. She scrambles over to him, taking her previous position with her arms wrapped around her knees. “Tell me what happened.”

“Well, after we got your message, we had to figure out where you were, so we planned to place a tracker on Doctor Hemlock’s ship while he was busy in a meeting with other imperial officers. Turns out there was another group of ‘rebels’ in the base, except they were trying to blow it up. Wreck and I did our part, and got the tracker on the ship, but we had to leave quickly because of the bombs. The,” She clears her throat, “the base was only accessible with this hanging monorail thing. We got about halfway from the base when the explosion cut the power to it. Echo couldn’t fix it from the train so Te-Tec-,” she stutters, voice cracking, “He had to get out and go fix it.”

The tears stream harder down Omega’s face. Cross scoots closer to her on the cot, not quite touching hips, but trying his best to comfort her. To let her know that it’s okay, even though it’s not. She looks up at him suddenly. The movement drags his eyes down to hers. “In your message, you mentioned plan eighty-eight.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I did.”

“Do you remember all the plans?” she asks quietly. He doesn't know where this is going, but he doesn't like it, pushing himself up to stand.

“Mhm.” he grumbles, beginning to pace the short distance from one side of the room to the other, head down.

“Do you,” Omega hesitates, and picks at her cuticles, “remember ninety-nine?” The flow of his pacing abruptly stops, and his eyes snap back to her.

“Omega…” he warns lowly.

“They never told me about that one. I thought there were only ninety-eight plans, but that's what… that’s what Tech said before he fell. ‘Plan Ninety-nine.’” After her final word, it’s like she forgets how breathing works. Her breathing hitches and her throat burns with tears. She sobs. That wheezing type of sob where it feels like Atlas has put his punishment on your chest. She breathes quickly, but no air fills her lungs. Have they pulled all the oxygen out of the room? Why can’t she breathe? What is happening to her? This can’t be real. This is a nightmare.

She feels arms pull her from the cot and into the air. Against someone’s chest. “T-ech?” Her legs wrap around them automatically. The hands stroke her back soothingly, while she buries her face into their chest. They rock back and forth, and he nuzzles the top of her head with his nose, inhaling deeply. She feels her hair start to wetten, but she doesn't care.

“I’m so sorry cyar’ika.” He whispers, and raises his face to the ceiling. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaalj’la. Ni ceta, vod."

[skylarsblue]

✦New Life from Old Battlegrounds✦

(SoapGhost Content based purely on a piece of fanart by a Twitter mutual. Will I make more than one chapter? Perhaps) ✧TW; References to past abuse(Simon), implied death during childbirth(Simon), reference to a domestic dispute(Johnny) ✧Fluff, Mild Angst, Single Dad!AU✧

★Link to Ao3 Ver : ★Link to fanart that inspired it

✧Meeting✧

John hummed to himself as he walked down the street, dodging people passing him and contemplating what to make for dinner. At the same time, he noted the things around him, thoughts bouncing from subject to subject as it always did. His mother used to joke that if he didn’t learn to contain his thoughts, one day, his brain would be sick of being in his skull and it’d escape. Bounce all over the room like he did. He gave a quick snort at the memory, making a quick note that he’d need to call her again, since it’d been about a week since he’d spoken to her last. It was still very odd being far from her. It’d been such a change from his original plan as a teen, though, he supposed his entire life at that point was far from his young plans for his life.

For starters, he’d been certain he’d be more in the military for longer than he was. He wasn’t completely free from government work, but he wasn’t a constant on-call soldier anymore either. Most of his job was paperwork now. Was it his preferred job? Admittedly, no. He often missed the days on base, the training, the adrenaline rush of battle. Not that he liked to complain, he had it good regardless, he felt so anyway. He’d always been the optimistic type. The way his job was now kept him home more, it was safer, the pay was good, and it was honestly nice to have access to food outside of MREs. He most certainly did not miss the MREs. While his teenage self, and himself in his younger twenties, flourished in the aggressive environment of war, he couldn’t keep that life. Thanks to another curveball from the universe.

John had never considered himself to be fitting of the definition “playboy”, though some of his extended family and exes disagreed. He had no issue with being tied down, though it always seemed it never lasted very long. Be it due to personal differences or the way the military kept him away. He always did his best to be a good partner, not perfect, but good. Still, the longest committed relationship he’d had lasted about two years and a couple months, and that had been when he was fresh out of his teens. All the poor experiences and seeming inability to keep a partner, he didn’t fear the prospect at all. He still looked forward to having a partner permanently one day, getting settled down and such. But that didn’t stop him from casual fun either. He never saw any reason why two adults couldn’t have fun for a night, and leave it there. The problem was really the risk that came with that kind of fun, specifically when his partner had the biological equipment for pregnancy. He’d had one scare when he was sixteen, but that also turned out to be his first experience with a cheating partner. Aside from that, he skated through his pleasureful escapades without problems. He was clean and childless.

Until he wasn’t.

