#at least it serves as an excellent reminder for my I left that space

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Tayvis stans are really out here praising a man who uses the F slur…

[djarinsbeskar]

PREQUEL ARC: PART 2 - THE HOUK

A/N: Part 2 is here! First and foremost, can I just say thank you so much for the reception Part 1 received and to those who (gasps!) actually want me to tag them for updates??? I don’t know how to react??? I’m so touched??????? It’s so motivating and has reminded me why I love sharing my scribbles!

There’s a greater focus on world/character building in this chapter so if it feels a bit rambling or description heavy, I do apologise! Like I said, I’m trying to build some context to the reader-insert before we get to the smut, and I hope that I’ve kept her general enough that she doesn’t cross the line too much into OC territory and becomes unrelatable. As always, constructive criticism is welcome! My style of writing leaves much to be desired so I would love to know if something doesn’t make sense so I can improve and fix it. But enough of that, on with the show!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language and slight injury detail.

Plot: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

8 ABY, Mynock, Dandoran.

The second time you met him, he had dislocated his shoulder after a nasty clash with a Houk.

Your dealing with the Mandalorian on Klatooine had moved to the back of your mind and you rarely, if ever, thought about it. It was merely another encounter with a rough character that needed some medical attention. You wouldn’t have been able to hazard a guess at how many similar characters you saw in a week while you worked at the clinic. Even more so when you’d left Klatooine after becoming disillusioned that the New Republic were actually trying to make a difference.

You had heard stories from the Core and Mid Rim planets. Stories of the investment and progress being made to rebuild after the tyranny of the Empire, of the billions of credits being poured into the development of new ship building centers on Corellia and large, extravagant residencies for government members on Coruscant. Things, you were sure, that were not actually urgent necessities as they were desires. Especially given that the funds you received from that same government to sustain the clinic thinned before drying up completely a few months after your encounter with the Mandalorian.

…Hemorrhaging more credits than is justified for the benefits we’re seeing in return.

The busybody politician with a colorful title and even more colorful robes waxed poetically, hiding the sentiment of disinterest in ways only a politician could. Half-heartedly trying to distract you by his explanations with empty praise and gratitude for your service during the Rebellion and your humanitarian work now, a true embodiment of what the New Republic stands for. He crowed like the colorful bird he looked like, dressed as he was with fine feathers lining the lapels of his robes.

You bristle at the memory of the hologram’s eyes flickering to look at anything besides you, running down the time you had spent weeks trying to get.

That was when the memory of the Mandalorian surfaced, surprisingly. How the day after you treated him you arrived at the medical center and saw  a familiar pouch of credits sitting innocently behind the check-in desk. When you enquired with the receptionist, she told you it was sitting there once she opened up earlier that morning. The only note left being on one of the datapads behind the desk, the scrawling font reading; to help with your work. You had let out a chuckle to yourself as you checked your schedule, wondering if the brutish male you had treated last night really was as cold as he portrayed himself to be.

The memory had incited a righteous anger that a bounty hunter was more willing to support a voluntary clinic than the government that set it up in the first place was.

I thought the Empire were the ones who put a credit limit on what a life is worth. You had hissed in return, interrupting what you were sure was a well-rehearsed and well used speech, before hanging up. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, taking a shuddering breath as you tried not to be nihilistic in thinking that you had spent nearly half your life thinking you could make a difference, when, you were just serving the Empire in different clothing.

It wasn’t a fair comparison; you knew the New Republic was neither as cruel nor as tyrannical and oppressive as it’s predecessor, but you had been made so dreadfully aware that in places like the Outer Rim, people would always be overlooked by those in power because they simply didn’t offer enough to be worth looking at.

The realization was a raw wound to your soul. You had lost brothers and friends to the fight for liberation, but it didn’t seem as though the grass was much greener on the other side. Maybe elsewhere in the galaxy it was, but where you were needed most, the grass was dehydrated and dying under the relentless sun.

With the clinic penniless, your meagre pension from the Rebellion was not nearly enough to keep it functioning. Add to that the reluctance of the other medics to run the clinic alongside you out of their own pocket and the intergalactic beacon for medical aid that alerted anyone in the parsec of where to go being disengaged, traffic stopped. The native Klatooinians preferred their own healers and very rarely, if ever, sought out medics from the New Republic.

For the first time in your life, your path wasn’t clear. If you even had a path anymore.

That was how you found yourself on Dandoran, flying off a week after the last of the medics left Derelkann to the first planet that was habitable to humans. But by the Maker, it was even rougher than Klatooine. The temperate climate and lush greenery were more comfortable for you, but the city you found yourself in, Mynock, was to say the least, undesirable. Having once been Hutt Space, there were still several illegal operations active that kept the city going and you learned early on what areas to avoid and to always carry a blaster with you. But at least where there was activity, there was work for you.

***

You met Biran Sonter the very day you arrived, asking directions to the nearest medical facility, hoping they could use another medic. He was an elderly Mirialan male with a wealth of history behind him, his facial tattoos creased with deep wrinkles and a kindly smile that reminded you of your grandfather.

You were flabbergasted to learn that during the time of the Galactic Republic, he acted as the royal physician to the palace on Naboo.

As you choked on the tea he had kindly made for you at that revelation, you couldn’t ask him quickly enough how he ended up here? On an Outer Rim backwater skughole of a planet and his tale had been sobering. When the Republic first fell, anyone who did not immediately surrender to the rising Empire was terminated. Biran had, at the time, only heard word of the death of the beloved former Queen Amidala and blamed the Empire vehemently. Escaping on one of the last shuttles from the Mid Rim planet before legions of clones descended, he arrived on Dandoran where no one, not even the Hutts cared enough to notice him. All they knew, was that he was an excellent doctor who charged little for his services and kept to himself. That was good enough for them. While he treated a vast number of criminals ranging from thieves to bounty hunters, he was not wholly merciful. He somehow managed to avoid or talk his way out of treating anyone in the organized crime syndicates or known traffickers and killers. It may have gone against a physician’s code to do ones best to save every life, but he like many, made their own code in the Outer Rim.

You fell into a fast and easy friendship with the Mirialan after that, your similar histories of working in the medical field despite being decades apart giving you plenty to talk about. The practice Biran ran in Mynock was always busy and he was only too grateful when you offered to take the weight off his old shoulders and gradually, his clients began to expect to see you most of the day and Biran for a few hours in the early morning. You were never short on work between cantina brawls, accidents and the downright attacks that took place in Mynock and the next eighteen standard months seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, Klatooine a distant memory, as was the Mandalorian you met there.

The night you saw him again, was no different to any other you spent enjoying a quiet drink before heading back to turn in for the night.

You had been in the process of leaving the cantina, recognizing that the later it grew, the rowdier and aggressive the clientele became. You could handle yourself as well as anyone who made their home in Hutt Space, but you knew better than to be blatantly reckless when you were on your own. It wasn’t like you had the squadron you stayed with throughout the Rebellion for backup as you once did, and your closest ally would probably break in half if you pushed him too hard. So no, you were not staying late with Mynocks newest resident of a Houk warlord and the company he seemed to attract.

The Houk in question was a cruel and belligerent brute, a former local warlord by the name of Gappo Teff. His reputation for inflicting punishment disproportionate to any slight committed against him or the Empire was one of the many echoes of the former imperial rule that was still being felt in the galaxy nearly three years after its collapse.

The stories of the chokehold he held over Sullust would make even a hardened soldier’s stomach churn. How he managed to escape the liberation of the planet without being dragged to the noxious surface of Sullust to suffer for the pain he had caused so many, was a mystery. But there he was, sitting like a king in the cantina you found yourself in, bellowing laughter ricocheting obnoxiously throughout the space, not a care in the world that he was a wanted felon.  

It might have been to do with the fact that he was at least seven and a half foot tall, with a mass that could easily fit three of you side by side across him and still not be seen. It might have been to do with the cold, milky blue of his small eyes, sunk into a skull so large it could probably shatter ribs and rupture organs if one were to be headbutted with it. The last thing anyone wanted was those eyes focusing on them. It could have been the heavy artillery modified blaster he kept laying on his lap; the weapon more of a cannon for those of a more regular stature. Whatever the reason, very few bounty hunters and even fewer New Republic guards came to collect him. He was probably one of the most easily found quarries on all Guild registers and New Republic wanted lists and yet, he languished in Mynock as if the Empire had never fallen and his reign was still assured.

Making your way to the entrance, you came up short as someone walked in, your nose coming abruptly close to a reddish-brown durasteel chest-plate. Taking a step back, your eyes did a double take at the familiar unpainted beskar helmet. Subconsciously, you had stepped to the side, the Mandalorian continuing to walk without a word as if you hadn’t nearly walked into him. Mandalorians were a rare sight these days, so you could be forgiven for staring. Though, you were most likely staring for entirely different reasons compared to everyone else in the cantina.

The armor was the same, if not a bit more worn, as was the dark boiled woolen cape and pulse rifle strapped to his back. But it was the gait; how could someone walk both gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance that he was in control wherever he went. It explained why he was so determined not to let his injury be known by his walk the last time you saw him. Because you had seen him before, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the same irritable reek of a Mandalorian you met in Derelkann years ago.

He stood in the middle of the cantina, assessing the place as his helmet scanned the area. If you didn’t know any better, you say he was…

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself when the helmet stopped on Teff. When you said bounty hunters didn’t bother to come after him, you should have been more specific. Smart bounty hunters didn’t bother hunting Gappo Teff, which explained why the one you knew of was right there looking for him.

A choice lay before you. Leave now and lock your doors until morning… or wait. For what, you couldn’t be sure. But if the Mandalorian wasn’t killed tonight by Teff, he was going to wish he was with the injuries he would probably sustain.

You let your head fall back on your shoulders as you exhaled. Why were you so soft for lost causes and wayward souls?

The Houks bodyguards left much to be desired, crumbling to the ground before they had even drawn their blasters, smoke rising from the blaster wounds inflicted effortlessly by Din.

The bodyguards weren’t what worried Din. Their boss hardly needed protecting, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The groan and screech of the metal table being shoved away by Teff as he stood to his full height made Din grit his teeth, arms open as he boomed, “Ah Mando, I was wondering when you’d try your luck at me. Your reputation is becoming rather infamous throughout the parsec.”

A guttural, wet laugh left the purple skinned quarry as Din remained silent and kept his blaster aimed. Damn, but the piece of bantha crap was big. He quickly scanned his peripheral, but it seemed the residents of Mynock had more self-interest than to trade blaster fire over one warlord, the barkeep casually making his was into the backroom of the bar to keep out of harms way.

“Why don’t you hang up that Guild work and let me make you a better offer.” Teff boomed, taking a swing of his drink, streams of the yellow fluid running down the sides of him mouth as those frosty eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter.

Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; negotiations by the quarry were his least favorite reaction to being caught but he knew better than to think he had captured the colossal male yet. Until Teff was either dead or frozen in carbonite, he was a danger. Luckily, the orders were to bring him in dead or alive. Seems the New Republic were fed up with him still breathing. He couldn’t say he blamed them.

“No?” the Houk pushed when Din didn’t respond, “Too bad, you’d have made an excellent addition to my collection.” And with more speed than Din had anticipated from the large male, he charged.

You had the good sense to leave the cantina as soon as the first blaster shot was fired, pulling the hood of your dusty grey jacket over your head while you made your way back to the practice to gather a few things. Things that would be completely obsolete if he died but you wouldn’t think that far. You were a realist, not a pessimist. The Houk might have had the advantage of height and sheer strength, but the Mandalorian was quicker, possibly smarter, and decked with enough firepower to make a starfighter pilot drool.

So, you put the odds about sixty forty in favor of the Mandalorian. Not that you would ever tell him that.

Teff roared in anger as Din rolled out of the way again, shooting his grappling hook to latch onto the Houks shoulder and yanked hard enough to throw the male off balance. Despite his large size however, Teff was able to slide his foot back to catch himself, putting him in direct line with Din.

He was on his feet in no time as the Houk charged at him, lowering his head so that on contact, Din’s left shoulder was thrown back into the wall of the cantina. His breath left him as the impact winded him, a dull but growing pain throbbing from his shoulder before Teff’s vile breath permeated even his helmet and a large hand wrapped around Din’s throat. He could feel his feet leave the floor and the weight of his body pulling downward made the pressure on his windpipe all the heavier.

“Oh well, at least you tried.” Teff gloated, his head leaning closer as if to peer into the visor and that distraction was all Din needed to lift his hand and engage his flamethrower, engulfing the Houk in flames. Din gasped in a breath when he was dropped, the squeals of pain coming from Teff disconcerting as he staggered around the cantina, desperately looking for something to extinguish the inferno his clothing and more vulnerable tissue had become.

Din waited a few more measured breaths before lifting the blaster and shooting the quarry in the vulnerable side of the neck, satisfied with the resounding bang the body made as it fell to the ground, flames still burning bright until he picked up the half-drunk tankard on Teffs table to douse the fire lest he be completely unrecognizable upon delivery.

Din looked around, the cantina was empty; the silence suddenly deafening as he looked back down at the body.

Now, how to get him back to the Razor Crest.

Din sighed.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

You held up your hands unsurprised when the Mandalorian spun on the ramp of his ship, blaster raised and aimed right at you. He tilted his head slightly, taking you in and you tried not to fidget under the gaze you could feel raking over you despite not being able to see his eyes. What you could see though, was how limp his left arm was hanging to his side.

“The demon medic from Klatooine.” He muttered, finally placing your face and lowering his blaster slowly while you lowered your arms.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You snorted before nodding to his arm, “And you’ll probably be calling me a lot worse when I tell you that that arm needs tending to.”

He shifted slightly, turning his body so you wouldn’t be able to see. You just crossed your arms across your chest and stared at him pointedly. He held your gaze and was still as a statue. You could play the silence game too if that was how he wanted to do this. It was only a matter of time before one of you broke and you weren’t the one with a dislocated shoulder, so you’d say that the odds were in your favor.

It seemed like time dragged on before, without saying anything, the Mandalorian sighed and turned towards the ship.

You bit down on a smile, but you could still feel it creeping upon your lips as you congratulated yourself on winning. Two nil, you tallied in your head, not bad girl.

The ship… well the ship was a fossil and that was being generous. But it was clean and obviously well taken of, if the tidy hull was anything to go by.

Apart from the charred corpse lying in the middle of course, but those were just details. Easily overlooked. The smell however… that was a different story, but you held back any comments. You still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to drag a fully grown Houk through the town one-handed, but then you knew that the strength and discipline of the Mandalorians was unrivalled. He could have done it through sheer determination and honestly, you were lucky to have found him at all. But people in Mynock liked to talk, so following the rumors' had let you there relatively easy.

A sigh broke your train of thought, “Let’s get this over with.”

The warrior seemed resigned to his fate as he stepped over the corpse and you followed suit, mind instantly running through the correct procedure and treatment.

“We have to get the bone in the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint, otherwise the force will just break your arm.” You explained as you moved to stand in front of the large warrior when he sat back on one of the many crates pushed against the wall of the ship. You could barely hear the short exhales coming from the modulator and you could only guess that he was holding back speaking, whether in pain or frustration that you had strong-armed him into accepting treatment again.

“But hey, look on the bright side.”

His visor tilted slightly to look at you.

“No droids needed.” You shrugged a shoulder and sent him a grin when he said nothing. When he looked away, you focused your attention back on the problem shoulder; it wasn’t immediately clear that it had been dislocated, the pauldron he wore hiding the jutting ball of the joint that was no doubt pressed uncomfortably against his flesh. What you could see was that his left side was hanging just a bit lower than his right, and the inability to move the arm was a dead giveaway.

“Are you just going to stare at it or actually do what you said you would when you barged onto my ship?” The rasp was closer to you as he turned his head, the rumble of his voice decidedly deeper than you remembered last time. Or perhaps it always had been, and you just hadn’t been paying enough attention, more focused on the very real threat of having a dead body on your hands as the poison spread. You rolled your eyes; or it was all the short and biting commands he only seemed to know how to give as opposed to actually speaking that made you forget the voice. The man could be attractive, if he wasn’t so frustrating.

“I can’t see it properly.” You replied, agitated with him again. He got under your skin too easily, and ruined your cool demeanor.

“You dealt with the problem just fine before.” He snapped back, pain making him cranky.

“You didn’t have a bone out of place last time!” You stopped yourself, sucking in a breath before releasing it to prevent yourself from snapping again.

“At least,” you bartered, “let me remove the pauldron. I can feel around the duraweave to get an idea. I won’t see any more of you than I did last time.”

He didn’t say anything again for a time and honestly, he was the slowest person you’d ever met at receiving emergency medical care. Half the men you treated during the Rebellion would yell until you’d taken care of the worst of their injuries before they even considered if it was what they wanted or not.

“Fine.” Was all he responded, making no move to remove the offending piece so you took that as your cue to feel around the curved metal cautiously, feeling where it attached to his duraweave and releasing it into your hands before placing it down on a separate crate.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” A warning growl echoed in the hull, turning you back to your task with a hum.

It seemed the joint had popped forward, no doubt from caving in as Teff collided with Mando’s shoulder. You leaned forward, your fingers feeling around the area as gently as you could while his breathing came out a little shorter. You sent him an apologetic smile.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stay still, okay? Usually I’d have someone to hold—”

“I can keep myself still, just do it.” He snapped finally, turning to look at you before he looked away again. You said nothing more as you took his gloved hand in yours, turning the forearm over and feeling the hand clench in yours when he hissed.

“Shh, nearly there.” You soothed, moving your hand under his elbow to lift it so it was aligned with Mando’s shoulder. You stood, keeping the arm in place and twisting yourself to stand facing his side.

You were definitely out to get him. There was no other explanation for why he only seemed to be seriously injured in your presence. Din tried to tell himself he was being over-dramatic and irrational, that you hadn’t even been on the same planet when he was injured the first time, but then you opened your mouth and he felt justified in his petulant thoughts.

“On three.” He heard you warn and all he could offer was a single nod; the sooner he got this over with the better.

“One…” You jerked the arm forward and slipped the joint back into place quickly with a sickening crack and searing pain took his breath away before it began to ebb immediately.

“DANK…. FERRICK!” Din yelled as his good arm reached across to grip his left, bending forward as he breathed through the flash of pain. You moved out of his way, waiting for him to look back up at you through the helmet, deep pants making his chest heave. You cocked your head to the side when his eyes found yours, a clear question there.

He groaned as he sat back, leaning his head against the hull, “It… doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He admitted, thinking that the smile you gave him was somewhat worth the knock to his ego at having to admit such a thing in the first place. And like last time, before he could even worry about the concerning direction that thought had led to, you were fluttering about opening crates and bins as if you owned the place.

“What the hell—” he made to stand indignantly.

“Do you have any spare cloth?” You interrupted, “Your arm needs to be bound for a few days. If you have bacta it might reduce the healing time a bit but honestly, I don’t think dislocations can be rushed despite recent studies. Rushing back to heavily lifting or activity for at least six weeks is a sure way to hurt yourself again.”

You were rambling now as you set a pile of disused yet clean cloth you found on your lap, sitting across from him as he just blinked at this enigma of a woman. Giving him orders in his own ship, were you daft?