He’d gotten a little too cocky with an apartment neighbor turned casual fuck-buddy, and he came home from a mission to a rather pissed off expression on her face and a DNA test in her hand. It wasn’t ideal by any means, both had agreed on that. It scared him to all death. But his mother had carried many children, and his father sunk in the lesson that it was a woman’s choice completely. He wasn’t carrying anything, his body wouldn’t be changing, so he left the decision up to her. She wasn’t happy with the reality but a heavily religious upbringing made the idea of an abortion out of her options, even if she was rebelling from the eye of God. He’d only nodded when she had said the thought of getting one made her sick. At first, the plan was to try at an actual relationship. They liked each other enough to have sex, he made her laugh plenty, she had a lot of sweet qualities John admired. But by the eighth month, whether it was hormones or the reality of a child weighing heavy on her mind, she’d turned into quite the she-beast, to put it lightly. To the point Johnny sported a new scar on the palm of his hand from a lamp being thrown at his skull.

It became very apparent a relationship wouldn’t work. However, John also couldn’t shake the attachment he’d grown to the child he’d helped create. The last month of her pregnancy was hell on his psyche, but he stuck it out in the hope he’d get to see the baby, even if he’d have to fight it out in a court. Something his eldest sister, Edith, promised to help him with, should it be messy. Thankfully for him, however, the mother really hadn’t been too keen on staying that way. It admittedly stung when she’d responded so poorly after delivering the child, even the nurse winced at her coldness. John got one hundred percent of the parental rights, however, without a court case or a fight. Even if the prospect of being a single father scared him halfway into an early grave. He had many nights where he stayed up on the phone with either his mother or his sister, needing both advice and pep talks. And he still held a pill of guilt from the one night he considered giving his new daughter up for adoption, truly worried he wasn’t cut out for it.

Though, much to the joy of his current self, he’d stuck it out. He had to change and sacrifice a lot, and every now and then, he had the wonder of what would’ve happened had he not taken responsibility. But the thought was often rocketed out of his brain by the simple image of his daughter’s excited face when he came to pick her up from school. A very small, old building, situated in Leek, England. When the baby had just been born and the situation was still fresh, he wanted to give the woman who’d given birth to his daughter to change her mind. So he’d stayed in England, albeit a completely different town. He wasn’t so open to the idea now that he’d raised her, but the town had charmed him, and he wasn’t hugely fond of the concept of taking his daughter out of her hometown. Even if he missed Scotland often. Though he did everything he could to ensure his daughter wouldn’t end up with an English accent. Had it taken a decent chunk of money to get a cable package that included Scottish channels with Scottish cartoons? Yes. Did he regret it? Not at all. Visiting his family for holidays also helped. His daughter, named Maisie, was very fond of her visits to the country. Part of him hoped it could set up for her being open to moving there when she was older, though he didn’t cling to that idea very tightly. He had plenty of time before her teen years. Or, at least he told himself that, even if she turned five at the speed of light. Much like his second oldest sister, Davina, warned him.

John jogged when he spotted the school just ahead. He occasionally drove the distance, but it often wasn’t worth the gas it wasted, not when he could walk the distance with ease. Children filed out to their parents, the sound of little laughter never failed to make John grin. He’d always loved kids, even before being a parent to one. Likely because of the large family he came from. After all, he was the fifth kid born out of seven. His mother was a triplet, and his father had six sisters. The family events were more like circuses with the amount of kids. Sometimes it was hard to get any attention at all. It didn’t affect his adoration for his bloodline though…excluding the occasional prick of an aunt or step-uncle. 

The blue-eyed man walked up to the school, whistling a tune as his hands came to rest on his jean-clad hips. It was warm for once, without a layer of overcast in the sky. John tapped the rhythm of a song stuck in his head on this hip, eyes scanning through kids, parents, and teachers. Stopping once to give an awkward nod and strained smile to a mom he’d met at a school event once. He averted his eyes quickly however. Not to throw a woman under the bus, but John wasn’t too fond of her less-than-subtle flirting she’d chuck his way whenever he went to an event for his daughter. He hadn’t dated since Maisie’s mother, for his own sake and hers. And even if that wasn’t a factor, he was about ninety-nine percent sure the woman was married. John was a lot of things, but a homewrecker certainly wasn’t one.

His brain flicked back on when he heard a familiar little voice shout a goodbye. With a genuine grin this time, John turned and spotted his little girl waving to someone. He let out a sharp whistle, something he’d picked up from when his father owned horses. Quickly, Maisie turned and searched for her father, breaking out into a look of pure joy. Little Mary-Janes clacked on the stone as she sprinted to him. John crouched down and held open his arms, ready to receive. As soon as she reached him, he hoisted her up high with a laugh, reveling in her joyous giggle. He brought her down and set her on his hip, supported by his arm.

“Didn’t you have a bow in yer hair when I sent ya here?” John questioned, and Maisie looked away. “Uhhh noooo?” She lied, making him snort. “Ya lil’ bugger, you yelled at me all mornin’ for not tying it right!” He playfully scolded, making her laugh as he pinched at her side, having her curl away from the ticklish feeling. “I kept the piggies in though!” Maisie retorted, touching the tiny brunette pigtails in her hair. They were a bit messy now, but to her word, they were intact. John sighed with a head shake. “‘Suppose you got a point there. Where’d the ribbon go then?” He asked, subconsciously taking her rucksack when she took it off and held it away from her.

With the pink strap over his shoulder, looking hilariously small against his frame, he watched her eyes grow with excitement. “I gave it to my new friend! I tied it around her wrist and told her to wear it until I could make her a bracelet.” The little girl explained proudly. The ex-soldier tilted his head with a little chuckle. “A bracelet huh? For a new friend? You must like her a lot. That’s a high honor, lass.” He commented. Maisie bobbed her head aggressively, showing she agreed quite intensely. “She’s my best friend now. She’s new to town too! She said she lived in Manchester before, but her dad didn’t like the school she was in, so they came here.” 

John hummed with a quick nod, showing he was listening. He adjusted her on his hip and opened his mouth to speak, ready to suggest a treat before they went home, seeing as how it was such a nice day out. But he paused when his gaze caught on a figure near the front of the school. There wasn’t really anything amiss at first. Just another parent picking up their child it seemed, based on the little blonde girl that was being cautiously lifted off the ground. But it was Maisie’s outburst that made his eyes stick. She pointed with a smile. “That’s my friend! Her name is Ellie!” The information barely registered as John took in the stranger.

Tall, broad, with an aura he’d only attributed to an animal before. A doberman-like intimidating energy. Dressed in almost all black with a black surgical mask across the lower half of his face. An image of intensity only broken by the soft, chubby features of Maisie’s new friend. Round and rosy cheeks with big eyes. John couldn’t look away from the man’s face though, noting a noticeable scar that ran to the stranger’s temple, barely clipping the end of his eyebrow and leaving a subtle indent in the short blond hair at his temple. Just as John was about to force his eyes away, the man turned slightly, and their gazes locked. Cliche and beyond cheesy, but John was suddenly stunned by just how pretty this man's eyes were. Instead of holding the borderline scary aura the rest of him did, they held a gentleness. Light eyelashes in contrast to cinnamon brown. There was a purple tint under the man’s eyes, adding to the naturally tired slope of his eye shape. John always liked eyes, he always found them his favorite thing to look at on people’s faces. Although here, he was suddenly very acutely aware that he had been straight up deadpan staring at a man he didn’t know for God knows how long. The man also clearly noticed, given the uncomfortable shift in his shoulders and the almost anxious glance away, only to connect back with John’s eyes. Obviously, double checking if he was meaning to stare at him. Thankfully, Maisie’s voice helped break John’s train of thought and pull him from his own head.

“Can Ellie come over?” Maisie questioned. “Huh? Oh, uh. We would need to ask her pa, bò.” Her father stammered a bit, looking down at her, although he was certain he could feel the other man’s stare still on him. Internally, he worried he’d already sealed in a bad impression. There was nothing more awkward than accidentally staring at a stranger for seemingly no reason, and then getting caught. “Well he’s over there, let’s go ask!” Maisie tugged at the collar of John’s shirt. He sighed quietly and took a second to prepare how he’d manage that. He debated if he should open with his name or just boldly state an apology. When he decided he’d figure it out once in front of the man, he took in a breath and readied himself to charm his way out of the awkward tension he’d just built.

However, when he looked up, fully prepared to walk toward the man, he was startled by the masked stranger being suddenly closer. A safe distance away but close enough for a conversation. Maisie didn’t miss a beat, waving happily at Ellie who returned the gesture albeit with less enthusiasm. John blinked before he coughed, rolling his shoulders and smiling. Needing to look up was something new. He wasn’t short by any means, and he’d met plenty of tall people, but there was something about the rest of his man’s energy that made his height seem all the more intense. “Afternoon, ‘m John, Maisie’s dad. Uh…sorry about the staring. Wasn’t intentional, was meant to be more of a glance and I forgot to move my eyes.” The Scot said with far less grace than he’d hoped for, he was even using his hand to talk, a habit he always had but that often worsened when he was nervous. The man blinked slowly at him before holding out a hand, which John noted was gloved, despite the warm weather. The gloves had bone detailing on them. 

“Simon.” Ellie’s father answered through a gravelly voice and thick accent. John silently hoped his relief wasn’t too visible as he reached to shake the extended hand, shoulders less tense. “Pleasure to meet’cha, Simon.” He said genuinely, letting his hand come to rest on the strap of Maisie’s bag. He inhaled to speak again, only for his daughter to cut in. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She asked quite loudly. John sighed and patted her on the arm. “It’s “may”, lass. Also say please, and don’t interrupt.” He said, voice soft as he reminded her. Though his tone was gentle, she straightened her back and quickly addressed him with an apology before looking back at Simon. “I’m sorry. May Ellie come over to play, please?” She asked, slower this time. Simon hummed and shifted his weight a bit. He looked down at his daughter, asking silently for her opinion. Ellie nodded with a shy grin. Simon looked to John again. “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He said calmly. His blunt tone made Maisie deflate, taking it as a complete no. John did as well, but he was quick to offer a solution. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.” 