Your eyes sharpened and shot to his and he was suddenly glad you couldn’t see behind his mask. His eyes had widened guiltily at the thought that you had read his mind.

“You will do what you’re told, understand Mando?” You warned as your fingers tied a loose sling from strips of cloth you’d pulled apart without even having to look at it, deft fingers looping the material and strengthening it with several more layers woven in for good measure.

“If you insist on getting injured so often, you live with the consequences. And the consequences are doing what you’re fucking told and being happy about it, got it? Sulk if you want, so long as you keep the arm bound and don’t take on any jobs for at least two months.”

He opened his mouth a few times at the audacity, did she have a death wish? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him as if he were no more than a child and it made his blood boil. But just as quickly as the anger arose, it simmered as she muttered while watching her fingers tie off the sling,

“You don’t actually seem like a bad guy, and the galaxy can’t afford to lose anymore… not bad guys.” She seemed unsure of giving out even this level of praise but then again, she only had their first encounter to go by.

He grunted; not sure how to respond. And when Din was uncomfortable, he resorted to silence.

You got to your feet once the sling was suitably strong enough to support the weight of his arm without unravelling or breaking and you indicated to him, “May I?”

He jerked his head up in affirmation and you maneuvered the sling to sit correctly under his elbow and forearm, coaxing him to lift it slightly with a tap before you looped the tied end over his helmet, adjusting the length slightly to fit against him.

“You left Klatooine.” the statement rose from the warrior, his tone quieter than you’d heard him all day. Was he... trying to make conversation? Din told himself that it was merely out of curiosity from seeing you by chance on two totally different planets.

Blinking in surprise, you sat back on the crate in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on one of your hands, “New Republic stopped funding the clinic and I realized that they’re all the same when it comes to the Outer Rim.”

He snorted in agreement, honestly, he wasn’t surprised to hear the New Republic had cut their losses on charity. It wasn’t in their nature to funnel money away from the Core planets.

“But it’s not all bad,” you continued, “I work with a doctor here. He’s old now so he should be enjoying his retirement. I’m kept busy and…”

He watched you while he waited for you to finish, surely there was more? But when you just shrugged and sent him a tight smile, he felt an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his neck, a familiarity that made him almost want to smile back even if you couldn’t see it. Almost. But not quite. He was unnerved at the… empathy he had for your situation. He too just… kept busy. It wasn’t towards any end beyond supporting the covert and the foundlings there. But for himself, he just kept working towards some translucent, non-existent goal, one job ended, and another began.

Something in your eyes told him you were doing the exact same thing. It unnerved him to think about.

“Echoy’la…” the word left him without knowing and you blinked,

“Hm?”

He shook his head and stood, grunting a bit at the ache in his shoulder when it jostled a bit, “Nothing. It seems I owe you my thanks again, demon medic.”

“I do have a name you know.” You snorted, letting the previous topic go as it seemed to just make him more awkward and grumpy than he already was. You packed away the medikit and replaced the unused cloth back where you found it.

“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be as fitting.”

“Whatever, sunshine.” You looked over your shoulder at him, the sling looking so out of place as he hooked a thumb in the utility belt he wore. It was amazing that he could still look as intimidating as he did. You gathered your things and started down the ramp leisurely. He followed you silently until he was standing at the entrance to the ship.

“Demon or not… thank you.” He called out as your feet hit the dusty ground of Mynock once again. You looked back over your shoulder and gave a single wave, calling something back to him that did make him smile behind his helmet this time.

As you disappeared into the streets of Mynock, he tested the name you had thrown back to him, rolling the syllables, and testing the vowels as he repeated it to himself.

Pity, he thought. He hated being wrong about anything, but somehow, your name was a much better fit than demon medic.

Not that he would ever admit that to you, of course.

Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel​ @sarahjkl82-blog​

[wonunuu]

iris beauty ❀

40: getting closer

✎ synopsis: falling for a guy is never easy, especially when your best friend of many years basically claimed him; you and mina have been friends for as long as you can remember, but your loyalty and trust are tested when she asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she had been talking to online and you unintentionally start to develop feelings for him.

✎ genre: romance, angst, comedy

✎ pairing: reader x yoon jeonghan

✎ word count: 1.6k+

✎ warnings: suggestive

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add your @ here!

a/n: i gotta question.. do you think pet names between couples is cute? cos like me, no lol i mean like the only one i'd accept is "my love" but idk i just don't know (this has nothing to do with the au lmaoo just a thought in pj's little brain)

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2:41

After your overtime shift at the café, you head back to your apartment to grab your textbooks. Finals were approaching, and there is no doubt that you were stressed. You need to, not only pass in your exams, but also excel in all of them to get at least a 3.8 GPA, and this is the only acceptable grade for you if you wanted to get accepted into a medical school.

So, studying has been your number one priority for the past couple of days. You and Vernon, your study buddy, have been in and out of the campus library to do nothing else but study. And that’s where you’re heading again. 

“I’m almost there,” you manage to say, panting, while jogging towards the library where an impatient Vernon was waiting. For what felt like three weeks of jogging, the familiar building finally came in sight. There were countless students, some whose faces you’ve seen before, were making their way in--probably has the same reason as you. With this many students going there to study, you knew there would be competition in getting the tables and booths first, and you mentally scold yourself for arriving late. 

“Can you be any slower?” Vernon rolls his eyes teasingly, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from you. The two of you head in and look for available spots. You checked the first floor, but they were all packed. As well as the second, third and fourth floor. Your legs felt like they were about to fall off, tired and numb from climbing an endless amount of stairs. Not to mention, you were also carrying textbooks that’s equivalent to the weight of three elephants stacked together in your bag, and you say that with no exaggeration.

“There’s one,” he points to an empty desk just by the window. As you are walking, from the side of your eye, you see another group of students pointing at it and making their way. You increase your speed, dragging Vernon behind you, so that you could get there first before they could. Fortunately, just before they got there, you slapped your hand on the table. 

“Scram, freshmans,” you growled and Vernon crosses his arms, smirks. The group of friends roll their eyes before they walk away, and you smile in victory. Some would say your actions were a little immature, especially that comment you made, but you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Afterwards, you and Vernon take your seats, and start your hours of studying. 

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

9:28

Opening the door to the apartment, you were surprised to see Jeonghan sitting on your couch, watching the television. You walk behind him and snake your hands around his shoulders, wrapping him in a warm hug, and nuzzle your head between his neck. 

“Another long day at the library?” He caresses your hands and you nod in response. “Have you eaten?” he asks. You remove your hands and walk around the couch. You lay down and place your head on his lap. “I can make you something if you want,” he offers. 

“Will you?” you look at him, smiling. You’ve never really imagined Jeonghan cooking before. You don’t even know if he knows how to. But you weren’t going to turn down his generous offer to cook for you, whatever the result may be.

Jeonghan stands up and heads to the kitchen, and you watch him from the couch. He opens the cupboards, takes out the pan and places it on the stove. He then opens the fridge, looking for anything he can cook. To your surprise, he takes out a bag with a logo of your favourite restaurant. 

You cock your head to the side as your eyebrows meet. “I thought you were going to cook for me. That’s take out.” You stated, pointing at the bag he was holding. “I am going to cook. I’m gonna heat it up. That counts,” Jeonghan looks at you and gives you a smile that displays his teeth. Disbelief is all you feel. You scoff at his reply, and feeling too tired to argue, you lay back down. 

Jeonghan has been nothing but supportive these past couple of days. When you and Vernon were at the library, he would drop by to give you two snacks and drinks. Sometimes, like today, he would use the spare keys you gave him to enter your apartment to clean up so you wouldn’t do it when you get home. Embarrassed, you told him to stop cleaning your mess, but he said it wasn’t a big deal and that he didn’t want you to come home to such an unkempt apartment--the unorganized sight causes more stress, he adds.

You were grateful for everything Jeonghan has done, yes. But you can’t help but think of one specific person who used to do the same. Who used to tell you to eat before you go to bed, who reminded you to drink water, who reassured you that you would pass your exams, and who comforted you when things didn’t turn out the way you hoped for. Joshua has never left your mind since he went away. Often, you wondered what he might be doing and where he might be. You’ve had multiple urges to send him a text or ring his phone to check up on him, but you thought he might want some space. You knew he would come back when he’s ready, and you were willing to move on from the past and start anew with him. Gosh, you miss him.

“Mind telling me what’s in that pretty head of yours?” Jeonghan disrupts your thoughts as he walks towards you, holding a plate. He sits down and offers his free hand to help you up. You grab his hand and use your abdominal muscle to sit up. 

He hands you the plate and you take it from him, and immediately, the aroma makes your mouth salivate. “Mhmm,” you murmured, “this looks delicious. Thank you, Han.” 

Your boyfriend nods and urges you to take a bite. So you did. 

“What about you,” you ask after swallowing your first bite. 

“I’m okay, babe. Just eat, hmm?” Jeonghan smiles while reaching his hand to your face to tuck your hair behind your ear. You felt bad that you were the only one eating, so you feed him. At first he refused, but quickly cave in when you pouted. 

The two of you sat on your couch, taking turns to feed each other. Sometimes, he would follow up a bite with a soft peck or two--he called it a quick served dessert. You rolled your eyes at his corny remark, but you couldn’t hide the rosy tint on your cheeks as the blood rushes through them.

Jeonghan absolutely loved spending these little moments with you. No words can ever explain the feelings he gets when he hears your laughter--your smile alone is enough to make his heart melt as if it was ice cream under a fifty degree celsius summer day. He would not exchange this moment for anything else. There is nothing he wants more than to spend time with the person he loves most. 

After your meal, you head to the kitchen and quickly wash the dishes before going back to sit with Jeonghan. You plop yourself beside him and he takes his arm and wraps it around your shoulder. You do the same as you snake both your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest, where the sound of his heartbeat is clear and audible. You don’t know if you just really love to hear his heart beat because you love him, or if it’s because of your longing profession of becoming a doctor. You think it’s a combination of both. 

“What should we watch?” Jeonghan asks as he flips through shows and movies available on netflix. You shrugged your shoulders and told him you were okay with any. Soon, the two of you settled with Grey’s Anatomy--a show you absolutely loved. Jeonghan was never a fan of medical shows or whatsoever, but if his girl was going to be a doctor, he’ll have to get familiar with some terminologies, right? 

Three episodes have passed and the two of you were still in the same position as before, cuddled on the couch. You were still watching intently, but you were not so sure about Jeonghan though. Not seeing his face, you guess that he probably fell asleep when you guys were just halfway through the first episode. You didn’t mind though. He deserved to rest. 

However, your guess was proven wrong when you suddenly feel his kiss at the top of your head, causing you to giggle. He did it again, and again, and again, each lasting longer than the previous one, and moving lower and lower. Kissing as a form of affection has become a normal thing between the two of you now. But this time, Jeonghan’s kisses feel more than just affection.

Images in your head started popping in, making your heart rate increase and your breathing pattern to change. 

“Yn,” Jeonghan softly whispers to your ears, making your insides churn, “are you okay?”

Fuck it. 

You unwrap your arms from his body and take your hands straight to cup his face, taking him by surprise. You close your eyes and lean in to kiss his lips. He freezes for  ma second but quickly melts right into the kiss. He uses his hands to take hold of your waist and pulls you in front of him. You oblige and place your knees on either side of his lap.

You detach yourself to catch your breath, but your eyes remained closed as you relinquished the taste of his lips. He did the same, but eager to taste your lips once again, he leans in and kisses you, quite roughly this time. He takes his right hand and places it at the back of your neck, guiding you as the two of you made out on your couch. 

“You still have extra clothes here, right?” You ask between your kisses. Jeonghan doesn't respond, and instead kisses you harder. Soon, he trails kisses from your lips to the side if your neck. Whispers escape you lips as you cock your head to the side to give him more room.

This night is going to be long. 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

tags:

@yyxyzti @acciofirewhiskey @doiewonu @shuajeong @wooziverse @boogyuu @rjsmochii @haniehae @twentysixofmays @suhfluffy @dancingddays @lovingyu04 @sydneyy-jade @itsdnguyenxoxo @fluffyhyeju @haoraecane @dy-mglzz @1800zuho @t-secretpot @floweryjeons @yaebbinnie @t-secretpot @not-sojoyuus @xcalicoups @ryuyalana @bubblywonu @youbloominsideofme @lavenonie @wonwoonlight @yoonzinow @mariecoura @juji-han @strawbinnie-shortcake @isa499 @pseudoyop @serenadesvt @glouraeswei @glowingjaehyun @sunflowergyeomie @kunmaid @apricottulips @hao-ling @cheolright @pancakeandfrogs @yanniezx @jeonjungkaka @sunflower-euphro @monstathedisco

unable to tag: @tyongs @jeongjungkaka @jammyjamjamss @hauntedprincessarbiter @scoffingscully

[fandomlovingfreak]

Incidentally In Love (11/?)

Charlie Weasley/Reader

Rating: E for Everyone ( trigger: pregnancy )

Word Count: 1923

MasterList Link I AO3 Link

Summary: Sleeping with Charlie Weasley was easy. He was charming, and handsome, and was quite talented in bed… Finding out you’re pregnant with your casual fuck buddies baby was not easy.

Reader’s journey through co-parenting, an overbearing Molly Weasley who wants reader to marry her son to give the baby a “real family”, and maybe falling a tiny bit in love with her baby daddy.

Notes: Sorry for the very late chapter! I finished my finals, and then my laptop decided it was done. She tapped out and I had to buy a new one! BUT good news! I ended the semester with a 3.5 GPA and I’m feeling good going into my last semester of college! Thanks for your patience.

Enjoy

"This is way too large, Charlie." I cross my arms over my chest as we look at the house's spacious living room in the home. Somehow he was able to convince me that we needed a bigger place. Clearly, 'bigger place' means very different things for Charlie and me.

"Ya think?" He looks around like the idea's never crossed his mind.

"Why in the world would we need a house this big?" And worn out. Every bit seemed to be in... well, a far from the satisfactory condition.

"I dunno. It is in our price range," he grins, "and I know it's a bit--old but, I think we could fix it up as we go. Just needs a little love, and I'm sure it'll feel like home."

I shake my head. The appeal had to be the large yard for him. "Got anything else picked out?"

"C'mon, (y/n). Give the place a chance." He wraps his arm around my waist, "Imagine how much space our little girl would have to run around and explore inside and out. We could get a dog--"

I snort, "A dog?"

"Yeah! Something large that would sit in front of the fireplace at night. Mum never let us get a dog, and the yard would be perfect for a large dog."

"I knew the yard was the selling point for you!" I poke his chest playfully, laughing as he grows red.

"It's a nice yard! Imagine we could get a dragon--"

"You cannot jump from a large dog to dragon like that, Charles!" I imagine he'd somehow get one here eventually at any rate.

"Okay, so maybe not the dragon, but the dog for sure. And, of course, the space for the baby." He places his massive hand over my eight-month pregnant bump as if he was reminding me why we were here looking at this house. Damnit, he knew how to get me to agree to his plans with the pretty words and ideas of our life beyond this moment.

"It's in our price range?" I ask, giving in to the fantasy he's painted of dogs, dragons, and the playful child in our yard. Unfortunately, I could picture these figures dancing around the large yard with the man beside me. Could hear the laughter and chatter of life in this house and that yard. The large Weasley gatherings of much too many people squeezed into the kitchen and living room...

His smile is blinding as he enthusiastically nods, "It is. Have I done it?"

I don't hate that he has, "I don't know how, but yes."

He leans down quickly, kissing me before he leans his forehead against mine, "It's going to be perfect, just wait."

"I know it will be." 

***

We settle the purchase with the house's previous owner and get dinner at a muggle eatery in a nearby town.

"Are you comfortable?" Charlie asks as we walk out of the restaurant.

"Yes, Charles," I rest my hand on my stomach, "Let's go home. My feet and ankles kill." Once out of view from any of the muggles, we apparate back to the apartment to celebrate the purchase.

***

"We have to tell your parents--" I sit at the breakfast table across from Charlie. Since going on maternity leave, I've had a lot of time to get everything packed up for the move. Most of our stuff is already in the new house, and Charlie and I make a point to go over to the new home after he gets back from work nearly every night to work on the baby's room.

"I know. Mum will go crazy over us being together--" he runs a hand through his hair nervously.

"Wait, we have to tell your parents that as well, but I meant about the house." I laugh, suddenly remembering that we haven't told Molly and Arthur many things that have developed since Christmas.

"Oh yeah. That too."

I place my hand on my stomach, "You should invite them over then. Just your parents. We can tell the rest of the clan at a later date."

He grins, shaking his ginger head fondly, "I'll see if they're available tomorrow? I'll come home early, so you don't have to cook, darling." Charlie gets up to clean his dish in the kitchen sink.

I laugh, "You're too good to me, Charlie."

"Nonsense. I'm just the right amount of good to you," he presses a kiss to my forehead. Charlie places a hand on my stomach, "Right, baby? Can't spoil mum enough."

I can't help but roll my eyes, "Okay, Charles."

"Kiss before I head out?" he asks, bending down. I kiss him, grinning when he pulls back.

"See you after work."

***

Charlie walks in the door around four-thirty. He finds me on the couch, book in hand as usual. "Hello, darling." Charlie presses a quick kiss to my temple.

"Hello," I set down my book, reaching my arms out for him. Charlie takes my hands carefully, helping me off the couch. 

"Have you been waiting for me to help you off the couch all day?" he teases. He pulls me sideways towards his chest, his abdomen touching the side of my swollen stomach. This past month, we discovered that this was the easiest way to do things as my stomach disallows any usual hug. 

I shake my head, "Hush. How was your day?"

"Good," he looks around the small living room, "Is this all we have left to pack?"

"Besides the larger furniture, yes." I got most of the leftover items put into boxes, carefully stacked in our bedroom.

"Mum's gonna know something is up when she looks around at this apartment."

"You think?"

"She's always suspicious of us kids, and a near-empty home will tip her off for sure." He grins, "I blame the twins honestly. She wasn't nearly as suspicious before they came around."

"Well--" I giggle, "I don't blame her for that. They were a handful at Hogwarts."

Charlie chuckles, "If you don't mind, dear, I think I'm going to bring a couple of the boxes to the house before I start dinner."

"Okay. Be careful, though. Some of them are a tiny bit heavy."

He nods, pressing another kiss to my temple before disappearing into the bedroom.

I sit back down on the couch to finish the chapter I was reading up on. Despite being unable to go to America to work with MACUSA, I still wanted to learn about their form of Magical Law. It was so different in ways that seemed somewhat arbitrary. The book I had Charlie pick up for me was all about their government and Magical Law system. I did find it rather interesting despite disagreeing with certain aspects.

***

"(y/n)?" Charlie's shaking my shoulder, "darling, wake up."

I startle, opening my eyes suddenly. He's next to me on the couch, his own book in hand. "Did--did I fall asleep?" I ask dumbly.

Charlie smiles, "Yes. I let you nap for a bit. Don't worry, though it's only been about half an hour..."

"Charlie! You should've woken me up earlier," I yawn, trying to be cross.