Simon tilted his head back down to his daughter once more, Ellie nodded up at him again, this time her eyes wider and her head shook more intently. “That’ll do.” Simon replied calmly. Maisie perked up again, swinging her legs with excitement as John gained a smile of his own. He struggled to bring out his phone and unlock it with only one hand. Simon rose an eyebrow curiously until the brunet held out his phone, open to a new contact page. “We can work out the details whenever ya have a second.” John explained. Simon took the device carefully. He adjusted Ellie so she could wrap her short arms around his neck. John bit back a snicker when the little girl hung from her father’s neck, allowing him to have both hands free. With the freedom, he slipped off a glove so he could type in his number and his first name into the contact. Once it was done, he handed the phone back and let Ellie rest back on his arm.

“Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John nodded. Maisie was silently climbing up his form to get on his shoulders, something he adjusted to seamlessly while keeping Simon’s gaze. His legs turned and ready to leave. Simon tilted his head subtly. “What ‘bout your schedule?” He questioned lightheartedly. John chuckled. With one hand holding Maisie’s ankle, he gently bumped Simon’s shoulder with his fist. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said cheerfully. Simon blinked and followed the Scot with his shocked eyes as John started to walk away. Maisie waved to Ellie and shouted a loud goodbye. Simon could feel the gentle touch through the fabric of his jumper long after it was gone, and it stunned him a bit. He blinked before sighing. “Bloody hell…” He mumbled before turning to walk in the opposite direction, keeping his daughter tucked in his arm. . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Simon bounced his leg as the train shook on the tracks. He kept his gaze either in his lap or out the window, although acutely aware of his surroundings. He always was very observant, no matter where he went. He knew there were a total of twelve other people in his cab and he’d clocked one as an alcoholic off the bat. Spotting a hidden brown bag in the suited man’s bag, amongst various business documents and folders. The pristine suit and silk tie meant nothing. Simon was sure to sit furthest from that stranger, even if he’d been occupied with a meeting on his laptop. It wasn’t his business and he didn’t care to hear the stranger’s sob story, he didn’t really care. The detail-oriented system his brain operated under was built from training.

Simon needed to spot subtle dangers, it was the only reason he was alive to see anything at all. If his childhood strife wasn’t enough to train his subconscious on how to spot the incoming dangers before they occurred, allowing him time to prepare for the fallout or prevent the situation entirely. The years he spent in the SAS certainly did. If anything escaped his line of sight, people would be dead, his own life included. All it took was a single blindspot taken advantage of to send blood splattering to the ground. He’d seen it, he’d caused it. It wasn’t something to take lightly and it was a habit he knew he’d never get rid of. Not that it was a bad skill to have, it kept him alive, although there were days he yearned for a life more peaceful. 

He’d never been free from pain or trauma, if he wanted that, he’d have to reincarnate completely. Something he doubted God, if the being even existed, would be willing to give him. His father’s torment, however the most damaging on his mind when at its most malleable, seemed like the least of his mental struggles. Even if he still had nightmares where the feeling of a reptile’s dangerous and scaled lips touched his own. They paled in comparison to other images that would keep him up at night. The feeling of unwanted hands or the scent of earth mixed with a body’s decaying organs were by far the worst ones, though even those had gotten better. Mostly with time. They weren’t as frequent, thankfully. He had more recent agonies, ones that still stung like fresh. The loss of his entire family but the one man he’d disowned weighed on him heavily, the bruising ache of betrayals from people he considered friends. All these things only kept at bay from keeping himself busy, or, when they were at their worst, an uncharacteristically vulnerable discussion with his coworker and past superior. But all these things were years in the past. His most recent internal gash was only five years behind him, and while he’d begun to walk away from it, he still felt it burn under his skin.

Simon very rarely got close to anyone. Every time he did, it seemed they either died, grew to hate him, eventually betrayed him, or merely vanished. Sometimes he’d ask himself what he’d done to deserve it, occasionally he’d brood in a fit of emotional anger over what those who’d wronged him had done. Usually though, he’d bared with it, even expected it. Every individual he met, he readied himself for something to go wrong. It hadn’t been any different when he’d accidentally bumped into a woman at a library, almost knocking the poor thing over. He was exhausted and a bit woozy from some pain meds he’d been prescribed, thanks to a bullet wound that knocked him in his lower ribs.

She’d been nothing but benevolent, and to call her anything but beautiful would’ve been a crime. Simon had a brand new urge when she’d smiled at him, the urge to run, sprint as far as possible. Her dimpled cheeks, wavy & glowing honey-blonde hair, and kindhearted eyes squeezed the oxygen from his lungs, almost taking out his knees. She even helped him find a book he’d actually enjoy, which he did. It would’ve been bad enough with that one encounter, but then he bumped into her again in a cafe. This time, it was her who knocked into him, promptly covering his hoodie in tea, much to her horror. Simon felt nauseous when his heart stuttered, watching her apologize frantically and ask if he was okay, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, even when he assured her it was fine.

It was the third time, at a pub, that he learned her name. It was also that time that she’d graced him with her number. He didn’t contact her for a month. Even in the current day, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to call her. His apartment had just been so quiet, the rain so loud, and his heart heavy. Something about her sleep-addled voice must’ve flicked a hidden switch in his brain, because that phone call spurred a relationship. Not a whirlwind romance like in the movies by any means. He didn’t know how to treat her, and he pulled away from her frequently. She’d broken down in tears once when he’d gone a month avoiding her, having assumed she’d done something wrong. That night had ended with him held tightly to her body, earning a kiss with more emotion than he thought he was capable of.

It was the longest relationship he’d had. Technically speaking, given he didn’t really count the on & off situationship he’d battled with from the ages of fourteen to sixteen. All that had done was tell him he wasn’t straight, he hated disco music, and he wasn’t fond of the constant anxiety of his father’s heavy hand over a relationship that wasn’t even exclusive. It also was the kindest relationship he’d had, perhaps even on a platonic level. He could never wrap his head around how someone so gentle could exist. How a voice could feel like a blanket’s warmth on shivering skin, how a touch could feel so safe, or how perfume could be so intoxicating. He’d been so disarmed so fast it baffled him.

He’d known her for four months, dated her for two, and admitted he loved her the entire time on the third month. Coincidentally, the same month she’d shyly placed a positive pregnancy test in his hand. She’d been terrified to tell him, clearly. Probably because he’d been very avoidant on the topic of family, while she’d mentioned her dream of motherhood early on. Simon almost ran again, he’d gotten on a bus in the middle of the night when she’d gone to sleep. He wasn’t sure where, it was his apartment she was sleeping in. He was never sure how he’d ended up at the cemetery his mother was buried in, but it shocked him into going back home. His father was a stain on his DNA, a coward and a bastard. He already resembled the man, the last thing he needed to do was fall into the pit of spineless decisions the man had.

It didn’t scare him any less. Even when the idea of being responsible for a newborn had begun to lighten up, the worry something bad would happen only got heavier. He prayed for it to be paranoia as her stomach grew. He’d even asked whatever god that would listen to put the weight of anything awful to fall on himself, not her or the baby. And he cursed whatever God existed when her water broke far too early, and when it sent the sweetest woman he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting into utter agony. He always hated hospitals, and that hatred worsened when he had to carry her into the ER. He’d paced for hours. There was a risk of losing the baby, something that made his stomach twist. There was a risk of losing her, something that made his chest tighten. There was a risk of losing both, something that actually made him vomit in a trashcan near the waiting room. He couldn’t decide which was worse. 

Simon didn’t get to decide either. He’d been handed a tiny, fragile baby girl swaddled in blankets. She was beautiful, but the moment wasn’t sweet. When he made eye contact with the nurse, the woman’s face said enough, and for the first time in a long time, Simon sobbed. Enough for his entire body to shake. His coworker had to hold him that night, it was the only way to keep him together. “I’m sorry, Simon.” was all the bearded man could say, in a voice gruff from years of ordering soldiers and smoking, but filled with genuine heartache for the man broken once again.

His daughter, Ellie, came out fine. She was small and fragile, sure, but alive. Simon had to ask his friend if babies ever remembered their newborn phase, purely in fear that his child would remember him crying while keeping her swaddled up on his chest. He couldn’t even use the nursery he’d help make, he moved the crib into his room, right by his bed. Though, for the first month he didn’t even use it. He slept with the newborn on his chest, hands rested on her small form, just to make sure she wouldn’t vanish. He even became on a first name basis with the pediatrician because he visited so often, constantly burning with anxiety. The doctor told him to go to his own care physician and get a prescription for Xanax, lest he collapse from the stress. Having such a dramatic change wasn’t good for his health. His friend took it upon himself to make everything as easy for Simon as physically possible. From a shift in careers to watching the baby so Simon could finally sleep, even if he needed a mountain of melatonin to do it. 

He pulled himself together. Even if the time he’d spent with the angel he’d met at the library was cut short, something he somehow managed to blame himself for, up until his daughter Ellie was three. She was the spitting image of himself aside from two things, two things he treasured about her the most. In her brown eyes, the left held a split of color, bright green, the color her mother had. The other feature was a singular mole on her tiny shoulder, just adjacent to her neck, exactly where her mother had one. He always found himself softening when he was reminded of these two tiny details about his child. Even if Ellie didn’t truly understand why. It seemed the features she favored about herself were the ones that she shared with her father. Something Simon managed to find a bittersweetness in. 

He’d been so hesitant to send her to school when she became the right age. To the point he started her on half days, to get her acclimated slowly, but admittedly more for himself. It was fine at first. She had the occasional bad day, but she always attributed it to loud noises or lots of stimuli. It was when she turned four that she started coming home and telling him about the occasional mean comment. It wasn’t too bad, in her words. But the day he was called to pick her up because she was brought into a hysterical meltdown, a combination of some kids teasing her and a substitute teacher’s rough handling of her emotions, Simon had just about lost it. If looks could kill, his eyes would’ve been the equivalent of an air strike. He’d been ready to tear the old woman’s head off, and he’d never been closer to kicking actual children into the sun than that moment. 