"You were so peaceful looking, and it's not like I let you sleep through dinner," he laughs, rubbing a hand over my t-shirt clad stomach. 

"Did you start dinner?" I stretch my arms above my head.

"No, I wasn't sure what you wanted."

"What about roast chicken?" I ask when we're sitting on the couch after dinner.

"Is that what you want?" he grins, setting down his book on the side table.

"Yes, It's simple enough, right?"

"I definitely can manage a roast chicken, if that's what you're asking."

I giggle, "I know you can, love. I don't want to overwhelm you."

***

Molly and Arthur arrive just as Charlie's taking the chicken out of the oven. Molly has her hands all over my stomach the moment she's in the door.

"How are you feeling?" she asks at least twice.

"I'm fine. Just feeling rather large." I smile.

"You look fantastic," Molly cups my cheeks in her warm hands, "Is Charlie taking good care of you?"

"Mum--" Charlie rolls his eyes.

"I'm just making sure I raised you right."

I laugh, "Yes. He has been excellent. So thoughtful and helpful."

Molly squeezes my hand, "good."

"Would you like anything to drink?" I ask Molly and Arthur. Both ask for a glass of water, which Charlie gets for them. We settle down at the kitchen table where Charlie has put the chicken and the side dishes at the table's center.

Without much small talk, we serve ourselves up our food and start to eat.

"Wow, this is wonderful." Molly compliments me. I smile.

"Actually," I reach for Charlie's hand, squeezing it gently, "Charlie made dinner tonight."

Molly looks a bit shocked, but her shock melts to beaming pride as she addresses him, "I didn't know you knew how to cook, Charlie."

He pinkens at the comment, "I did help you quite often as a kid."

"I know, but you and Bill always grumbled about helping. I never thought you'd remember anything I tried to teach you."

"Well, I remembered some," he smiles at his mother.

"I can tell."

***

We settle in the living room once we've finished dinner. Charlie fusses over me on the couch for a moment, making sure I've got everything I could possibly need at that moment before he sits down next to me. 

Our conversations mostly revolve around the baby. Molly asks us a million questions about things we do and do not have prepared. We still don't have any names picked out, which concerns her, but we still have some time. I'm not that concerned. Then Charlie looks at me. Something about the look tells me he's about to break the news. I give him a small smile, hoping that he gets the message.

"We--well, we have some news." After Charlie says these words, Molly gives us a look. She probably can't believe we can have much more special news to share. I really have come into this family and rocked the boat a little bit. "We bought a house," Charlie's fingers brush against mine.

"You bought a home together?" Molly's eyes widen. 

"We did," Charlie's fingers brush against my knuckles.

"Molly," I need to spill our relationship to his mother. I can't keep any of this, us, a secret anymore. It felt wrong all night to tiptoe around Charlie's parents tonight and pretend we're not a couple. "We're actually, um--together now." Charlie looks at me, shocked, obviously not expecting me to spill the beans like this.

"Together?" Arthur looks at his wife and son for clarification.

"We're dating." It feels incredibly juvenile to confess this. Like I'm revealing to my own parents that I've got a crush on a boy. It definitely doesn't feel like I'm admitting that I'm in a romantic relationship with the man who's child I'm carrying.

"Dating? Are you really?--" Molly looks thrilled to hear this. Her excited smile reminds me a lot of Charlie's at this moment. 

"But, mum," Charlie stops her, mid-thought, "We're not planning anything. We're not engaged."

I laugh, "No, not engaged. Just together. We're going to put parenting first and see where this goes--"

"I'm just excited you two have finally sorted this out. Finally, Charlie. I'm so glad to have you in the family, dear."

I giggle at her implication that Charlie had something to do with us not being together like this, "Thank you."

[ikeromantic]

Fox Hunt

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic. This scene doesn’t really occur in Ch. 11 of the Romantic Route but it’s one I imagine happening a hair before. So, another between chapters scene! Yay! Approx. 1700 words. 

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Interlude - Before the Hunt

Mitsuhide felt odd having a companion as he visited his informants, picked up letters and sent missives out to agents in the field. This was always a secretive space for him, one that even Kyubei only glimpsed - as needed. Now his little mouse tagged along beside him with her wide-eyed innocence. It made him feel . . . wary . . . in ways he never had before.

Was his contact at the Kyoto court making note of her? Had that street tough looked too long in her direction? Had she attracted too much attention when they stopped at a tea house to meet another of his spies? It left him on edge. Worried for her, worried because of her. And yet.

She had only to touch his arm, or say his name and he felt better. Besides, if they were apart, he thought, he’d only worry for her more. At least this way he knew the threats to her happiness and safety and he could deal with them.

“Mitsu, you’re frowning again.” The chatelaine pulled his attention from the door where two armed men stood, staring into the tea shop. 

“Am I?” Mitsuhide allowed himself a slight smile. “I’m afraid it’s the natural consequence of planning out this mission. But I will always have a smile for you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. 

She sighed. “You don’t have to force it. I am worried too, you know. Ashi-”

“Don’t use names,” he reminded her.

“R-right. Shark-eyes is out there somewhere, plotting revenge. Only we don’t know where or what. And it’s mostly just me and you to stop him. Feels kind of . . . overwhelming.”

Mitsuhide patted her hand. “I have some thoughts on that. We may have more allies than we think in this fight.” He stood. “I just realized I need to step out for a moment. I’ll be right back.” 

His little one looked up at him, clearly worried he would escape her. Silly girl. As if he could simply walk away. She didn’t protest though. Only nodded and looked down at her cup of tea. 

Out front, the two armed men smiled at Mitsuhide as he stepped out to join them. “Been hoping we’d run across you, kitsune.” One of them spoke while the other spat into the dirt. 

“To think you and I shared a hope. It is truly a frightening idea.” Mitsuhide gave them a thin-lipped smile. “But I believe our meeting today may yield benefits for us both.”

The man that spoke before drew a short blade from under his clothes, letting the edge catch the light. “I’m seeing this ending one way for you, and one for us. But I’ll make it quick and painless if-”

Mitsuhide didn’t let him finish the threat. He slammed a fist into the man’s side, his knuckles bruising against the thug’s ribs. He held the other at bay with a swift kick to his knee, sending him into the dirt beside his spittle. 

The two men gasped in pain and surprise. 

“I don’t need tricks to deal with you,” Mitsuhide sighed, wiping his hands on his cloak. “Now put that blade away before I stab you with it. I have an offer that I think will please your captain more than bringing him my head.” It took only a few moments to outline his idea for the thugs. It was light on detail and heavy on speculation, but then, Mouri wasn’t known for his focus on the details. He could only hope his offer would capture Motonari’s interest. 

They limped off when he finished, a little ‘gift’ in hand. Mitsuhide found that flattery and a bit of gold always got further than raw brutality when dealing with minions. Usually a combination of the two was effective.

He went back in and sat down beside his little one. 

“Your hair got mussed,” she smiled. And gently fixed it with her fingers. “Did you have a nice walk?”

Mitsuhide nodded. “I was able to sort some ideas I’ve had. Are you done with your snack?”

She tipped back the last bit of tea and popped a rice cracker into her mouth. “I’m done now.”

“Then we have an appointment to get to.” Which wasn’t much of an appointment since the servants at Ashikaga’s Kyoto manor had no idea they were coming.

The estate was busy with cleaning and packing, putting away the finery that was only used when the shogun was in residence. The servants watched anxiously as Mitsuhide and the chatelaine entered. 

“Are we supposed to be here?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Mitsuhide replied. “I am, afterall, in the shogun’s employ.”

“You were but . . . Honno-ji?”

He waved her objection off. “I doubt he came back here to personally inform the servants of my employment status. Though I’m sure our presence will not make them happy.”

They made their way past the audience hall and into the private rooms. It was here that they were finally stopped by one of the vassals. An educated scribe, probably barely out of his teens, thin as a twig and pale from too much indoor work. But even so, he stood in the middle of the hall and faced Mitsuhide. 

“A-Akechi, you - you aren’t allowed in the - the lord’s study. He w-wouldn’t want you there.” The scribe shook and stuttered as he spoke, clearly terrified.

“Is that so, Riku? Do you think you know what Ashikaga wants?” Mitsuhide smiled at the scribe as if he really were a satori from the stories. “No. You don’t know, but you hope. You hope that if you stop me like this, in front of the other servants, that Ashikaga will notice you. Elevate you.” 

He took a step closer to the shivering vassal. “You imagine yourself a head scribe. Perhaps wedded to one of Yoshiaki’s cousins or nieces. You imagine yourself proud. But you know that all of this is only your fantasy. That Ashikaga will never notice anything you do, nor appreciate it. So tell me, Riku, do you really want to stand between me and what I want?”

“N-no.” Riku bent his head and stepped aside, pressing his back against the wall as if to sink into it. 

Mitsuhide patted the scribe on the head. “You are smarter than you credit yourself for.” Then he brushed past and into Yoshiaki’s inner rooms. 

“You’re really scary when you do stuff like that,” his little mouse whispered. “Like you just pulled the thoughts right out of his head.”

“More like right off his face.” Mitsuhide bent to look through the shogun’s desk. It had already been cleaned out, completely. He searched for any kind of hidden latch or secret compartment. There were two - but both as empty as the rest. 

While he searched, the chatelaine went to chat up the servants. She was quite good at it too. With her easy smile and kind laugh. By the time he finished going over Yoshiaki’s office and bedroom, she was sitting in the kitchen with Riku and four other house servants, commiserating. 

Mitsuhide listened from the hall as she drew out their stories of what it was like to serve the shogun. A cold man that gave no praise, only punishment. These were not happy vassals, but rather frightened victims of Ashikaga’s whims. One after another recounted tales of his cruelty. One maid nearly beaten to death for a dusty scroll. Another with a scar for letting the tea cool. Riku’s arms were covered in scars from his ‘training.’ But perhaps this too could be useful. 

The kitsune warlord finally came in, once it seemed the well of sorrows had run dry for today. “Come, my little mouse. I wasn’t able to find anything of use.”

Riku stood, still shaking a bit. “My lord -”

The chatelaine interrupted, tugging Mitsuhide’s arm so that he turned to look. “They’re worried that if Ashikaga hears you got in and out without a fight, he’ll have them killed or punish their families.”

Better and better, Mitsuhide thought. “I will do what I can to protect you,” he told them. “But you must do two things. First - you must continue to work for the shogun as you always have.”

Riku and the maids nodded. “Of course, but h-how does that h-help us?”

“By bringing me to my second requirement. You must trust me. Completely.” Mitsuhide watched them squirm beneath his golden gaze. 

It was the maids that agreed first, giving him low bows. Riku was the last to accede, with his voice trembling and his bow unsteady. 

Mitsuhide smiled. “Excellent. The first thing you will trust me with is the names and locations of your family - those the shogun would have ready access to.”

“Aren’t you going to ask us w-where he’s gone to?” Riku stuttered the question out.

“No. None of you were given his destination, so there is no point.”

“H-how did y-you-”

The chatelaine patted Riku’s arm. “He does that to me all the time.”

It took a few hours for his little mouse to scribe down the names while Mitsuhide and Riku set about constructing a fake battle at the gates. It was all quite convincing, and to make it stick, Mitsu gave the scribe a black eye. Altogether, nicely done. 

It was almost sunset when the two of them left, following the road to the west out of Kyoto. 

“Why did you have me take down these names,” his little one asked. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” he told her. Which was only half the truth. He’d need to send agents to each of the estates specified, with gold and promises - that was the half he knew he would do. The second part still had too many unknowns to disclose, but when it came together . . .

The chatelaine leaned her head against his arm. “It feels good to be traveling together again, no matter where it is we’re headed. But I do wish we could finish shark-eyes off quick.”

“Oh? Are you delaying your very important plans for my little mission?” Mitsuhide teased her with a too-sweet tone.

She smacked his arm, giggling. “No - not exactly. I was just thinking I can’t wait to have you all to myself. Without worrying about assassinations and plots and murderous shoguns . . .”

“Ah. Well, if that’s your definition of having me all to yourself, it may never come true.”

“Maybe not, but a girl has to have some goals in life.” She smiled up at him and Mitsuhide found himself agreeing with her. It did sound like a nice life. A peaceful one.

He stopped long enough to give her a light kiss on the lips. A taste of that impossible future.

Next: An Uncertain Alliance

[queen-scribbles]

Meet the Family

Mass Effect Relationships Week Day 3: Missed Opportunities

The second I saw this one, I knew I had to fill it with the what-if of Gabe not being KIA pre-trilogy so Lisa actually gets to a) keep her surrogate brother and b) introduce him to Kaidan. This is immediately post-ME1, and for people unfamiliar with Lisa, she didn’t sleep with Kaidan before Ilos, even though she really, really likes him, so they’re still figuring out Them as a Couple(?). Fun time to meet the family :D

------

Lisa paced back and forth along a small section of the cafe’s outdoor seating, never far from their table, and picked at the edge of the bandage around her left arm.

“Shepard, if you peel that off, it’s gonna scar,” Kaidan reminded her for the fifth time in two days, barely looking up from the menu.

“Scars are badass,” she countered with a smirk. “And I-”

But the rest of her comeback was aborted when she spotted an approaching figure and hopped the patio railing with a whoop to charge toward him.

Fortunately Gabe saw her coming, so her enthusiastic tackle-hug didn’t send them tumbling into Citadel foot traffic. He laughed as he hugged her back, hard enough some of her bruises complained(she ignored them). “Hey Lise! Long time no see.”

Lisa’s only reply was a happy grunt, muffled against the side of his neck as she held tight. It had been pure chance after the battle she’d noticed one of the Alliance ships that went against Sovereign was his, and she was still relieved she hadn’t lost him without even knowing he was there.

When they finally let go, Gabe caught her injured wrist in a loose grip and shot her a significant look. “What have you been doing with yourself, Lisa?”

Lisa snorted and gestured at the damaged Citadel around them. “Playing the hero, of course.”

He shook his head with a wry laugh. “Of course. You never could help yourself.”

She snorted and lightly poked the scars that cut through his eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose. “You’re one to fucking talk, Palléon.”

“Language, Lisa Anne,” Gabe chided with exaggerated affront. He slung an arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, didn’t you have crew you wanted me to meet...?”

“Oh, yeah. That,” Lisa drawled, shifting his arm so it wasn’t resting on the glass cuts peppering the back of her neck. “Turns out only Alenko could make it, so he’ll have to do for now.”

She left off he was the one she most wanted Gabe to meet, but from the look she got, he at least suspected. “Mm-hm.”

“Behave, Gabriel.” She wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a request, but it set mischief dancing in his dark grey eyes either way.

“Yes, ma’am, Commander Shepard, ma’am,” he teased.

Lisa rolled her eyes and tugged him toward the cafe entrance. “Y’know, for bein’ like my big brother, you sure can be a little shit sometimes.”

“That’s my job,” Gabe said cheerfully. 

She lightly bopped the back of his head. “Please, Gabe.” This is important to me.

Something in her tone made him sober and he nodded as they stepped on to the cafe patio, letting his arm drop from around her shoulders. “Sure, Lise.”

“Thanks.” She was grinning as they closed distance to the table she and Kaidan had staked out. Kaidan pushed to his feet just as they got there and Lisa took half a step back to  not be in the way as she made introductions. “Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, Major Gabriel Palléon.” (Why were her palms sweaty?) “Gabe, this is Kaidan.”

Gabe held out a hand to shake. “Good to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Kaidan said, smile warm but posture military-stiff as he shook Gabe’s hand and Lisa bit back a giggle. Bless him for wanting to make a good impression. (It was cute. When did she start thinking things were cute?!)  “L-Shepard’s talked about you quite a bit.”

“Likewise,” Gabe laughed. “But we can save the formality for on-duty, huh? Gabe’s fine.”

Kaidan chuckled as the three of them sat. “Fair enough. Though since Shepard and I serve together, I’ll probably stick to it with her.”

There was also the--probably vain--hope a semblance of formality would help mask whatever was between them until they sorted it out themselves. Which would hopefully be soon. She’d promised they could figure it out later, and she’d never made a promise she wanted to keep more. But for now, better to focus on the fact Kaidan was getting to meet the closest thing to family she had left in the galaxy. She wanted (needed) them to hit it off.

“So I hear you’ve been largely responsible for keeping Lisa alive the past several months,” Gabe said, taking the menu she nudged him with a nod of thanks. “She hasn’t been able to mention all the details, but that one’s come up a few times.”

“Oh, she’s plenty good at keeping herself alive,” Kaidan demurred with a small smile. “I just tag along to watch her back. In case she needs me.”

Lisa snorted and shook her head. “He’s bein’ modest,” she informed Gabe as she nudge Kaidan’s shoulder. “If it wasn’t all classified to hell and back, I could spend at least an hour filling you in on all the ways he’s saved my neck. And he brews the best damn pot of coffee--sorry, Gabe--I’ve ever had in my life, which has saved everyone from me on more than one occasion.”

“Better than mine?” Gabe asked in a faux-injured tone, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching and almost kicked him under the table.

The only reason she didn’t was the server showing up to take their orders.

After they’d finished and the server headed off, Gabe sighed dramatically. “At least I know she’s in good hands.”

Kaidan chuckled, rubbed the back of his neck. “I do my best.”

“So, Gabe,” Lisa interjected, “one thing I’m dying to know; your unit’s always been out toward the edges of Council space, lots of groundside assignments. What the hell were you doing on a ship so close to the Citadel, anyway?”

Gabe shrugged apologetically and shook his head. “Sorry, Lise. Classified.”

She waved it off. It had only been 50-50 odds he could tell her anyway. “S’alright, I know the drill. What’ve you been up to that you can talk about?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Supervised a couple clean up ops, but the last few months have been mostly ferreting out a pirate cabal that started getting a little bolder around some of our colonies and outposts than Command’s comfortable with. But I don’t want to waste time talkin’ about work.”

Lisa arched a brow. She had a sneaking suspicion she could guess the...  membership composition of this cabal if he was changing the subject so quickly. But she let him get away with it. “Okay, but work’s almost all we’ve been doing the past few months,” she pointed out, jerking her thumb at Kaidan. “So unless you got a new girlfriend an’ wanna enlighten me, there won’t be much else to talk about...”

“You didn’t have any downtime?” Gabe prodded, shaking his head in silent answer to her half-joking needling. “No time for fun shit on the Normandy?”

“Talking, card games, playin’ with my omnitool...” Lisa shrugged. “The usual in-between missions shit.”

“You and that omnitool,” Gabe teased.

This time she did kick him under the table. “Hey, you’re the one who gave it to me.” She smiled sweetly. “Thanks for picking a model that plays nice with upgrades and tweaks.”

“I created a monster,” he lamented theatrically, and moved his leg when she went to kick him again. “What about you, Kaidan, you do anything different than my favorite tech nerd, or do you have roughly the same idea of fun?”

Kaidan laughed. “Same, I’m afraid. Chatting, playing cards, tweaking omnitool functions.”

The server came back with their  drinks and assurance the food would only be a few more minutes.

“You have a favorite when it comes to cards?” Gabe asked as he took a drink.

Kaidan shrugged and shook his head. “Anything’s fun. I guess if you made me pick, probably poker.”

Gabe’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward, “Tell me you cleaned her out,” he said, leveling a finger at Lisa. “Please.”

Kaidan grinned and held up two fingers. “Twice.”

“Excellent.”

“Hey!” Lisa protested, fighting a grin.

“Your reign of terror needed to end, Lise,” Gabe returned. “You’re just lucky it wasn’t me.”

She snorted. “Like that would ever happen.”

“That’s hurtful,” he grinned.

“Gabe. I love you like a brother, and you’re very good at many things,” Lisa said with a matching grin, “but poker isn’t one of them.”

“I can help you work on that if you want,” Kaidan offered, ignoring the ‘Traitor!’ look Lisa sent him.

“And I might take you up on that,” Gabe said, smirking at her. Clearly he had caught the ‘Traitor!’ look.

“I’m feeling ganged-up on,” Lisa groused, still grinning.

Kaidan took pity on her and changed the subject as the server reappeared with their food. Gabe--still smirking--played along. It came out in the ensuing conversation they rooted for the same hockey team, though Kaidan was decidedly less... intense about it, and it was not Lisa’s team of choice.

There was no overlap in movie genre preference between the three of them, which turned into a spirited, good-natured debate that consumed almost a whole hour before Kaidan steered them to a different topic. Lisa gave his shoulder a grateful nudge for that; it was one thing to get stuck in sibling-loggerheads with Gabe when they were sprawled on the couch just shooting the shit. This was different.

All told, it took them almost four hours of friendly conversation--and frequent teasing--to start winding down. Lisa had a sneaking suspicion if she wasn’t the Savior of the Citadel they would have been asked to leave much earlier. The cafe was very busy, despite the damage surrounding it. She made sure to leave the server a large tip when she paid.

Kaidan and Gabe where shaking hands farewell when she rejoined them, Gabe just finishing a comment she didn’t catch that had Kaidan nodding with a small smile.

“Good to know,” he said, darting a glance at her. “And, again, good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Gabe said, clapping him on the shoulder before he turned to hug Lisa. “Glad I got to see you, Lise.”

“You, too,” she replied, returning the hug with matching fervor. (He still gave the best hugs) “Hopefully we can get together again before going our separate ways, but for now, Alenko an’ I have a meeting to get to.”

“I’ll make sure to bug ya about that,” Gabe promised with a wink.

“I’m sure you will,” Lisa grinned. “See ya round.”

They headed off in their respective directions, and Lisa barely waited until they were safely out of earshot to ask, “What’s good to know?”

“Huh?” Kaidan shot her a bemused look.

“What Gabe said,” she clarified. “Or is that some guy thing I don’t actually wanna know?”

“Oh.” He smiled sheepishly. “Quoting him: Not to pry, but I think you’ll be good for her.”

Lisa huffed and twisted around as if she could glare at Gabe’s back, but he was already lost to view. “He- part of me wants to smack him for meddling in my love life.”

Kaidan hit the elevator call button, a curious smile just tugging at his lips. “And the rest of you?”

The laugh underlying his words nearly undid her. Lisa winked. “The rest of me agrees with him, so I’ll let it slide for now.” She arched a brow at him. “After all, we gotta figure out my love life b’fore I can get mad at him for meddlin’ in it, huh?”

Kaidan chuckled and let her step into the elevator first when it arrived. “Looking forward to it, Shepard. But lets focus on the meeting for now and us later.”

“Right. Later.” She bit her lip to hold back the flutter in her chest at his tone.

They rode in warm silence, hands so close their knuckles brushed, but neither said a word.

[calebdumes]

for @pretchatta who wanted kanera in evening wear and romantic tension. i hope i lived up to your wishes!

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: n/r

word count: 2.6k

~

When it came to opulence and beauty, the estate of Count Jafan Harik had it in droves. From the marbled walls etched with gold and lined with expensive art, to the exotic foods served on guilded trays, every inch of the mansion displayed the man’s abundant wealth and taste for the grandeur. But even surrounded by priceless artifacts and glittering gems, Kanan couldn’t take his eyes off of Hera. 

Her gown was simple, compared to some of the other dresses Kanan had seen that evening, just a form fitting bodice that left her shoulders and arms bare, showing off the graceful white markings that traveled down to her wrists. The skirt hung off her slender waist like water, long flowing layers of gauzy fabric that had been dyed varying shades of dark blue and purple. The tiny crystals that had been woven into the folds caught on the light when she moved, giving off the impression of a shimmering night sky. 

Kanan had nearly tripped over his own two feet when he first saw her emerge from her cabin, dressed and ready for the mission - his mind going completely and utterly blank. Hera was beautiful no matter what she wore, but dressed in that gown, the deep color of the dress against her green skin, the gems in her headdress glittering as brightly as her eyes, Kanan felt the breath punch from his lungs and heat pool in his belly. 

She was stunning, like a dignitary from Ryloth, all the sophistication and grace of royalty surrounding her as if it had been there her whole life. It left Kanan mesmerized. He wanted to reach out and touch, to trace the white markings on her shoulders, to feel her lips against his own. She was the most beautiful being in the galaxy.

And Kanan wanted her. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Hera asked out of the corner of her mouth before taking a sip of her bright red cocktail. 

Kanan mentally shook himself and forced his eyes to do a sweep of the ballroom. It wasn’t the first time he had been distracted by Hera tonight and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

“No sign of him yet.” His eyes caught on the two ISB officers standing stiffly by their stormtrooper escorts, somehow managing to look completely out of place even in their regal dress uniforms. Kanan’s lip curled at the sight of them but didn’t let his gaze linger. For once, the Imperials weren’t the target of tonight’s mission. 

Hera frowned, setting her glass down gently on the silk covered table they were standing at. “I don’t like this.” she said, scanning the small gathering of beings had gathered on the polished dance floor. “He should be here by now.”

“Relax.” Kanan said, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder, her skin warm under his fingertips. It sent a thrill of electricity racing up his arm, his heartbeat doubling in pace. “It’s still early. And from what I hear, he likes to make a grand entrance.”

Hera didn’t look convinced but a light blush had begun to form on the tops of her cheeks. Kanan looked down and his hand and quickly withdrew it from her shoulder. 

Things with Hera were...complicated to put it simply. He was in love with her, that he could at least say with one hundred percent certainty. Kanan had loved her from the moment they met in the mud covered streets of Shaketown and he hadn’t stopped falling for her since. Hera had more charm and charisma in her little finger than most sentient beings in the galaxy possessed. She was headstrong to a fault, impulsive (even if she said otherwise), and cared so much that she was willing to risk everything if it meant that people could live free. Hera was good and smart and funny and Kanan was helplessly gone for her.

But he never did anything about it. Because she was his partner and his friend and they had built a relationship based on trust and respect. If she wasn’t ready or didn’t want anything more than friendship from him, then Kanan wasn’t going to push it. He valued their friendship too much to ruin it over unrequited feelings. 

Except there was something, more than just friendship between them. He could feel it in the quiet spaces after a mission, in the lingering glances and easy touches that came on so naturally. There was something there, Kanan just didn’t know what to do about it. Not without Hera making the first move. 

“I guess it’s too much to ask that the Count would show up to his own party on time.” Hera said, taking another sip of her drink. 

“Eh, you know these rich types,” Kanan shrugged. “They think the galaxy revolves around them.” 

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Hera drummed her fingers on the table. Kanan’s eyes fell to the white markings on her wrist that snaked their way up her arms to her shoulders. They were the same markings that decorated her lekku, gentle sloping white arches that formed a graceful design that put most artwork housed in the Count’s estate to shame. 

But then again, Kanan was a little bit biased. When it came to Hera, she beat out just about everything. 

“You meet one, you meet them all.”

“Is that so?”

Kanan rested his elbows on the table. “That’s been my experience.”

Hera hummed thoughtfully at his response before saying, “You know, I’m surprised you decided to help out on this mission. I know you still aren’t fully on board with my...cause.”

“I make excellent arm candy.” Kanan winked, his heart flipping as her jade green eyes trailed up his body. “Besides, we can help a lot of people with the information that’s on that list.”

There was pride shining in her eyes as she looked up at him, the light catching on the many gems that made up the silver headdress that sat on her head and twisted down her lekku. Kanan tried to ignore how his stomach flipped at her expression. “We can’t help anyone if the Count doesn’t show.”

“Give it time, he’ll be here.” He could tell she was growing impatient, the tips of her lekku flicking sharply in odd intervals. Naboo wasn’t the safest place for rebels and he sensed that Hera would rather get off this rock sooner rather than later. Kanan glanced over to the bodies swaying on the dancefloor as an idea struck him. “Come dance with me.” he said. 

Hera blinked at him in surprise. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is.” he smiled. “It’ll give you a better view of the room.” he pointed out. And it would hopefully help her relax until the Count decided to grace the party goers with his presence and they could get this show on the road. 

Hera continued to look at him doubtfully but made no move to stop him from leading her onto the dance floor. “Fine.” she said as Kanan settled one hand over her hip, the fabric of her skirt soft against his palm. “But just for one song.”

Kanan smiled at her. “Sounds like a deal.”

They swayed in an unhurried motion on the outer fringes of the dancefloor, keeping the entrance to the ballroom within their sights at all times. The music was light and heavy on the stringed instruments, a gentle melody that reminded Kanan of the many waterfalls of Naboo’s capital city. As they danced, Kanan watched as the tight line of tension slowly dripped from Hera’s shoulders. 

“Have you ever gone to parties like this before?” Hera asked as they swayed together.

“You do remember where you met me right?” He arched a brow in response. 

Hera rolled her eyes but there was a smile growing on her lips. “Don’t pull that with me. I know Gorse was just another one of your many adventures traveling through the galaxy. You could have gone to something like this before.”

Kanan smirked at her. It was true, Gorse was just another stop along his way but even as a youngling at the Temple, he had never been to something as extravagant as this. “I’ve been around but all this,” he waved a hand at the ornate room, “is too rich for my blood. What about you?”

“Once.” She nodded. “When I was really little, before the Clone Wars. I don’t remember much about it but I remember how beautiful my mother looked in her dress. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like her someday.”

“What was she like? Your mother?”

Hera smiled at him, her eyes going distant for a moment. “She was kind. Always willing to lend a hand to those in need. And brave.”

“Well,” Kanan said softly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve accomplished that.”

Color bloomed over Hera’s cheeks. “You’re just saying that to be nice.” she mumbled. 

“Hera.” he said ducking down to capture her gaze. “When have I ever said anything just to be nice?”

“Do you want that list alphabetically or by date?”

“I’m being serious.” He said, pulling her closer to him. “Look around this room. Not a single soul here gives a kriff about the state of the galaxy. They wouldn’t lift a finger to help. But you, you’re doing something about it. You don’t think your mother would have done the same?”

The blush on Hera’s cheeks grew deeper, her chest rising and falling in light breaths. Kanan could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. There was a look gleaming deep in her green eyes, bright and burning. It pulled him in, setting his soul on fire while the world around them melted away until all that was left was just Hera.

He loved her. He loved her more than anything, more than the air in his lungs or heart in his chest. He loved her. And he knew, in that moment, surrounded by all the riches the galaxy could afford, he would never love anyone as much as he loved her.

“Kanan,” Hera said, her breath ghosting over his lips. She was so close now, her body a long line of heat against his. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly bone dry. He could barely hear the music over the rush of blood in his ears. She licked her lips, her fingers tightening against his hip. “Kanan I-”

But before Hera could finish speaking the music suddenly cut off as the doors to the ballroom were thrown open and the Count made his grand entrance. The people clapped as a tall man with raven hair and white silk robes strode into the room, his dark eyes drinking in the adoration from the crowd. Hera took a step back. Kanan tried not to frown. 

Count Jafan was oddly enough, not escorted by any type of private security. He didn’t seem to mind as people milled up to him, shaking his hand and tittering on about the party. Kanan watched as the thin man smiled and carried on as if the party goers were his adoring subjects. In many ways they were. Just about everyone here at the party wanted something from the Count, themselves included. But while most tried to wine and dine the man to get what they wanted, Kanan and Hera had a...different plan. 

“Just say when.” Kanan said as they walked back to their table, leaving the dance floor behind. “I’ll follow your lead.” 

Hera flagged down a protocol droid and took another bright red drink off of the serving tray. “Wait until he gets closer, then we’ll make our move. But we need to intercept him before our ISB friends over there come to collect.”

Kanan eyed the Imperial officers that were now watching the Count with sharp eyes as he fawned with his guests. They were after the same thing he and Hera had come for, only they had paid the good Count a reasonable fee. Kanan and Hera didn’t see the need for money to exchange hands for this type of transaction. A small distraction and deft fingers would do the trick just fine. 

 “You know,” Kanan said while they waited for their moment to arrive, “I have to give the Count some credit, making the Imperials come to him for the information. It’s a gutsy move. They must want that data chip pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” Hera laughed without humor. “Too bad the Count is on their side. We could use someone with his connections.”

Kanan gave the man a once over as he drew near. Other than the fine clothes he was dressed in, there wasn’t much to the man. His dark hair was slicked back and there was a perpetual smirk on his face that made Kanan want to punch it off. “His money, we could use. The Count himself? I think we’d get more help from a blurrg.”

That time, Hera’s laugh was genuine. “Alright.” she said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s go meet our host.”

Kanan wrapped his arm around Hera’s, mindful of the drink still in her hand as they moved towards the Count. The music had returned, the dance floor filling out now that the Count had finally made his appearance. Kanan and Hera walked arm in arm around the edge of the ball room, past the gilded tables laden down with rich foods and groups of beings reflecting on the numerous painting that lined the wall. They moved at a leisurely pace that put them on track to walk right past their host.

Just as they were about to pass the man, Hera tripped over the hem of her dress, her drink crashed to the floor as she landed in the unsuspecting Count’s arms. Kanan reached from her, pulling her back on to her feet and away from the startled Count.

“Count Herik!” Hera said in a thick Rylothian accent as she adjusted her headdress. “I-I am so sorry!” 

The Count’s deep brown eyes landed on Hera, a slimy grin spreading across his face. He took her now empty hand in his own and brought it to his lips.

“It was merely an accident, my lady.” he said. “Enjoying the party I hope?” 

“Oh yes!” Hera said breathlessly, still trying to regain her composure from the slip. “You have a lovely home Count.”

“I certainly hope so.” Count Herik chuckled. “I spent a fortune on it!” The crowd around them laughed at his joke and Kanan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Our apologies for the mess.” Kanan cut in. “But my wife, she isn’t feeling very well. We were about to leave.” 

Count Herik flicked a disinterest glance at Kanan before turning his attention back to Hera. “I hope you get a chance to view the gardens before you leave my dear, I had some Rylothian vine flowers imported in just a few rotations ago. They seem to be taking to Naboo quite well.”

Kanan bit down on the inside of this cheek. “Perhaps on our way out.” Hera smiled at him, leaning heavily into Kanan. “Thank you again for such a wonderful evening.”

“Of course.” Count Herik nodded to her before stepping away. Kanan led Hera out of the ball room and into the hallway that would take them to the entrance. As soon as they were outside, Hera straightened and lifted a small data chip up between her fingers. 

“The Count should really learn to protect his valuables.” she said with a smirk. 

“Nice job Captain Hera.” Kanan said, taking the chip from her fingers and slipping it into the pocket of his pants. “Now let's get out of here before he realizes it’s gone.”

“He won’t know it’s gone until it’s too late.”

“You have a lot of practice in picking pockets?” He asked as he flagged down a hover taxi. 

“More than you I bet.”

Kanan laughed. “Honestly, you’re probably right.” He held open the door for her as she climbed into the taxi, gathering her skirts around her delicately. They didn’t speak on the trip back to the space port, the glowing lights of Theed passing by out the window. At some point, Hera’s head fell onto his shoulder, her eyes closed. The metal of her headdress pressed uncomfortably against the bone but he didn’t mind. He let her rest until the spaceport came into view and the taxi slowed. 

He helped her out of the cab and paid the driver before turning back to see Hera standing under the dim light of the street lamp looking tired but accomplished. A soft smile broke out on his face as he walked up to her. 

“What?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Nothin’.” He replied walking with her towards the Ghost.

“Hey Kanan.” She said, pausing. “What I was going to say earlier…”

“Don’t worry about it Hera.” Kanan cut her off, not willing to break the pleasant mood that had fallen between them. He didn’t know what she wanted to tell him before, back on the dancefloor but he had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn’t like it. He rather be left wondering than have to confront the truth. 

“No, I want to say it.” she grabbed on to his wrist, holding it tightly. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.”

Kanan’s breath froze in his chest. “What is it?”

Hera bit her lip, her eyes searching his face as if it held the answer. Instead of saying anything, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. Kanan blinked at her in surprise as she pulled away, his mind going blank for the second time that day. 

“I like you.” she said, still holding on to his wrist. “I know I said that my mission comes first and I stand by that but I can’t help the way I feel about you and I think you might feel the same way too.”

She was looking at him with a worried look on her face but Kanan couldn’t quite get past her words. She liked him. She had feelings for him. She was ready for them to be something more. 

“Kanan could you please say something? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Without thinking, Kanan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She melted into him, her hands cupping the sides of his face as he spun them around in the air. They broke apart, breathless and smiling. 

“I like you too,” he said. “If that wasn’t clear.” 

Hera nipped at the side of his mouth. “I think you might need to explain it to me again.” 

“Hera.” he said in between kisses. “I’ll explain it to you as much as you like.”

She rested her forehead against his. “I love you.” She whispered. 

Kanan held her close, his whole world resting in his arms. “I love you too.”

[vodkassassin]

cucumberplane with sqh defending/comforting sqq instead of the other way around (badass!sqh?)

Someone asked for a FIERCE son???

This one is a little long, at just about over 4k

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence ;3

—

Shang Qinghua is scared.

There’s been plenty of instances, especially in this new life of his, where he has been in fear for his life. Every instance feels like it’s the worst one, in the time that it is happening. In the moment, when his heart seems to freeze, beating so quickly it’s almost like he can’t even hear it in the blood that rushes by his ears. When his breath stutters to a stop, and his stomach drops so sharply that it feels like it’s dug itself deep into the mantle of the earth.

In the moment, when it feels like he’s never been this scared in either of his lives.

Like a cornered animal, pinned down against cold stone marble floors, this snarling demon’s clawed hand encircling his throat with just barely enough pressure to make breathing something difficult. The cold, sharp point of a spear digging ever-so gently into his gut, just to remind him that it’s there.

“I’ll carve out each and every one of your bones,” the demon is crooning into his ear, fingers flexing against his jugular, just barely. “They will make excellent jewelry, a badge of great honor. A boast at how the revered and powerful Peak Lord Shang was felled by my hands.”

Revered? Shang Qinghua has absolutely no idea where this dipshit idiot got his information, but clearly his broker had decided it would be a good laugh to lead him around by the nose, because he is so far off the mark.

It’s far more like Shang Qinghua is barely tolerated. Kept around for his work ethic and quick results. But revered? No.