The school had a habit of not helping when kids were bullied, and when Simon really looked at it, he realized the environment Ellie was always in. His apartment was cramped and dark, not to mention old. His downstairs neighbor was always yelling at his roommates, the upstairs one was a drunk, and the old lady across the hall never failed to make a comment when she caught Simon in the lift. The traffic was hell and the closest park needed a train to get to, since he didn’t like to drive. He had plenty of money saved, and when he asked Ellie if she would miss anything, her only answer was the birds that nested in one of the windows. 

So, he found a small home, packed everything, and took Ellie out of Manchester. He liked the ability to add more security immediately. No longer relying on a lazy landlord and a chain lock. He could secure every window and door and install a proper security system. Ellie was most fond of the dogs she’d seen being walked in the neighborhood, as well as the large window seat her new room had. The only one who knew about the address change was Simon’s coworker, the only one with a spare key too. In case of an emergency. He’d waited a full month before enrolling his daughter in school again, and he honestly would’ve waited longer, had Ellie not complained about the cabin fever. 

It was fairly close, but just a bit too far to walk to, hence why Simon took the train. The bus was also an option, but it was far too crowded for his liking when he’d seen the stop. He adjusted his mask when walking from the station to the school, the hand in his hoodie pocket held a small back of sweets. Something he grabbed for Ellie as a prize for going to her new school. He silently missed his balaclava. He would’ve worn it if Ellie didn’t remind him other kids would probably be scared of it, and he was intimidating enough on his own. As usual, he scanned the area as he approached. Counting every child and adult he could see. He slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, waiting patiently to see a head of blonde tresses tied in a bun with a white scrunchy, one with little ghosts on it. She’d begged for it when she saw it, and it was easy to pick out of a crowd. He relaxed when she came into sight, noting how she waved at a little brunette girl that ran away. 

Ellie walked to him briskly. Simon zeroed in on a red ribbon tied loosely around her right arm in an uneven bow. “Hi daddy.” Ellie said softly as she reached him. “Hi, squeaker. How was your first day?” He asked. He bent to pick her up when she raised her arms. “Good. I didn’t talk to many kids, but there was this one girl who was really nice.” She explained, then held up her ribbon-decorated arm. “She gave me her hair bow, said it was a placeholder until she could make me a bracelet. Her name’s Maisie, but the others called her MayMay.” Simon hummed in acknowledgment, face softening as she described it with a smile. It’d been the first time another kid had made an effort to befriend her, something that brought Simon a lot of relief. “So, I assume you had fun then?” He asked.

Ellie nodded again. “She taught me Scottish words. Her dad’s Scottish, she said.” Simon listened and nodded. He turned, ready to head to the train station again. He only stopped when he felt the shiver up his spine, a sixth sense he developed when in the sights of a sniper. He even looked at the builds first, checking the roofs. It was only when he looked ahead of himself that he saw who was staring. A brunet stranger with blue eyes and a messy mohawk. Simon blinked as the man gazed at him, noting the little girl in his arms. He looked around at his sides. Maybe the stranger was looking past him? No, no he was certainly staring at him. 

Simon felt Ellie tap him. “It’s okay, daddy. That’s MayMay, that man’s her dad.” She whispered. He looked at the man once more, seeing him now distracted by Maisie. He sighed slowly and looked at Ellie. “You want me to say hello, don’t you.” It was less a question, since he knew the answer, and more a statement. Reaffirmed by Ellie’s gentle nod. Simon let out a defeated sigh, and his daughter patted his shoulder in sympathy. She was well aware of her father’s introversion. Still, Simon walked up, though not too close. He could hear the little girl’s accent, mostly Scottish with a British twang of sorts. Maisie’s father let out a sigh and looked up, though clearly startled by Simon’s now closer proximity. A few seconds passed as the man took Simon’s form in, before he coughed and introduced himself, quickly followed by an awkward apology.

The man’s shoulders were tense, that was the first thing Simon noticed. He also noticed a scar on his chin, and along his right eye. And, a bit shamefully, he noted how tightly the man’s shirt hugged his well-built chest and arms. Simon wasn’t one to gawk but even he had to admit those biceps were impressive. He blinked, then held out his hand. “Simon.” He stated calmly. John relaxed and shook his hand. He looked ready to say something before Maisie cut him off, too caught up in her own excitement to remember manners. “Can Ellie come over to play?” She exclaimed. Ellie smiled at the enthusiasm and Simon could hear her stifled giggle.

John’s voice was gentle when he corrected his daughter, and Simon admired how Maisie immediately responded. Maisie asked again, and while Simon wouldn’t have any problem saying yes, he wasn’t going to agree without his daughter’s confirmation. He never liked the idea of forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to, if unnecessary. But she nodded when he looked down at her. He paused. The idea of letting his daughter go to a stranger’s house made anxiety pump into his veins, and while this man seemed nice, he didn’t want to give out his address. “ “I’m not too keen on her being at stranger’s houses.” He admitted. Honestly, he felt a pang of guilt when John’s daughter deflated. John seemed to as well, if only for a second, Simon caught the look akin to a dejected puppy. Really, the man had serious puppy eyes.