And powerful? Okay, in order to be a peak lord, Shang Qinghua had to meet certain expectations. There are prerequisites for becoming the successor of your Shizun in Cang Qiong. However, there are twelve peaks, and despite being ranked number four out of all of them, the peak lord of An Ding is hardly considered powerful.

This demon has it all wrong. But! Here he is, spear and claws cutting into Shang Qinghua’s skin, threatening his life.

Usually, Shang Qinghua has precautions in place for this very circumstance. There are so many exits he could have taken before this. Back up plans, routes to temporary safety. Hell, just calling for Mobei Jun gets the job done in a flash, half the time.

Okay, more than half.

But. However. Shang Qinghua had made certain oversights. Because he never, in any of those precautions, accounted for the additional presence of his bro. Shen Qingqiu, who is curled up against the wall across the room, pale and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from a gash in his head.

And so, like a cornered animal would, Shang Qinghua bares his teeth.

It should have been a warning, but the demon just laughs.

“Don’t pretend to be brave now, little cultivator,” he chuckles.

The hand on Shang Qinghua’s throat loosens, before removing itself completely so that those long, wickedly sharp claws can trail up the soft skin underneath his jaw. They press down as they go, just enough that Shang Qinghua can feel droplets of blood start trickling down his neck. The demon traces up his cheek with two claws, gently, and croons.

“I never imagined a small thing like you to be the infamous Lord Shang,” the demal continues. “I really did expect someone at least a little taller. But, small is fun, too! You gave me a good hunt, little one, so at least you lived up to some of the rumors.”

Any other day, Shang Qinghua would really love to know what the demons of the North say about him. Really. He’s dying of curiosity, about as much as he’s certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. If there’s anything that Shang Qinghua is guaranteed to be able to work with, it's being underestimated.

“But, the chase is over now. This one wins, and Lord Shang loses.”

With that, the demon plunges the spear into Shang Qinghua’s stomach.

It’s cold, going in. Terrifying, knowing that there’s something ripping into you. The feeling as your body reacts to a foreign object’s invasion. Not quite at the conclusion that it should hurt, yet. Just… shock.

There’s a brief period of time before the shock makes it hard to move, though. Shang Qinghua knows, from experience, almost exactly how long it will take for his body to realize it’s suppose to be in pain. He has a precious few moments, and his teeth are still bared.

Shang Qinghua has been waiting. He’s good at that. He’s patient. He’s spent most of his life waiting for one thing or another. For plans to come to fruition, for schemes to set. For pieces to fall into place so that he can pull his strings. For this demon to finish his dumbass, dramatic monologue, and make the final blow.

Shang Qinghua is quick — he always has been. At the moment the spearhead enters his flesh, he’s already wriggled an arm forward and grabbed it by the shaft, just below where the demon holds it.

The demon makes a surprised noise when Shang Qinghua uses his grip to pull himself further onto the weapon. It’s the last sound he makes, beyond a wheeze of shock as Shang Qinghua jerks forward into his space and latches his jaw around the demal’s throat.

He sinks his teeth into flesh. It tastes salty. He can feel the point of the spear exiting his back, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He clamps down as hard as he can and thrashes his head to the side and then back again.

The skin under his teeth breaks open. Bloods splurts out, dribbling in rivulets down his chin, and Shang Qinghua bites down even further. Something long and sinewy, stretched like a tube, bursts between his molars, coming apart over his tongue.

The demon collapses, falling away from where he’d been straddling Shang Qinghua’s legs. He crashes to the ground with wide, unseeing eyes, soft gurgles erupting from the demal’s mutilated neck before the sound dies out completely, and Shang Qinghua is left lying there on the cold marble floor, a spear protruding from his midsection.

He stares up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the shock that’s finally settling into his limbs. There’s copper and salt cloying in his mouth. He’s never been a fan of rare steaks, and this is even worse. He feels, distantly, as if he’s going to throw up. But, not now. Maybe in a little bit, after the shock wears off and the pain sets in.

Shang Qinghua experimentally tries to wiggle his toes. He succeeds, and so he moves on to the muscles in his arms, working at them until they contract and retract in the way he wants them to. He lifts up one arm, shakily, and carefully grabs the shaft of the spear that he’s currently impaled upon. He can feel the spearhead pressing uncomfortably against his back, from where it’s exited the wound.

He can’t just pull it out the way that it came in, like he wants to. It will catch, and drag against already torn flesh. The backside of the spearhead is serrated. It will just make it worse.

He has to snap the spear head off before pulling the shaft out.

But, it’s not like a shoddy spear, with a stone head and a wooden shaft. This is a well-crafted weapon, without any seams to serve as a weak point. The spearhead is carved of the same strong metal as the shaft. This was forged by a master weaponsmith, with demonic spells carved elegantly into the detailing.

Shang Qinghua isn’t going to be able to break it with regular, Qi-enhanced strength. He can’t start healing himself until he removes the spear, either. And he can’t push the spear all the way through, since the opposite end is an oddly shaped hilt. Bulky. That would do worse damage than the serrated spearhead.

He’s kind of… stuck. Shang Qinghua isn’t entirely sure how to get the spear out of himself without making it worse. He’ll have to wait until help arrives.

However, he might just bleed out before then!

And, across the room, though his head wound has sluggishly ceased its bleeding, his best friend is still unconscious.

This is fun. Exciting! A real puzzle to solve.

Hey, System!

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Cutscenes? There’s never been cutscenes! This is just another shitty excuse not to help!

I hate you.

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

Shang Qinghua groans, and carefully begins to maneuver himself onto his side.

The pain hits. Thankfully not all at once. It comes in increments, so Shang Qinghua is able to sit up and get his legs underneath him before it really starts making a nuisance of itself, but it does come.

It hurts, dammit. He’s had worse, of course, but it still hurts like a bitch, and there’s a hazy blackness encroaching on the very edges of Shang Qinghua’s vision that won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He shoves the pain to the back of his mind and focuses on standing. It’s an arduous process, but he manages it, and he’s by Shen Qingqiu’s side within thirty seconds of almost drunken stumbling.

Shang Qinghua is very mindful of the spear that still impales him as he kneels in a controlled collapse beside his best friend. He angles his chest away from the other man so the heavy end of the spear points downwards and away from them both. He lifts a visibly shaking hand to Shen Qingqiu’s brow and begins channeling qi into him.

Just because he can’t heal himself with the spear still in him, doesn’t mean he can’t heal his buddy.

It’s a short process. He’s no healer, but he and Mu Qingfang are — close, and Shang Qinghua has learned a thing or two from the very best that their sect has to offer. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are fluttering open within minutes.

“Ow,” the man murmurs, raising a hand to his most-likely aching skull. It lands to cover Shang Qinghua’s, fingers momentarily intertwining with his, and Shen Qingqiu straightens up from where he has slumped against the wall to look over at him.

“What hit me?” he groans, confusion cinching his brow.

Shang Qinghua sucks in a slow, controlled breath. The pain is hammering at his senses insistently, but he shoves it to the back of his mind again. It’s an ongoing battle, like trying to fight off a jumping dog with boundless energy when you’re going off two hours of sleep and are short three cup of coffee. And you have a migraine that makes every single one of your joints feel like there’s a knife stuck in them.

It’s a very specific metaphor. Which might not be a metaphor, but more of an correlation to that one time he’d been roped into dogsitting for his older brother.

That didn’t necessarily hurt as bad as this, per say, but it was like, similarly annoying?

To… being impaled?

Right.

It takes a few moments, Shang Qinghua still focused on channeling his qi, but Shen Qingqiu eventually becomes coherent enough to recall how exactly he’d ended up like this, and he pins him with a sharp look of examination. Which quickly turns to pale-faced horror.

“Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu hisses, eyes wide and terrified. “Airplane, stop! Why are you — why are you healing me? You have a fucking spear sticking out of you, oh my fucking god—!”

They quickly switch positions. Suddenly, Shang Qinghua is the one on the ground, with a panicked Shen Qingqiu leaning over him, hands hovering above the spear but not quite touching it, uncertainty warring with fear on the man’s face. No fan to hide the expression, this time.

Amusement and fondness twists up in Shang Qinghua’s gut, mingling with the internal bleeding that he is most certainly experiencing. He reaches up a hand to clumsily pay at his bro’s face.

“Peerless,” he breathes out. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Bro, you’re so pretty…. I did so, so good…. character descriptions absolutely flawless....”

“Great, you’re delirious.” Shen Qingqiu huffs out, trying to sound annoyed. There’s still that note of fear in there, though, that can’t be mistaken. “Airplane, pull yourself together. How the fuck am I suppose to get this out of you? I need you sober, man.”

“Drunk on paiiin,” Shang Qinghua giggles out in a singsong, and his bro pulls a face.

“That sounds so wrong. Don’t say that. Instead, tell me how to— to unimpale you? Maybe? Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head back. Cold marble presses against his crown. It’s soothing, kinda. He feels like he’s burning up with a fever. The slight chill is… nice. He closes his eyes.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says. A hand lands on his shoulder and gives him a very light shake. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fucking fall asleep! Airplane, please.”

Right.

Shang Qinghua sucks in another slow, careful breath, and forces his eyes open. He fights past the haziness that’s trying to cover his vision, and locks eyes with his martial brother and best friend. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified, eyes wide and damp around the edges.

Awww, he does care!

Shaking the thought away, he reaches out with one hand and slaps his palm against the shaft of the spear. The vibrations travel down its length and into Shang Qinghua, and his entire torso alights with fresh, white hot pain. He stiffens and smothers a cry.

“Shit! Airplane, what the fuck?! Stop!”

He ignores Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua is more awake now, which is exactly what he was going for.

“Bro,” he says. It comes out breathless, more of a wheeze. “We can’t break the spear with normal cultivation.”

“Then how the fuck—?!”

“No, no. Listen. You can’t break it with normal cultivation. It needs an elemental touch, and I’m not about to electrocute myself to death again.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, staring down at him. He blinks.

“But,” Shen Qingqiu says, realization alighting in his eyes. His bro is so clever. “I don’t have a lightning element. Mine is earth.”

“Yep! Bro.”

“Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua swings out his arm and slaps it against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, turning his hand to grab the front of his bro’s robes. He uses his grip to haul himself up into a sitting position, leaning in to speak directly into the other man’s ear.

“Bro, disintegrate the spear. Like, I am begging you here. It fucking hurts.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in order to stare at him. After a few seconds, he shakes his head roughly, eyes wide.

“R—Right!” He says, and reaches out to curl his fingers hesitantly around the spear shaft. His other arm has curled protectively around the small of Shang Qinghua’s back, helping to hold him up as his strength quickly drains away from him.

“Right. Um, just… give me a second. I’m not… um, I’m not really good with elemental techniques….”

“Take your time,” Shang Qinghua says sincerely, before blacking out into his bro’s shoulder.

—

“Hey, Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua glances up from the door of the throne room that they’ve summarily been trapped inside of.

It was a beautiful scheme of their opponent, truly. Using the defenses of the wards that are intended to protect against them. Setting up a grand distraction in the form of a false invasion, drawing away the guards and his king to the frontlines of the battle. Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were trapped within the seat of power of the palace the very moment that the wards had initiated the total lockdown.

Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

It’s a complete, absolute protection — but it can’t do anything to protect them from someone already inside the wards themselves, and subsequently had cut them off from any back up in the form of a teleporting demon king, as not even Mobei Jun himself can break through the ancient wards of his own ancestors.

It was a severe oversight. He’ll have to rectify it immediately, once this is all taken care of and finished.

Loopholes being taken advantage of in such creative ways! Shang Qinghua would be so very impressed, if only they weren’t his wards being made a mockery of.

He looks over at his bro, to find Shen Qingqiu staring down at the corpse of their attacker with an odd look on his face.

Really, Shang Qinghua is kind of embarrassed. For both of them! They could have taken this guy, working together. Neither of them are slackers in the power department, and Shen Qingqiu in particular inherited a pretty strong body to begin with, that he has since only made more powerful. Shang Qinghua himself is, while not exactly super impressive, certainly nothing to sniff at. After all, he is a peak lord, too.

Together, they should have been able to take this guy.

Too bad the dipshit demon had foreseen that, and had worked in the element of surprise. It really had been too quick. Strike down the more powerful of them first, and fight the lesser head on. Shen Qingqiu is unconscious against the wall, and Shang Qinghua is fast, but apparently not fast enough.

Seriously. It’s embarrassing.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Did you….” Shen Qingqiu looks up from the body, glancing at the bloodied mess that is the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes. He points a finger at him, and looks back down at the corpse in clear befuddlement. “Did you, uh…. Um, how exactly did you kill this guy?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his work with the wards. They’re a true beast, really, and he’s gonna need his bro’s help anyway. It’ll take more than just him to dismantle the lockdown. He stands up and wanders over to stare down at the corpse as well.

It’s a fucking mess. The corpse had drained out of the neck until there wasn’t any more blood to bleed, resulting in a massive puddle of deep crimson that has expanded a good five feet in diameter around the demon’s body. The body itself is pale in death, an ashy green color that has become mottled in places due to the absence of blood. The eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at nothing, and the face still bears a slightly slack expression of shock.

It’s disturbing to look at, sure, but they’ve both seen worse. Shang Qinghua is a little confused about why his bro seems so uneasy.

“Uh,” he says, head tilted to the side in thought. “Well, he stabbed me…. hm. Oh! Yeah, so I kinda, like, used the spear to pull him closer so I could, y’know,” Shang Qinghua snaps his teeth in a theatric grimace, and gives his head a slight jerk to the side.

He then smiles brightly at his friend, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t really describe.

“And, yeah,” he finishes, lamely.

“There’s blood,” Shen Qingqiu says. “In your teeth.”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua frowns. He runs his tongue or his teeth, and grimaces for real at the tacky feeling that coats them. Not even going to mention the taste. “Can blood stain, like, bone? Teeth are bone. Do you think it’ll stain?”

“Airplane, did you rip out that guy’s throat with your teeth?”

Shang Qinghua frowns at his friend. “Um, yeah? Didn’t I just say that?”

“Haha, you did.” Shen Qingqiu gives a strange laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “You actually did.”

Shang Qinghua watches in bewilderment as the other man spins on his heel and takes a few steps away from him. His steps bring him closer to the corpse. He stops just shy of his feet kicking into it and stares down at it for a long few moments that feel like they stretch into minutes.

Then, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head slowly, and walks back over to him.

“That’s so fucking metal, bro,” he says, finally. “Like, I’m both terrified and very, very impressed.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua says. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair self-consciously, feeling at where the strands have come loose from his bun. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need a hand with the wards. They can only be unlocked from the inside, and usually I’d be able to just do it myself, but I’m almost spent, dude. Like, I need a fucking nap, as soon as possible. Imma need your qi.”

“Sure, what little I can give of it. I used up a lot on that medical technique for your, uh, impalement. I’m no doctor, man.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. He casts one last vaguely incredulous glance between Shang Qinghua and the demon’s corpse, before following him over to the two, large and imposing throne room doors.

They’re swinging them open about fifteen minutes later, and both of them are forced to duck out of the way as a barrage of deadly sharp icicles comes raining down almost upon their heads.

Shang Qinghua grabs his best friend by the arm and flings him back, raising his other arm up into the air to snap his fingers. He winces at how the movement pulls at his still incredibly sore injury. Thankfully, he’d managed to heel it enough that the wound itself has closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s still got some internal bleeding going on in there.

There’s a light shimmer in the air before them, barely visible, as his qi condenses into a weak physical barrier. Most of the icicles shatter upon contact with it, but some make it through, and Shang Qinghua tugs his increasingly drowsy martial brother out of the line of fire.

Ah, head wounds are so annoying. Guess he’ll have to drag Shen-ge with him to see Qingfang, after all.

“My king!” He shouts, and then raises his voice as another volley of icicles begins to form from the moisture in the air. Being in the cold north, there’s plenty of it. “Mobei Jun! Stop! It’s us!”

The icicles pause, and then fall to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of ice that immediately begin to melt into the floor. There’s no time to appreciate the built-in clean up function born from his beautiful world building skills, however, as a large figure comes striding across the outer hall toward them, intent in every single step.

As soon as Mobei Jun and the retinue of guards spot the two peak lords, they fall to an abrupt stop. The guards all exchange glances, but it’s difficult to make out their expressions underneath the helmets of ice. His king, barefaced as always, looks a little surprised. Not much, of course, but his eyes are a little wider than usual.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and then stops.

“Yes, my king?”

There’s a long strength of silence. Shang Qinghua frowns and turns to his friend, only to find Shen Qingqiu staring at him as well. His fan flutters in front of his face, having appeared out of absolutely nowhere — seriously, does the man keep spares in a qiankun space? — and the eyes that peer over it at him look distinctly amused.

“Shang-ge,” he says, mirth coating every word.

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu watches him for a moment, and then snickers.

“Shen-ge, what?”

“You look like you just ripped someone’s throat out.” Shen Qingqiu comments idly.

Annoyed, Shang Qinghua reaches up and rubs the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He scowls at his bro. “That’s because I just did? Why are you laughing at me?”

Someone coughs. It sounds like one of the guards. Another hurriedly shushes the one, and all the demons in the hall are very still and very silent. It’s kind of eerie, actually. Mobei Jun is still staring at him, too.

Is it because Shang Qinghua has made such a mess? He will clean it up, your majesty, he promises!

“What did it taste like?” Shen Qingqiu suddenly wonders aloud, watching him inquisitively, and Shang Qinghua rounds on him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Gross.” He says firmly. He wipes his sleeve over his mouth once more, for good measure. Blood flakes off of his chin, and he makes a face. “Disgusting. I’m never doing that again. Ugh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flutters, and his friend laughs at him.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, this time more firmly.

He turns toward his king and folds his hands out in front of him, bowing just slightly enough to show respect. “My king, this one will have the mess cleaned up, do not worry. However, both this one and his martial brother require the assistance of our fellow peak lord after such an ordeal, so if your Majesty would allow us….”

Mobei Jun’s haze sharpens, and he takes a step forward. Always one to read in between the lines of what is being said, he demands answers. “You are hurt?”

“This one was impaled. Healed now, but likely requires further treatment just in case. Brother Shen has a head wound that I would like for our sect doctor to look at.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, annoyed.

He sways slightly to the side, righting himself before Shang Qinghua can reach out to steady him, and gives him an impervious look when he tries to set his hand on the man’s arm anyway.

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Sure, as Shen-ge says. Would you like to tell Qingfang, or should I?”

Shen Qingqiu glares at him.

He turns back to Mobei Jun, who has taken a few steps to the side and is trying to peer around them for a glimpse at the mess on the throne room floor. Shang Qinghua steps in front of him, blocking the view.

His king narrows his eyes at him, and Shang Qinghua swallows down the usual nervousness that tries to crawl up his throat at the look. He is tired, he’s got a headache, his qi levels are at rock bottom, he’d just been impaled, and Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves a fucking nap, okay?

He summons up a polite smile and gives his king another bow. “If my king permits it…?” He hedges once again.

Mobei Jun glowers at him for a couple more long moments, the line of demonic guardsmen at his back unrelenting and immovable.

“The invasion force at the gates,” his king says slowly, eyes once again going to the throne room just beyond their little rendezvous point here. “It was only a bluff?”

“Yes, my king.”

“And the assassin?”

“Dead, my king.”

“.... Hmph.”

Well, Shang Qinghua has no idea what that sound means.

Mobei Jun stares at him some more, before finally nodding his head once. “This king will take you to Qian Cao.”

Shang Qinghua beams at the man. “That would be amazing! Many thanks, my king!”

Mobei Jun lets out a huff and pivots on his heel to face the contingent of guardsdemals instead, his back shown to them.

From Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Shen Qingqiu quietly snorts into his fan.

“Gather a cleaning crew for both the battlefield and the throne room,” Mobei Jun barks out, and the guards scatter.

He turns back to face the two peak lords, and holds out one arm, not even looking at them.

Shang Qinghua wraps one arm around his bro’s waist. From how unsteady Shen Qingqiu still is, he doesn’t really trust the man to hold on for the entire trip. And falling off mid-teleportation is definitely not fun. Shang Qinghua can attest to that.

Mobei Jun is scowling when he reaches out and sets his arm into the crook of the king’s elbow, but he steps into the teleportation before Shang Qinghua can even consider asking him what’s wrong.

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary:  Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you?  Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever.  “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation 

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

[bilbobagginsbrainrotblog]

Bagginses of Bag End, 1, 3, or 6?

!!!! thank you SO SO much for all the wonderful prompts you sent in! They're all adorable and I'm gonna get to them all in chronological order!!

Here is the first one! I didn't manage to squeeze "bonfire" in there but I hope you like it anyway :) I'll also put it under the readmore in case you don't wanna go to A03!

There was a cold draft whistling about the bedroom when Bilbo awoke, startling him out of light dreams. The windowpane was fogged, and dew seemed to have seeped into the room. A cold white September mist was gathered about Bag End, wrapping it in the hazey embrace of an early autumn chill. Bilbo rose and stretched, feeling the knots of sleep reluctantly work themselves out. He tied on his dressing gown and, out of habit, reached for the bedside table where he kept his magic ring- tucked neatly behind a pouch of pipeweed- and as he did so something struck his senses.

A warm, familiar smell- the smell of coffee, drifting in from the hall. But that couldn’t be right- he peered out the window again. It was still very early, not even dawn yet. He had been up late the night before preparing things; bacon and sausage and eggs, and gravy and marmalade and pans of warm scones ready for the oven- all in preparation for a breakfast he was still an hour from needing to worry about. So where was that smell coming from?

Quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom and crept two doors down. The guest room he had prepared for Frodo seemed occupied- the blankets were rumpled around a prone lump in the bed, and the pillows were in a disarray. Now even more confused, he continued on- coming to a stop at the kitchen entrance.

His young cousin was at the stove, his back to Bilbo, stirring a pot of bubbling gravy that seemed on the verge of crystallization. To his left bacon smoldered in a pan and a plate of finished eggs lay steaming beneath a half-opened window, and above it all the intoxicating aroma of coffee swirled about the space.

“Well, well, well.” Said Bilbo, and was rewarded with a “clang!” as Frodo jumped and dropped the spoon he was holding, “and here I wondered if thieves had broken in and decided to have a cup of tea while they worked.”

His nephew turned, looking half bashful and half annoyed.

“And I was being so quiet, too.” He huffed, “I’d really hoped the pillow trick would fool you, and I could wake you up when everything was done.” He motioned to the opened window with a retrieved spoon- “I even cracked the window in the hopes you wouldn’t smell it.”

“Yes, well that would explain why it’s so freezing cold.” Bilbo nodded, and pulled his robe tighter around his shoulders. “But I’m afraid great minds think alike my lad.” He moved past him to rescue the bacon from off the stove as he spoke, no longer able to stand watching it blacken.

“Well, it’s nearly done anyway.” Said Frodo, with a hint of pride in his voice, “If you’ll fix us both a plate, I’ll make the coffee.”

******

Before long everything was served. Frodo put down two steaming mugs of coffee just as Bilbo sat down to his plate.

“You must let me know how everything is.” Frodo insisted, and Bilbo was glad he had said it, because right at that minute the first forkful of eggs reached his mouth.

They were terrible.

Bilbo took careful pains to look very thoughtful, and not at all sickened, as he chewed. They were overdone, under seasoned, and...somehow rubbery?

“Well?” Asked Frodo, his eyes practically shining, “those were my second attempt.”

Bilbo swallowed, smiling with some effort as he pondered what kind of damage had been done to his larder.

“They’re remarkable.” He said (and meant it), “You’ve got the makings of quite a cook.”

“Good! I’m so glad.” Said Frodo, “Try the gravy next.”

“Oh I will, I will,” Said Bilbo, casting a dubious eye at it, “But first, er- before I forget- thank you for all this.” he said, “Whatever got it into your head to do it? You are a guest, you know.”

Frodo leaned back into his chair, cradling his mug in front of him,

“I wanted to thank you.” He said seriously,

“For what?” Asked Bilbo, stabbing at a forkful of bacon (even burned bacon being nearly impossible to ruin), “I haven’t even given you a present yet.”

“For letting me stay here for our birthday.” Said Frodo, “I’ve really enjoyed it. It’s not at all like birthdays at Brandy Hall.”

Bilbo tried not to frown around his forkful, as he swallowed it down with some effort.

“Is there something wrong with Brandy Hall?” He asked, seriously, “You do- I mean, you are happy there aren’t you?”

Frodo smiled wryly, “Oh I am, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He said quickly, “They’re wonderful to me there, and it was very kind of them to take me in. But you can feel so...lost in the mix, I suppose. Especially on birthdays, with them happening so often, and with so many people to get presents for. But here it’s more...I’m not sure. Special, I suppose. Reminds me of…”

He trailed off, shrugging, and took a sip of his coffee. Bilbo did the same, and then he said,

“Well then! I couldn’t agree more. We will have to make a tradition, won’t we?”

“Can we?!” Asked Frodo quickly, and then, remembering himself, he settled back down, “I’d like that- if it’s no burden on you of course. I’d hate to take advantage.”

“To have a fine cook like you about, I’d say it’s an excellent tradeoff.” Laughed Bilbo, and bit into a stone of a scone, washing it down with a long sip from his mug.

The coffee, at least, was wonderful.

[after-avenging-hours]

Virtue & Valor [4]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 5814

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language, Hydra!Cap is kind of an asshole, this part contains smut (18+), rough sex (still consensual), foreplay of the violent variety, knife play, gun play(kind of?), blood, biting, sass dialed up to 11

“What is the status of our patients?” the disembodied voice fills the space of the lab.

“The memory data transfer has been completed in both patients. Subject Alpha-18 was quicker to respond to the package, but Alpha-19 soon followed suit,” one of the scientists speaks while looking over their computer monitor.

“Excellent. Any change to the subcortical activity?” the voice asks.

“None, yet,” a different scientist responds. “But Doctor, are you sure allowing the Avengers access to the mainframe to give the patients their memories back was a good idea? What if they try to turn on us?”

“Both patients had retreated into the safety of their subconscious. The best way to draw them out is to give them the false hope that there is an escape. The Avengers are mere insects in this world; insignificant at best and a minor annoyance at worst. We still hold all of the control. Run them both through simulation 764-1. Let’s see if there are any changes.”

“Yes, Dr. Zola,” the scientists respond.

-

It’s fucking cold here. God, do you hate it. Nothing but a barren, frozen wasteland. The stone walls of the facility do nothing to keep out the chill. Your lungs feel like you’re breathing in shards of ice and the cold settles deep into your bones. It’s miserable. But it’s all that you know.

Agonizing screams of pain echo throughout the compound, making many of the soldiers and agents shift uneasily on their feet as you walk past. You don’t pay them any attention and continue to make your way toward the sound. They are just finishing up with the asset as you enter the main space. He’s still strapped into the machine, but it’s beginning to power down.

“Welcome back, Captain.” An older man stands before the asset, looking down at the compliant soldier.

“Ready to serve, Secretary Pierce,” the Captain responds without emotion through panting breaths.

“We have a mission for you. Intel extraction. Agent Valor will accompany you.”

The asset’s gaze briefly flickers to you, “I work better alone, sir.”

Your eyes narrow as you glare back, and your jaw clenches to bite back a retort.

Pierce chuckles without humor. “I’m sure you can make an exception here, Captain. Please, remind me again… when you fell from the train in 1945, who saved your life?”

The asset swallows thickly before responding. “Hydra.”

“That’s correct.” The director begins to pace in front of him. “You were left in the snow to die a long, cold, lonely death. We rescued you. We took you in. We gave you everything. You owe us for that, don’t you?” He pauses his footing and looks expectantly at the asset.

“Yes, sir,” his response is automatic.

The director resumes his pacing. “You owe us your life, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We gave you a purpose. We gave your life meaning. Didn’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pierce comes to a stop once more, directly in front of the asset, looking down at him with authority. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You’ve shaped the future. We need you to do it again. Will working with Agent Valor be a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” He steps back and addresses the rest of the room. “Prep him. They leave in 20 minutes.”

You’re already waiting at the back ramp of the jet as the asset walks up, decked out in his black and red uniform. He wears a helmet that covers the top half of his face but keeps that sharp jaw and those plump lips in full view. “Soldat,” you greet, pushing off the wall you’re leaning against to stand straight.

He comes to a stop in front of you and looks into your eyes with cool indifference. “It’s Captain,” he corrects. “I am in command of this mission. You will do exactly as I say, no questions asked. Am I making perfectly clear, Agent?”

You raise a single brow in defiance. “Yes, Captain.”

“Good,” he turns away and moves further into the jet, settling in place at the pilot’s seat.

You slam your fist against the red button on the wall to close up the ramp before moving toward the co-pilot’s chair. You frown at the slight hesitation you feel as you approach the chair. You’ve never been scared of flight travel, so you’re unsure where this apprehension is coming from. You try to push it aside as you take your seat and buckle in.

“This is Captain Hydra, initiating take off,” the asset’s rough voice cuts through the communication system of the jet.

You glance at him from your periphery, feeling a strange tug in the back of your mind because that name sounds so strange coming out of him.

“All clear,” the transmission comes back.

The jet begins its vertical ascent before taking off. The asset remains silent during the entire flight to your destination, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. You can’t seem to understand why the words Captain and Hydra just sound so wrong together.

“We should divide and conquer,” he finally speaks when you’re just a few minutes out. “I’ll drop you on the roof and work my own way in from the ground up.”

You blink in confusion, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. “You want to split up? Why?”

He gives you a flat look, “That sounded an awful lot like a question, Agent.”

You grit your teeth and look away, recalling his earlier order. You will do exactly as I say, no questions asked. “Apologies, Captain.”

You unclip the seat straps and stand as he pulls the jet into position over the building. He keeps the jet in stealth mode, although the cover of night also helps to keep you hidden as you press the button to lower the back ramp. You hook a descent line into your utility belt before jumping out the back of the jet and allow the line to safely lower you onto the roof of the building. Once your boots have hit the cement, you unclip the line and watch it zip up into the open back of the jet. Once the ramp is closed back up, the jet is impossible to see. All you can do now is trust that he hasn’t just straight up abandoned you.

You head for the rooftop access door. It’s locked, but that certainly isn’t enough to keep you out. Just a few seconds with a lockpick kit and you’re in. Your steps are completely silent as you walk down the stairs and onto the top floor. You press your back against the wall and peek around the corner to make sure the coast is clear.

It sure as hell is not.

You hold in a gasp and pull your head back. You close your eyes tight and lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Captain,” you whisper quietly, so as not to be detected by the agents on the other side of the wall. “Captain, do you copy?”

“What?” his annoyed response cuts through the feed.

You’re pretty sure you’ve just felt a vein pop in your forehead as annoyance surges within you. “Rooftop access is a bust, requesting immediate evac.”

“No.”

You clench your fists, wishing you could release a groan of frustration. “Sir, I don’t think you understand. The top floor is crawling with agents. I won’t be able to get through undetected.”

“It’s not a stealth mission. Make it work.”

“Sir, there’s at least thirty of them!”

He’s quiet for a short moment and you think he might be reconsidering for you. “Sounds like the odds are in your favor,” he responds before the line goes dead.

Your jaw drops, “Captain… Cap-” Your release the smallest possible groan you can, the sound vibrating through your body. You’re gonna fucking kill him.

Rolling back your shoulders and releasing a long breath, you mentally psych yourself up for the fight that’s about to breakout.

Darting out from your hiding space, you make quick work of three agents before the rest catch on to what’s happening. Your main goal is to incapacitate, not kill, but they certainly don’t make it easy on you. You dodge flying fists and return them with swift kicks and jabs of your own. You use their numbers against them, by shoving one body back into another two or three.

You manage to get through at least half of them before the remaining agents can get you pinned down. You thrash under their hold like a wild animal, but they don’t give. “Take her to interrogation,” one of the agents commands the rest.

You fight and resist the whole way, but it’s no use. You’ve been captured and now you’re trapped. You’re beginning to wonder if this was the Captain’s plan all along. Just to get you out of his hair so you’re no longer his problem. You’re relieved of your weapons before getting forced into a chair with your hands cuffed behind your back. Once the agents have made sure that you’re secure, they leave the room and lock the door behind them.

You sit there brooding in silence as you attempt to plan your escape. It’s only a few minutes that pass before the lights above you blackout. The red back up power lights begin to flash a second later. The power outage is soon followed by the door opening and a dark figure stepping into the room.

“You smug bastard. You knew there’d be a swarm of them on the top floor!” you seethe as the asset approaches you.

He rips the handcuffs apart with his bare hands, releasing you from the chair. “I needed a distraction,” he tells you casually like that’s all the answer that you require.

You stand and pin him with a glare, stepping close until your chests touch. “If Pierce finds out I was captured, he’ll kill me. You know the fucking rules!”

“Relax,” he scoffs. “They had you for all of 5 minutes and you were alone the whole time.”

Your hand darts forward, fingers curling around the grip of the gun strapped to his thigh before you yank it out of the holster. He remains completely unmoved as you raise the gun and fire. The bullet hits its intended mark; lodged into the shoulder of the agent that was about to enter the room.

“You’re welcome,” you comment, twirling the gun in your hand and slide it back into his holster.

The corner of his mouth twitches; the only hint of emotion on his otherwise blank face. “I heard them coming.”

“Sure you did.” You step around him to head for the door, finishing off the agent with a quick slam of their head into the doorframe, knocking them out. You grab your weapons from the table outside the door and stash them back in their respective places. “Did you get the intel?” you ask the asset.

He gives you a cold stare back.

“Just checking,” you snark with a shrug.

“Let’s go.”

You attempt to reign in your emotions knowing that they certainly won’t be of any use to get you out of here. The Captain takes the lead, traveling down the various halls of the facility as the lights above slowly shift between red and black. You’re both about to turn a corner when the asset stops suddenly and you crash into him. It’s literally like slamming into a wall.

Before you get a chance to go off on him, he’s turning and shoving you backward. One of his hands cup over your mouth to keep you silent. The leather from his fingerless gloves is hot against your lips. He tucks you both into a dark alcove, your back firmly pressed to the wall while he boxes you in with his muscular frame. You feel his thick thigh slipping between yours, his hips pinning you to the wall.

The flashing red lights don’t reach this small corner of space, so you can barely make out the intensity of his eyes as he looks down at you. It’s more of a feeling rather than anything visual, but it sends an unexpected and unexplainable thrill through you. You’re pretty sure he can feel the change in your breathing where his fingers are pressed just below your nose. His response is the barest shift in his stance, but it’s unmistakable when his thigh flexes, pushing forward into your spread legs and against your core.

You curse the clench you feel from your traitorous body giving in to her arousal. It takes everything in you not to fall into temptation and grind against him. You’re pretty sure that it’s not a pistol you feel pressed so intimately against you. Luckily, a distraction comes in the sound of pounding boots headed your way.

You begin to understand what the asset is doing as a group of agents runs passed without even noticing your presence. The two of you hold still until well after the sounds of the agents have faded away. Once the coast is clear, the Captain steps back, his hand slipping from your mouth. You can’t help the small dart of your tongue against your lower lip, the remnant of leather still clinging to the flesh.

“One minute before power and cameras are restored,” the asset’s voice is gruff, but not in the same manner it usually is.

You nod silently, unsure how your own voice will sound after that little episode.

The both of you manage to make it out of the facility without further incident and the asset leads you to where he’d stashed the jet. It uncloaks upon your approach and the back ramp soon lowers. You take your respective seats and the adrenaline high from the mission begins to fade once you’re airborne. You lean your head back against the chair and release a long breath. Now that the danger has passed, you feel some of that anger and frustration seeping back in. You still can’t believe that his plan had been to wave you around as bait.

“There’s a safe house not too far from this location. It’s late. We can bunk there and return to base in the morning,” he tells you, plugging in the coordinates.

You make a non-committal sound from the back of your throat.

You’re out of your seat as soon as the jet has landed, uncaring as the Captain still needs to run through the landing procedure to power down the jet. You’re out the back of the jet as soon as the ramp is down and head straight for the safe house. It’s a quaint little rural cottage out in the middle of nowhere. There’s a hidden panel in the wall which reveals a lockbox with a digital keypad on it. You type in the code to open the box which disables the alarm system and reveals the key for the front door. The asset is beginning to make his way toward the house as you open the door and step inside.

“I don’t know why you’re pouting,” he speaks upon following you inside. “The mission was a success.”

“I’m not pouting,” you glare at him over your shoulder. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

His eyes narrow dangerously, “I know the real reason Pierce made me bring you. I don’t need a fucking baby sitter.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You don’t know a Goddamn thing, Captain! I’m not your baby sitter. I was supposed to be your partner and instead, you thought it best to throw me to the wolves! World’s greatest soldier, my ass.”

You turn on your heel with the intention of walking away but barley make it a single step before a grip on your arm forces you to turn back around. The sharp whistle of a knife slicing through the air can be heard before your blade settles at the base of his throat. He doesn’t even flinch, keeping his grip on your other arm, his eyes blank.

“Choose your next words wisely, Captain,” you warn through gritted teeth.

His features don’t change, but the intensity behind his eyes increases as he looks deeply into yours. It feels like he can read your very soul within them. “You’re just as trapped as I am,” he finally speaks with vague realization.

“Yeah, no shit,” you respond sarcastically. “Every single person in that facility is one mistake away from a body bag.”

“Then why stay?” he questions.

“You’re kidding me, right?” you shoot him an incredulous look. “There is nowhere you can run that Hydra won’t find you. And with my damn luck, you’d be the one that they send after me. No offense, but your pretty-boy face isn’t exactly the last thing I want to see before I die.”

His eyes flash with an indescribable emotion before he leans forward into your knife. The blade is sharp enough that it begins to pierce the sensitive flesh of his neck. You pull it back immediately, looking up at him curiously. His large, calloused fingers glide over yours to pull the blade from your hands. He tosses it carelessly to the side, not even watching as it imbeds itself into the wall.

Your eyes dart down to the flash of red that’s beginning to bead up just below his Adam’s apple. One drop is able to build enough mass that it begins to glide down the column of his throat. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you to do it, but before the drop can reach the collar of his suit, you dart forward and catch it on your tongue.