John bounced back quickly though, grinning once more with white teeth and a sparkle in his eye. …or maybe that was just the sun. Yeah, just the sun. “Well that’s alright. There’s a park near a shopping center nearby, Maisie goes there every weekend. If you have the time, maybe we could meet there instead. Let the girls play without havin’ to be at one of our houses.” The Scot suggested. Simon glanced at Ellie again, her nod was intense. He exhaled, she wanted to see the park anyway, better to do it with someone she was friends with. He remembered going to the park alone, it was not a fun experience. “That’ll do.” He answered, following the movement of John struggling to pull his phone out, and he was admittedly confused at first when it was held out to him.

Simon looked at the cracked screen protector as a new contact page stared back at him. John said something about working out the details. Simon bit back his apprehension and took the phone, adjusting Ellie. A silent code they developed, one of many, when he needed both his hands free for a moment. She secured herself around his neck and he let her hang off him so he could take off a glove. He tapped in his number and his name, all in lowercase. John’s grin was sunshine bright as he took the device back. Simon wondered if his cheeks hurt at this point while Ellie settled back on his arm. Maisie climbed over her father, something the man seemed unphased by, helping her adjust to be on his shoulders. “Alright then! That’s solved, just let me know when you get an opening in your schedule.” John said cheerfully. The longer he spoke, the more Simon could see this man spiritually being a dog. Probably a terrier of some kind. He was way too happy. Though, really, it was an endearing quality. Certainly more pleasant than the bitter old lady across the hall.

Simon had the faintest of smiles behind his mask as he jokingly asked the man about his own schedule, seeing him ready to leave. John chuckled and gently connected his fist to Simon’s shoulder. “I’ll save you a spot, sir.” He said. Fire radiated over the blond’s skin from where John had tapped him, and he felt the air suddenly vanish from his lungs, leaving him stunned. Even after John began to leave. “Bye-bye, Ellie!” Maisie shouted back, making the little girl wave back. Simon swallowed as the urge to high tail it back home filled his nerves. He pushed it down, not for the sake of seeming brave, but quite the opposite. He wasn’t going to feel that way again, he refused. Not so soon. But as he turned to leave, and he settled on the memory of a puppy-eyed gaze and bold grin, he was worried. Very worried.

"Bloody hell.” He whispered, hugging Ellie closer. The little girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes shut. He let himself exhale a puff of anxious breath, feeling himself settle at the sight of her peaceful form. He’d be fine. They’d be fine.

[rose-of-the-grave]

Revelations

Pairing: Elain x Lucien

Here's my take on what might happen some time after the bonus chapter. This fic is mostly about Elain but leads into Elucien and there is some Gwynriel in the background. I'm the author (please don't repost) <3

Masterlist Read on Ao3

Warnings: Angst, feeling like everyone's better off without you

Word Count: 1,554

Description: When Elain catches a glimpse of the shadowsinger and Gwyn interacting it sends her spiraling.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you Elain?"

"No. I just want to talk to Nesta about something and explore the library. I wouldn't want to bore you." Elain reassured her brother-in-law. Rhys, like the rest of them, was very protective. They treated her like a child. They all seemed to forget that while she was comparatively much younger than most of them, Feyre was younger than her. They didn't treat Feyre like a child though.

Smiling softly at him, she stepped away. "Thank you, for the offer."

Then, graceful as a gazelle, she turned from his watchful gaze and made her way through the House of Wind. It had been a while since she had lived there. Ever since Nyx was born her main residence had been the river house. She navigated the House as well as could be expected considering she had spent much of her time there holed up in her room.

Following the sounds of people talking and weapons clanging she eventually drew near to where her sister, Nesta, was talking animatedly with one of her friends. The Illyrian, Emerie, Elain thought was her name. Cassian, Nesta's mate, was guiding the priestesses through their training. Scanning through the group of people, Elain's gaze finally landed on the male that she had simultaneously longed to see and dreaded to.

He was talking to a red-haired priestess, another of Nesta's friends. Elain watched on silently, observing. A pang of heartache accompanied every soft smile and warm look that the Shadowsinger aimed at the priestess. Gwyneth, she realized was her name thanks to her Fae hearing.

Her heart clenched, watching how at ease the pair looked, smiling and joking with each other as Az showed Gwyn the move that he was teaching her. He had never been that comfortable around Elain. It had always been careful, precise movements that could garner no reproach. It had always been hanging over them. Unlike Elain, Gwyn was free to love and be with whoever she pleased without hurting anyone or being looked down on. Even the kiss they had shared had been strained. Both of them aware of the consequences.

How could she blame him? Gwyn was a better choice, nearly anyone would be. Elain didn't want her mating bond but she couldn't blame the Fae for their traditions and ideas. If only a certain red haired male hadn't exclaimed to the world that they were destined to be together. It didn't matter that he had only said it in surprise. Her fate had been sealed from the moment he said those words.