His blood sends a burst of flavor across your taste buds. It’s not the normal metallic tang of sanguine blood. His is almost sweet. It’s electric. You follow the droplet’s trail back to its source and lap over the shallow cut. Your tongue is hot and wet against his skin. You only get one more taste before his accelerated healing closes the minor wound.

When you pull back, you’re not expecting the heated look in his eyes. With just a few quick steps, he has you pinned against the wall for the second time tonight. This time, though, you don’t quite mind it as much. “I don’t think you understand what exactly you’re about to unleash here,” his words come with an edge of danger that excites you.

Your lips curl at the corners and you’re sure that your pupils are blown wide. “Care to enlighten me, Captain?”

His jaw ticks as his eyes flicker between yours. “I don’t do long and slow.”

The tilt of your mouth turns into a full-on smirk. “Well, I don’t submit easily.” You duck under his arm and slide out from where he has you pinned to the wall.

He turns quickly to give chase, only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. His muscles tense as he pauses. He looks down, noting the empty holster on his thigh before meeting your gaze once again. “You’ve sure got a thing for pulling guns out of holsters that don’t belong to you.”

Your smirk turns into a teasing grin. You slide your thumb across the latch to release the magazine from the pistol. You toss the loaded mag in one direction and check the chamber of the gun before tossing it in another. “That’s not the only weapon I plan on unholstering. But you’ve got to earn it first. Think you can handle that, Captain?”

He shifts on his feet and squares his shoulders. His hands come up slowly to unclip the chin strap of his helmet. Once it’s loose, he hooks his thumbs under the front edge just above his cheekbones before he lifts the helmet up and off his face. He tosses it carelessly to the side, still holding your gaze. His short blonde locks stick up in every direction and the corner of his mouth tilts deviously. “On va voir.”

He makes the first move, jolting forward to try to grab you. You dance just out of his reach with a twinkling laugh. The game of cat and mouse has begun. You kick your leg up when he tries to move in again. He catches your foot and pins your ankle against his side. He continues to keep your leg trapped with one hand while the other slips into the top of your boot to pull out the small knife you keep there. It clatters to the floor and slides across the polished wood until it hits the far wall. He then unties the laces of your boot next. When you feel the tension give against the front of your calf, a swift yank back on your leg is enough to free you from his grasp, leaving only an empty boot in his hands. He tosses that to the floor as well.

Taking a few steps back, you pull off your second boot, so the weight difference won’t throw you off. Both of your socks go next to prevent slipping on the hardwood flooring. The two of you surge forth at the same time, meeting in the center of the room in a flurry of movement. It’s a spontaneous and sporadic sparring session that’s been fuel-injected with carnal sensuality. Every single jab, punch, or kick is swiftly followed by a weapon dropping to the floor. Guns, knives, and grenades are efficiently stripped and carelessly tossed aside. Your utility belts and his shoulder harness are also removed with striking precision.

You hit him across the cheek with your elbow, stunning him temporarily to then hoist yourself across the length of his torso and up onto his shoulders. His eyes flash like a bolt of lightning as he looks up at you, his cheeks framed on either side by your thighs. “Comfortable?” you ask with a teasing grin.

 “I’m sure this is something I could get used to.” His hands settle on your lower back. “Though I think we would both be enjoying ourselves better if you had taken your pants off first.”

Your grin turns into a smirk. You lock your ankles around the back of his neck before letting your torso fall back and swing to the side. The momentum of your movement causes the Captain to tip forward and twist until he’s crashing to the floor on his back. In the middle of the move, you uncross your ankles and disconnect from him to land on your feet like a cat.

He makes a nearly imperceptible sound upon impact with the floor and then releases a short grunt when you drop onto his chest. His jaw ticks as he looks up at you once again. “I let you do that,” he responds gruffly.

You hum in amusement, “I’m sure you did.” You sit back on your bent knees and run your hands down the front of his uniform. The thick material and armored plating prevent you from getting a good feel at what lies beneath, but you know it’s certainly a body worth protecting. You shake your head slowly and release a soft tsk as your fingers brush against the red stitching at the center of his chest. “God, this logo is fucking hideous. You would think they’d eventually grow the balls to change it after all these years.”

He chuckles darkly. “You could try sending an email to marketing.”

You keep your gaze locked with his as you reach for one of his hands. You lift it up and unlatch the strap at his wrist to loosen his fingerless glove. Your fingers brush against the tips of his before you’re peeling the leather away. You toss it over your shoulder, tearing your gaze from his to watch your fingers glide over the lines on his palm. Your head tilts slightly as you lean down. Your tongue makes another appearance, licking up the length of his index finger. You nip teasingly at the pad before the tip disappears entirely inside your mouth. Your tongue strokes against the sensitive skin. The asset swears he can feel that same sensation where his cock is still confined inside his tactical pants.

His breathing changes as you slip a second finger into the hot cavern of your mouth. You suck on his digits like a fucking pro. He can even feel the vibration of your moans through your tongue. You’d think he had dipped his fingers into a pot of honey with the way your tongue glides over every single inch of them. Your grip on his wrist tightens as you pull his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop.

It only takes him half a second to roll you both to the side until you’re the one flat on your back. The arousal burning through him lights a fire in his eyes as he looks down at you with a feral look. Lifting his other hand to his face, he uses his teeth to unlatch and pull off the leather material. Bare hands grip the top of your thighs, keeping them spread wide as he ruts his hips into yours.

Your back arches and your eyes fall shut at the barest hint of friction against your clit. The Captain sits up and makes quick work of the top half of his uniform. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your eyes feast upon the newly bared plains of finely corded muscle. He’s certainly a sight to look at. With a body that appears to have been hand-carved out of marble and eyes as intense as a hurricane, it’s enough to make just about anyone want to drop their panties.

You reach for the zipper on the front of your uniform and drag it down your torso. His eyes zero in on the movement, pupils widening with every inch of your revealed skin. Your thighs clench around his hips and your abs tighten as you sit up until your chest is nearly brushing his. You shrug out of your suit, allowing it to fall off your shoulders and down to your hips. You wear a simple black sports bra underneath.

The Captain watches you with a hooded gaze. “Are you finally ready to submit?”

You push your chest forward, molding your body against his. Your hands settle upon his broad shoulders, gliding over the thick muscles toward his neck. One hand stops right at the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, but the other continues its course up the side of his neck and sinks into the hair at his nape. Your nails scratch at his scalp, causing an unmistakable shiver to run through him. His eyes are drawn to your mouth as you lean in closer. Your nose has just barely brushed against his when your hand tightens into a fist in his hair and you yank his head to the side. “Not quite,” you finally respond to his question.

His breath hisses through his teeth at the sharp jolt of pain against his sensitive scalp, but that soon turns into a loud curse when your teeth sink into the exposed flesh of his neck. “Fuck!” The sting of your bite shoots straight to his cock. It twitches and strains against the confining material of his pants, begging to plunge into the sanctuary of your wet heat. “Did that taste of my blood turn you into a fucking vampire?” he asks with a grimace as you retract your teeth from his skin.

Your tongue laps at the fresh mark. You didn’t even break the skin. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave anything behind that can’t be healed by the time we make it back to base.” You meet his darkened gaze with a sultry smirk.

The air between you two is positively electric. It crackles and sparks like a livewire. It’s hot and intense, and at the same time seems to charge you up until every single molecule that makes up your entire being is vibrating with energy.

With the next heartbeat, you’re flat on your back once more. His mouth is everywhere, nipping at your neck, your shoulders, and your chest. You hear the distinct sound of tearing fabric before the binding feel of your sports bra disappears entirely. You are far too aroused to care. Large hands come up to mold and squeeze your breasts while his lips and teeth mark up your skin.

You’re absolutely shameless in the way your hips rock and grind against his erection. You can feel your arousal soaking into your underwear where the thick ridge of his cock presses against you. Your body is thrumming with pent up sexual need. You are quickly becoming desperate for any sort of friction on your aching core.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving behind angry red streaks across pale skin. Again, the pain surges through his neurons and sends another jolt to his cock. Drops of precum have begun to collect on the front of his boxer briefs. He pushes himself back up, ignoring your whine of protest when his hands leave your breasts. He drags them down your chest and passed the curve of your waist. They then sink beneath the top edge of where your uniform clings to your hips. In one fell swoop, your uniform and panties are stripped from your legs and tossed to the side.

“Hands and knees. Ass up,” the Captain orders in a gruff tone.

You are quick to comply, willing and ready to submit to him. You roll onto your stomach before bringing in your knees and lifting your ass into the air. The hardwood beneath you isn’t exactly comfortable and you know your knees will be bruised by the end of this, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. Your pussy is in complete control now and she’s willing to do just about anything to get her fill on some thick Super Soldier cock.

You resist the urge to look back at him to see what he’s doing. It doesn’t take long before you hear the sound of shuffling clothing as the Captain shoves his tactical pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. If he were trying to go for a little more intimacy, he might’ve taken the time to completely remove the last few pieces of his uniform, but the slick scent of your arousal has hit him like a slap to the face and it is entirely too easy to give in to carnal instinct and take you now.

He spits into his palm and gives himself a few lengthy strokes. The sound is absolutely filthy and conjures all sorts of images in your mind. You arch your back and spread your knees a little wider as you feel him move in close. You don’t care if it makes you seem needy and desperate, because honestly, that’s exactly what you are.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his head lined up with your entrance. That’s the only warning you get before a quick snap of his hips pushes his entire length into you. The impact of his thrust feels like the recoil of a firearm. It's harsh and fast but also sends a thrill up your spine.

He fucks you without mercy like he’s lost complete control over himself. The thwack of his balls fills your ears as they slap against your clit. His hands grip your waist, keeping you in place as your body is left unable to do anything but accept his punishing pace. You’re pretty sure this should hurt, the way he takes you like an animal in heat, but it doesn’t.

Your cunt is so fucking wet with arousal, that you begin to hear a squelch with every thrust. If you weren’t in the middle of having your brains fucked out of you, you might have been a little embarrassed. The asset takes this as a sign to up the pace even more.

One of his hands slides away from your hip and down over your stomach. He hooks his arm around your torso and hoists your body up until your back is pressed to his chest. His unrelenting thrusts never cease. In fact, it appears that he’s able to hit you even deeper from this new position.

“Look at you,” his breath fans across the side of your neck when he speaks directly into your ear. “Such a good, submissive little Agent, taking your Captain’s cock so well.”

The pitiful whimper that escapes your throat would piss you off if you were in your right mind. He angles his hips just right to hit you in that one spot that makes your mind go blank.

“Are you gonna cum for me, Agent?” he asks with a nip of his teeth against your ear.

“Yes, Captain,” you respond through panting breaths.

“Good girl,” he praises in a deep tone that makes your body shiver. “Touch your clit,” he orders next, feeling his impending release starting to build up.

His arms tighten around you, keeping your body pinned to his as your hand slips between your thighs. You gather some of the excess slick right where your bodies are joined onto your fingertips before dragging them over your aching bundle. You flick and swirl over the small bud, vocalizing your pleasure with stunted gasps and tiny mewls.

The Captain releases soft grunts and heavy breaths directly into your ear. They’re the type of sounds that would make you weak in the knees if you were standing. They’re deep and guttural, pouring out of him like secrets slipping out from the cracks of a broken soul.

Your hand reaches up and back, fingers finding their way back into his messy hair. Your touch is gentle this time as you guide his face closer. Your lips brush against his in a slow caress. His pace falters briefly. In the next second, one of his hands has come up to cradle the back of your neck and he resumes his savage pace, kissing you just as fiercely.

He steals your breath and swallows your moans, taking you with a ferocity you’ve never known before. He claims your body as his own and brings you to heights you didn’t know you could reach. Your moans grow higher in pitch and come with greater frequency as the pleasure builds in your body.

Just a few more quick thrusts and one last flick of your finger, then suddenly your vision whites out. You barely feel the strength of his arms tightening around you before you lose all physical sensation.

In the next moment, you’re bolting up in bed, drenched in sweat with the sheets clinging to your damp body. You’re panting for breath like you’ve just run a marathon, and lift a shaking hand to your forehead. “What the fuck was that…?” you ask to the empty room.

[presumenothing]

in a box (to the left)

also on ao3

“What’re you doing here.”

Minamoto – and it is still weird not thinking of him as President Minamoto even in the space of Akane’s own head – smiles, with every appearance of obliviousness to the starry-eyed looks being thrown his way. That much hasn’t changed. “Why do I need an ulterior motive to come congratulate you on your graduation?”

Well. That one’s easy, at least. “Because you’re you.”

Minamoto raises one shoulder in a half-shrug; fair enough. “Maybe I came to see if the school was still standing. And what do you know, it is! Excellent job indeed, President Aoi.”

Ah, so Minamoto’s here as a visceral reminder of the record time in which he can rile Akane up like nobody else. “Not any more the president than you are now, I finished the handover ages ago.”

Akane’s once-vice-president is a perfectly normal human, only remarkable in the way her penchant for organisation rivals his own. The mundanity of it is staggering.

Minamoto appears to be thinking along the same route, judging by the faint smirk that surfaces along with the familiar urge to punch it off his face. “And you, too: a hundred percent human again. C’mon, give.”

Akane eyes the outstretched hand with distaste. “What, you really came back after a year just to retrieve a pair of glasses?”

Minamoto doesn’t even have the grace to look abashed. “You don’t need them anymore. Perfect eyesight aside, it’s actually a hazard more than anything, now that you’re no longer in this school with its background supernatural infestation.”

How he manages to say this school like someone else would say radioactive cesspit, Akane has no idea. “Scared I’ll attract flies?”

“Of the non-fruity kind,” Minamoto says, deadpan, like he’s ever productively spent an hour of kitchen time in his life. (Akane still isn’t sure how he passed home economics without bribery involved.) “I haven’t actually got all day to wait around, Aoi. Buy another pair if you like being bespectacled so much.”

“Maybe I like the look of this specific pair,” Akane retorts, but it’s mostly on reflex, because he’s suddenly caught by a terrible idea. “I’ll hand them over, on one condition.”

Minamoto raises an eyebrow in a manner that Akane imagines would look cooler to someone who hadn’t learned to associate it with promptly being dangled from the ceiling. “And what would that be?”

“Reverse the current enchantments so I can see supernaturals. And give it back to me afterwards.”

“That’s two conditions,” he points out, ever the pedant, but – miracle of miracles – doesn’t actually quibble over that for once. “I wasn’t kidding about an enchantment potentially attracting supernaturals, Aoi, especially one cast by me. Which is fact, not hubris, before you say anything.”

“Wasn’t about to,” Akane says, honestly. “And that’s still better than knowing they’re out there but going in blind. I’ll take the risk, if it’s all the same to you.”

He’d forgotten how quiet Minamoto could get, head tilted with that shrewd look in his eyes. “Is this about Akane-san?”

“None of your damn business,” Akane snaps back without even meaning to, and yanks his glasses off with enough force that the frame creaks. “Either do it or get out of my face, I’m already running late.”

Minamoto flicks his hand over the glasses with a faint furrow in his brow, but it doesn’t feel any different even after he draws back. “That’s the current enchantment gone. I’ll need some time to work out the new one and gather materials. You remember where our house is?”

Akane puts the glasses back on; they still feel no different. “Unfortunately.”

“Come by this weekend. Evening, preferably, so there’ll be more supernaturals to test on. Though I’ll be just as happy if you never show.”

“Bet you’d be,” Akane mutters only half under his breath. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, President Minamoto.”

“Not any more the president than you are either, Aoi. See you this Saturday, and bring food!” he calls over his shoulder along with a dazzlingly fake smile, and sallies off into the adoring crowd before Akane can even say anything.

Asshole. It’d only serve him right if Akane turned up on Sunday and empty-handed, see if he didn’t.

[pretchatta]

the laws of spectre dynamics

I know it’s been a little while, but the university au continues! future updates will be more frequent, and you can always subscribe on AO3 to get notifications for each new chapter.

prev. chapters | chapter three

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

---

The pale morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Lying on her front, cheek pressed into the pillow, Hera’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was still early.

She stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets against bare skin. Lazy Saturday mornings always felt good. She rolled onto her side and was reminded of the other reason this particular morning felt so good; the man lying behind her. The very attractive, very naked man.

Kanan was on his side, his chest now pressed against her back. He sleepily draped an arm over her waist as she settled against him and dragged his fingertips lightly over her stomach.

“Good morning,” came his deep voice from behind her, roughened by sleep. She felt him nuzzle the back of her head and press a kiss to the base of one lek. 

She twisted to lie on her back so that she could look at him. His long hair was loose and sleep-tousled, and his face looked a little different without his glasses – more elongated, even though his features were the same. Her eyes travelled over the smooth, light brown skin, crooked nose and the small beard that covered his chin. His teal eyes looked steadily back at her from under his thick, angular eyebrows. 

“Morning,” she said, feeling her mouth curve into a warm smile. She tilted her head up so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her. “Better than okay,” he replied. “You?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth as she thought back to just how she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I had a great night.”

He leaned in to brush his lips over her jaw. His arm was still hooked over her waist, and his hand was warm where his fingers splayed over her ribs.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay long,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Help yourself, there are spare towels in the hamper.”

He gave her another quick kiss and then extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Hera sleepily watched him cross the room to the door, appreciating the view in the morning light. Kanan turned at the doorway and caught the direction of her eyes. He smirked before disappearing into the hall, and a few moments later she heard the shower come on.

She let her eyes drift shut, and must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew all was quiet. She felt a little more awake now, so sat up and surveyed her room. Clothes were strewn over the floor, though it took her a moment to realise they were all hers. She listened again, and heard nothing; had he dressed and left while she was sleeping? She knew he had to leave, but he seemed like the kind of person to at least say goodbye first...

Her eyes fell on the scrap of paper on her bedside table that hadn’t been there last night. It looked like a torn-off section of what might have once been an envelope. A few mathematical formulae were scrawled in one corner, but they had been crossed out by the same pen that had added a note in elegant handwriting.

“Hera,

I’ve gone to the shop down the road for breakfast, your key was still in the door from last night. I’ll be back in 10.

-K”

She felt a pang of guilt about her empty fridge. She’d needed to go grocery shopping for a few days now, but had kept putting it off, living off instant ready-meals. There was nothing she could do about it now. At least there was milk for coffee.

Though she didn’t know how long it had been since he’d left, she decided she should have time for a quick shower. She hurriedly grabbed her clothes off the floor of the bedroom and made the bed in case he came back before she was out. Even though he had played an equal part in creating that state, she still felt a need to tidy things up a bit. 

As Hera made her way to the bathroom, she was reminded that there were also clothes in the hallway. She found Kanan’s sweater vest in the pile with her coat, and couldn’t help but smile as she neatly folded it and set it on the end of the bed.

In the shower, her body went through the familiar routine as her mind reflected on the previous night. She’d been looking forward to the date from the moment they’d arranged it in the library, and it had gone better than she could ever have dreamed. Their conversation in the foyer of the Vasar-Corellia building hadn’t been the first time she’d seen Kanan; her office on the second floor overlooked the courtyard below, and she’d often seen him crossing it. He’d caught her eye immediately.