You're my mate

Ever since that day she had tried to avoid it, avoid him. To his credit he did the same, giving her the space that she so desired. It would have been different if he had some truly objectionable quality but he was kind, considerate to her, and her younger sister's friend. Everyone wanted them together except her. Nearly everything had been taken from her that day when the King of Hybern threw her in that infernal Cauldron. Elain lost her fiance, her humanity, her home, and her freewill. In some ways her attachment to Azriel was not just attraction and an appreciation for the quiet comfort he could give her. It was also a way of rebelling. Of saying that the Cauldron may have taken nearly everything from her but it could not choose who she loved. She refused to let it dictate her love life.

Deep down Elain knew that it was a good thing that Az had avoided her ever since that fateful night when they kissed. Selfishly she wished that he would seek her out, if only to tell her that he never wanted to see her again. She longed for his friendship, his quiet companionship. From the beginning he had always been a source of comfort that she could cling to.

A singular tear rolled down her cheek.

Turning away from the scene before her, she fled.

Her thoughts became a jumble of words and phrases that repeated over and over. All she could think was how happy they had all looked. Elain and Nesta had always been the closest out of the three Archeron sisters. Now her sister had found her friends, the Valkyries. Gwyn and Emerie were more like sisters to Nesta than her own. Then there was Feyre, happily mated and a mother. She had found her new family, the Inner Circle. Even Az was better off without Elain. He was happy and unburdened, no longer entangled with a mated female. They were all better off without Elain.

At that thought, she was no longer able to hold back. Tears flooded her eyes, pouring down her face and dripping on her gown. She covered her face in her hands, shaking with the force of her crying.

Perhaps it was her sadness that distracted her because, only a few feet away had stood Lucien. It had become an unspoken agreement between Elain and Lucien that they would avoid each others company unless absolutely necessary. However, for some reason, something had pulled both of them to this very spot.

Taking a tentative step towards his distraught mate, Lucien noted the feelings that had suddenly come pouring through the bond. Feelings of sadness and despair. Feelings of loneliness and unimportance. The feeling that drew his attention the most though was less of a feeling and more a thought. a phrase that kept on repeating itself.

They're better off without you, they're better off without you, they're better off without you, they're better off without you...

"Hey." Lucien dared not move closer.

Shocked, Elain's face turned to meet his, her hands dropping to her sides. Her face reminded him of a deer, stock still and unable to move. Her wide eyes were full of sadness and surprise. Her lips parted a bit. If she had been anyone else he might have teased her or made a witty remark but he couldn't, not with Elain.

"What happened?" His concern evident on his face. She looked at him for such a long time that he almost feared she had forgotten how to speak in her fright.

"I...Nothing." Her gaze fell to the floor. He watched as she bit her lip before looking back up at him. She appeared as if she was on the brink of saying something but then pulled back once more.

When it eventually became apparent that Lucien was not leaving Elain attempted to summon some of her courage. She had been a Fae for only a little while but in her experience mated Fae males tended to get easily pissed off at the mere mention of there mate being anywhere near another male, let alone kissing him. She wasn't so oblivious as to think that he wasn't aware of her attachment to the Shadowsinger. Elain did not, however, know how he would react to her admitting that they had kissed. And not just kissed but kissed passionately to the point she had almost considered taking him back to her bedroom.

Deciding, finally, to just say it as fast as she could so she might hope to get it over with she blurted, "IkissedAzandnowhesavoidingmeandirealizedtodaythateveryonesliveshavebeenbetteroffwithoutme." After finally getting that off her chest, she sighed in relief only to be met with a look of utter confusion.

"I kissed Azriel, awhile ago, and he's been avoiding me ever since. I went to see him today and when I was watching him he looked happy. It made me realize how much better his life would be without me. Just like Nesta and Feyre. They all have their lives together, they found their family and I don't fit in with that." She repeated for him, albeit more eloquently and much slower.

Looking away, embarrassed, she was unprepared for Lucien to timidly, as if waiting for her to step away, wrap his arms around her. He swept his hand down her back soothingly.

"Their lives wouldn't be better without you in them. That's crazy talk. They've just gotten older and found new friends. That doesn't mean that you hold no importance in their lives. They love you."

She shrugged, unconvinced.

"Hey," Lucien said, removing his hand from her back in favor of tilting her chin up so she could meet his gaze. "They love you. If they lost you I can guarantee that both Nesta and Feyre would be devastated. So would Nyx. He'll miss his aunt who plays with him in the garden and gives him freshly baked cookies."Her eyes shined with new tears. Happy ones this time. Smiling softly up at him, she appreciated this side of him. The side that she could easily see herself falling for.

Perhaps in another lifetime she would have been able to let him in.

Their prolonged silence was a comfort. One arm still curled around her, the other cupping her chin. The two of them gazing softly into each other's eyes. To an onlooker they would have looked perfect for each other. An outsider might have easily believed them to be in love. And they might not have been entirely wrong.

Elain and Lucien only had eyes for each other in this moment which, was probably to blame for neither of them noticing that they were being watched.

If you want to find out who was watching them here's part 2 which is a Gwynriel fic. If that's not your cup of tea then I understand tho.