She’d been able to discern that he wasn’t a student, and he clearly worked in the Chemistry building, but not much more besides. Very few members of academic staff looked like that, so she couldn’t help but pay attention whenever she noticed him. 

Sometimes, when she assumed he was running late, he’d run his hand over his hair and a few strands would fall out around his face. Or his glasses would slide down his nose and he’d push them back up with the knuckle of his index finger as he walked. Sometimes, he wasn’t late, and would stroll across the courtyard holding a to-go coffee cup, his other hand tucked into his pocket. At those times he usually had a distant look on his face, like he was deep in thought.

Sometimes he’d be waylaid by students – that was how she’d known for sure he was part of the teaching staff. She’d marvelled at how easily they’d approached him, but he’d always seemed ready and willing to answer whatever questions they had. She assumed he was a good teacher.

And then she’d finally got the chance to talk to him – properly, not when she had to go set up a lab or talk to someone about a careers fair. Apart from the weird moment as they’d left campus when he’d seemed like he was trying to impress her, he’d been a perfect gentleman and excellent company. Talking to him had been so easy, and with how much they’d had in common she felt like they could have kept going well into the night.

As it was, she was not disappointed with how they had spent the night. It certainly wasn’t how she’d planned to end the evening, but that kiss… It had been electric, like no-one she’d ever kissed before. And the things he could do with his mouth…

She forced herself to focus on washing herself before she could get distracted. Yes, last night had been incredible. He hadn’t even technically gone yet and she was already hoping for a second date.

She finished up in the bathroom and was just pulling on clean clothes when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She finished wrapping a soft scarf around her head – grey, matching the top she wore above orange harem pants, her usual weekend clothes – and went out to the hall. Kanan was just closing the door behind himself.

He was back to being the Chemistry professor again; the clothes from last night (minus the sweater), glasses, hair pulled back neatly behind his head. He held a carrier bag in one hand, and the other came up to run over his hair as he caught sight of her in front of him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He started towards her, but didn’t give her an opportunity to respond as he launched into an explanation of his absence. “You’d fallen asleep when I came out of the shower, but I was thinking I still had some time before I have to go, and I thought you might like breakfast – we did say we’d have coffee today, so why not coffee and breakfast? – and since you didn’t seem to have much in, I thought I’d just go out and pick up a few things – I hope you don’t mind I took your key, I didn’t want to wake you up but I do need to keep an eye on the time for Ezra –” 

He was talking quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves as he tried to get them out. “Do you like omelette? I can make something else if you’d rather – or, if you want me to leave, I can just go now–”

She cut him off with a kiss. It was very effective.

“Omelette sounds lovely,” she told him. 

He seemed to relax, from either the kiss or her words, or possibly a combination of the two. “I’ll make a start.”

“As long as it’s not going to make you late.”

“Nah, this won’t take long.” He followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter, pulling out his ingredients.

“I suppose if you’re making me breakfast I could make you that coffee?” she offered.

He flashed her a smile that made her heart leap. “I wouldn’t say no.”

There was barely room in Hera’s kitchen for two people, and they had to carefully co-ordinate who was at the sink or fridge or counter at any one time. Despite this, as the two of them bustled around the small space Hera couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. She’d always considered herself to be someone who was happy in her own company and didn’t need anyone else to make her complete, but there was something very comforting about how easily she fell into the sheer domesticity of making breakfast with Kanan. The only thing missing was Chopper bothering her for his breakfast.

Soon, the air was filled with the rich smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Kanan made quick work of the omelette, expertly dividing it in half before serving onto two mismatched plates. Hera poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where she was reminded that her dining situation was very much set up for one. 

She shifted the stack of mail that had accumulated on her second dining chair to an armchair so that Kanan could sit down. She considered herself a fairly neat person, but to outsiders she knew her system seemed chaotic. She had a place for everything, and everything was in its place – it was just that the places weren’t necessarily where one might logically assume them to be. 

If Kanan’s going to be here more often I’m going to need a new place to put my mail.

The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she chastised herself. There was no guarantee that they’d do this again. Yes, he had suggested meeting up again last night, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed their date as much as she had, but it still didn’t mean anything for certain. She shouldn’t make any assumptions about where things were going, or she’d be setting herself up for disappointment. She shook her head as if to clear it and went to get them some cutlery.

Kanan turned out to be a great cook. The omelettes were perfectly done, and tasted delicious. Their easy banter resumed as they ate, and continued after they were done and simply sat sipping their coffees.

During a natural lull in the conversation, she caught Kanan gazing at her with an unmistakable softness. He seemed to realise it, and snapped back to himself.

“I should wash up.” He took her plate and stood up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cooked!” she protested, following him back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

He set the plates in the sink and turned to the frying pan, but she grabbed his hand before he could take it.

“Stop it.” She had to step close to him in order to hold both hands, and in the tiny space she ended up pushing him against the counter. “I told you, I’ll wash up.”

“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest.”

She grinned up at him. “You’ve already been great.” She pushed up onto her toes to close the small gap between them. His mouth was still warm from the coffee, and he smelled faintly of her soap mixed with something she was realising was uniquely Kanan. She liked it. Her grip on his wrists relaxed as he twisted his arms away to encircle her waist. The kiss was soft and slow, with none of the urgency of their kisses the previous night. She felt a flutter of sparks somewhere near her stomach.

The moment was interrupted by a buzzing noise. A phone, yet again, although this time it was Kanan’s. He broke away and fumbled in his pocket.

“Sorry, I –” He looked at the screen and swore. “It’s Ezra, I should take this.”

Hera waited patiently while he answered the phone. She heard the panicked voice of a teenage boy on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s okay, calm down. I haven’t left yet, and don’t worry about it, I’ve got one you can use. Is there anything else you need? Good. I might be a little later than I said, but only a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, you’ve got nothing to worry about – remember, it’s only a practise test. I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down. 

“His calculator’s broken, and last-minute nerves are making everything worse,” he explained with a shrug. “I should really get going though, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Of course!” She stepped back, giving him room to move out of the kitchen. “Go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Thanks, though. For – letting me stay.” He blushed. She found his awkwardness very endearing.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied with a grin.

He started making for the door, with her following. “Hey, maybe we could still get that coffee sometime?”

“Sure! Or we could do this again – dinner, I mean.” It was her turn to blush. She wasn’t exactly opposed to a repeat of their other activities, but she didn’t want him thinking that was all she was after.

He gave her a warm smile. “I’ll call you.”

He leaned down to give her a goodbye kiss in the doorway. She could tell he’d only meant it to be a quick one, but neither of them seemed inclined to stop. The kiss deepened and her arms slid around him. The sparks were back, this time with a touch of heat. She allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, and then firmly pushed at his chest.

“Go. Ezra’s waiting.”

He still lingered, his bright eyes gazing down at her. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” she replied softly.

Kanan pressed a final kiss to her forehead before turning to stride away down the path. She watched him go, her smile lingering on her lips. 

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo in the hallway. Now that Hera was alone, her home was a lot quieter.

No Chopper, she thought to herself. He was with Zeb, one of the few friends she’d made since moving to Lothal six months ago. She’d asked him to check in on Chop while she was out and feed him his dinner, but he’d texted her while Kanan was walking her home to say that Chopper was being clingy (translation: destructive) without her around and so he’d taken the cat home with him. 

It was sweet, especially considering that Zeb and Chopper didn’t really get along, but her friend knew how much she cared about her cat. She should probably go pick him up before Zeb did something stupid, like shave all of his fur off. She’d never known if he was serious about that threat and didn’t want to find out.

Hera did the responsible thing and finished cleaning up in the kitchen before making the short walk to Zeb’s place. She rapped on the door in her usual rhythm and didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened. Before she could even greet the lasat on the other side, a yowling streak of orange and white launched itself into her arms.

“Oof,” she grunted as she caught him. “Hello, Chop, it’s good to see you too.”

Chopper was not a small cat. It wasn’t only that he was permanently overweight from constantly managing to get into his sealed food containers, though that did play a part in it – he was also generally very large. Fortunately, Hera was well used to his way of greeting her.

Zeb sniggered from the doorway. “Morning, Hera.”

“Hey, Zeb,” she said, settling the familiar weight in her arms and straightening up. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Zeb’s expressive green eyes looked doubtful. “Not sure he’s so grateful.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was his usual self,” he replied, shrugging his huge shoulders. “He’s been waiting for you by the door since I gave him breakfast.”

“Well, he just wants to – wait, do you have guests?” She’d caught sight of rumpled blankets in the living room behind him.

“Wha’?” He turned to see what she was looking at. “Oh, yeah. Just a friend staying over. He didn’t mind Chop being around.”

“Did they get along?”

“Well, no, but come on, it’s Chopper…”

Yeah, expecting Chop to get along with a stranger was perhaps a little too optimistic. 

“Good point. It does explain why he’s so keen to get home.” The cat was squirming in her arms, trying to get comfortable and grumbling quietly.

“So how’d the date go?” Zeb asked.

Hera couldn’t help her smile. “It was good. Really good. We had a lot in common.”

“Yeah?” There was a knowing look on his face. “Think he’s gonna make it to the third date?”

Right. Because the few times she’d tried dating before, it had never gone beyond two dates. Zeb had said she might like them more if she let them stay the night, and she’d brushed his comment off by saying she wouldn’t do that before the third date. 

“I mean, I would definitely like to go on a third date. And a second, obviously. But, uh, he doesn’t need to make it that far for, um…” She trailed off, but Zeb’s eyes widened and he smirked in an all-too-knowing way.

“Wow. Must’ve been a really good date,” he teased.

She shrugged, realising she was happy enough not to feel self-conscious. Chopper mewed indignantly at the movement. “Yeah. It was.”

“And how was the…?”

“Zeb!”

“What? Just asking. I know it’s been a while.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

She looked away, flushing. “I’m only here to get Chopper. Maybe next time we go out for drinks, I’ll tell you about it.” 

Zeb chuckled. “Alright, so let’s talk about how I did you a favour by getting the furball out of your lekku for the night, because there’s actually something you could do for me in return. My nunaball team’s playing an away game next weekend, and the kids could use all the support they can get. It’s in Bahryn – d’you think you could make it?”

She mentally flicked through her calendar. Part of her wanted to keep the next few weekends free in case Kanan wanted another date, but she immediately rejected that idea out of impracticality. “Sure, I don’t have any plans for next weekend yet.”

“You could even bring Kanan if he’s interested. Get that second date.”

Was she really so easy to read? Or did Zeb just know her too well...

“Isn’t Bahryn the team that are your sworn enemies?” she asked, changing the subject.

“...Yeah, that might be why we need the support.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hera.”

She shifted Chopper in her arms, which were starting to ache. “We’d better get back. But I’ll see you next weekend!”

“See you then!” He waved from the doorway as she turned to leave, feeling glad that it was only a short walk back.

When she let herself back in through her front door, releasing Chopper into the hall, Hera had to restrain herself from immediately checking her phone. Of course Kanan wouldn’t have sent her a message yet, he probably wasn’t even done with Ezra’s exam. Maybe she could text him – wish Ezra luck with the exam, or just straight up ask if he wanted to get lunch on Monday.

Wait… Did she even have his number? Had she given him hers? She felt her heart fall through her stomach as she realised that no, despite all their promises, they had never actually exchanged contact information.

Okay, so no texting. That was fine. She could just run into him in Jhothal on Monday. She saw him from her office window so often, it would be easy to arrange. Right?

[haledamage]

Oh there are so many good ones, but I’m gonna go with either aspectabund or petrichor for Nadia/Kurt bc I must ENABLE😇

aaaaand here’s the other one 😁 (first one is here)

aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

have 2000 words of pure hurt/comfort! putting everything including the notes under the cut because it’s pretty spoilerific

Takes place right after the Prince’s Secret/Treason!/Suffering of Constantin parade of earth-shattering revelations. That was a really rough day for De Sardet and I wanted Nadia to get a chance to actually process it before moving on to the next adventure. Nadia/Kurt, pre-relationship but only barely (like, literally the difference of a matter of days. They would have left to deal with Major Hermann in the morning 😉)

---

They had only just stepped into the warmth and relative safety of the De Sardet residence before Nadia left the room with barely a word or glance at any of her companions. Kurt felt her gentle dismissal like a blow to his chest, and the quiet click of her bedroom door latch carved a hollow space behind his rib cage. It didn’t feel right for her to be alone with her sorrows, no matter that at least some of the blame for her pain could be laid squarely at his feet.

He only realized he’d moved to follow her when a hand fell on his shoulder. When he turned to confront its owner, he found Vasco there, his expression grave enough to disperse Kurt’s anger before it had a chance to build. “Best leave her be. She’s had a trying day. Give her time.”

He was right. Kurt knew he was right. That didn’t mean he had to like it, but he tried to listen to his advice nonetheless.

He went to his own room, right across the hall from Nadia’s, and mindlessly stripped off his armor and weapons with the conciseness of routine. He tried not to think too much about the blood he washed off his skin, or if he’d known the person it belonged to; they had made their choice, and so had he.

Clean and dressed, Kurt was out of distractions. He considered patrolling around the property on the off chance that someone lurked with the intent to do Her Excellency harm, but instead of reaching for his sword he found himself reaching for the door handle. His feet carried him across the hall before he’d asked them to. It was only at the terse tap tap tap of his own knock that he realized he was at her door.

The woman who answered the door was not the Nadia de Sardet he thought he knew. He’d known her more than half her life and always she’d been a lively creature, clever and curious and full of mischief. But not now. Now she looked delicate and subdued, her normally bright blue eyes dull and ringed in red, ginger hair bedraggled and falling from its crown. She was still wearing her armor, caked in mud and blood and who knew what else. Her hand clenched tightly on the edge of the door, but it wasn’t enough to hide the way it trembled.

She was beautiful even so. He felt guilty for thinking it at a time like this, but not enough to consider taking it back.

“Kurt.” She tried to smile at him, but it fell far short of believable. Her voice shook like her hands did. “Is something the matter?”

“I think I should be asking you that question.” He clasped his hands behind his back like he was presenting himself to a superior officer for inspection, weighing his words and movements carefully so as not to bludgeon through this. She looked like a strong wind or word would break her entirely. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Even after everything that had happened, she didn’t hesitate before stepping aside in silent invitation. He slipped past her into the room before she could change her mind.

Everything looked completely untouched. A bath had been drawn for her, but the water remained pristine and had been left to cool. Nadia’s sword and rucksack sat in a chair against the wall, but they were the only sign anyone had stepped foot in this room in weeks.

Nadia herself still hovered by the closed door, arms wrapped around herself but shoulders straight. Her voice was stronger but still far too small. “Please tell me you aren’t here with any new world-shattering revelations. I don’t think my heart can take any more.”

“I just wanted to see you,” he assured her quickly. “Check on you, make sure you were…” The last word turned to ash in his mouth. Of course she wasn’t okay. That she was still even trying to smile was nothing short of a miracle.

“I’m fine,” she lied. She made no attempt to make it sound believable.

“No you’re not, Nadia. You don’t have to be.” She sagged, as if him calling her by name had severed the last of the bravado holding her upright. He caught her before she could collapse, one hand on her elbow and the other cupping her cheek. “Let me help you.”

She studied his face for a long moment, though what she was looking for he had no idea. Kurt let her search as long as she wanted, letting his thumb trace a line along the edge of her jaw as she did. He could feel her mark under his fingers, smooth lines and whorls like that of a newly-inked tattoo or the veins of a leaf.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she nuzzled into his hand, letting out a sigh of what sounded like relief. Then, finally, she nodded in assent.

Slowly and carefully, he helped her disrobe. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her naked--bathing in rivers and dressing each other’s wounds were part of the life they led, and he was too old to blush at the sight of a bit of bare skin, no matter who it belonged to. A traitorous part of his mind - one that had grown vocal of late, no matter how much he tried to push it away - wished that the circumstances were different, that he could be undressing her with a different outcome in mind, but he squashed that thought as soon as it arose. He wouldn’t take advantage of her distress like that, would not allow himself to consider such a thing right now.

Nadia was completely compliant under his direction, silent and passive as he removed her armor and led her to the bath. She didn’t so much as flinch at the touch of the cold water as he cleaned the blood and dirt from her skin as gently as possible. Kurt gave her a quick cursory search for injuries, but it seemed she’d at least had the wherewithal to heal herself at some point. Satisfied, he dressed her in fresh clothes and led her to the edge of the bed.

He sat next to her and set about unbraiding her hair. It was tangled and wild, and he considered brushing it for her as well, but didn’t trust himself to be gentle enough to do so without hurting her. Perhaps he should ask one of the others to help with that, later on.

And then Kurt was out of things to do and had no idea what to say to fill the quiet. He shouldn’t linger past his welcome, he told himself, no matter how much he might selfishly wish to remain in her company.

He climbed reluctantly to his feet, but stood in front of her a moment longer to see if she awoke from her trance. She didn’t, and so he reached out to rest his hand on the crown of her head in a way he hoped she found comforting. “Get some rest, Green Blood. If you need anything at all, you come find me. I’m right across the hall.”

Nadia still didn’t answer, and so he sighed and turned to leave.

“Kurt.” Her hand shot out and grabbed his. There was life in her eyes again when he turned back to her. “Thank you. For this and for… everything.” She looked away, distracting herself by tracing the lines of old scars on his hand, her touch light and yet deliberate. Kurt tried not to shiver at the sensation. “I can’t imagine how difficult of a decision it must have been. What you did today. I hope you don’t regret it.”

“The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t tell you sooner.” When Nadia didn’t look back up, he knelt in front of her, raising the hand that she didn’t still cling to up to her face to get her to meet his gaze again. Her eyes shimmered with tears, only barely held at bay. “D’you want to know why I did what I did? Why I chose you over the Coin Guard? Because they tried to order me to kill you, and you are sitting here crying your eyes out worried about how I feel about it.”

He’d told her once that her soft heart would get her killed one day. As it turned out, it may have been what saved her life - or saved his.

Her bottom lip quivered until she clenched her jaw to force it to still, but the action made the tears finally spill over, falling silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away, though more fell to take their place almost immediately. “Though I would bet these tears aren’t all for me, are they, Green Blood?” 

She shook her head, though he didn’t really need the confirmation; the last day had brought revelations from every corner, but worst for her would be Constantin’s condition. Her cousin had always been her closest friend, and he might be considered her only real remaining family. 

Kurt tried to force a bit of optimism in his voice, though he doubted it was convincing. “He’ll be okay. If anyone can save him, it’s you.”

“I couldn’t save my mother.” Nadia’s voice broke, and with it the last of her composure. “Can I even still call her that?”

Times like this served to remind Kurt that he did in fact still have a heart, because he could feel it break for her. Tears stung the back of his own eyes for a moment before he forced them away and sat on the bed once more, then gathered her into his arms. “Come here. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder with a whimper, gripping his shirt with a surprising strength, and finally let herself go.

Her body shook with the strength of her sobs, as if all of the day’s events struck her at once and tried to tear her asunder. Kurt held her through it all, whispering things he would only half remember if he tried to think of them later, attempts at comfort and confessions and promises that he knew neither of them would ever hold him to.

At some point, they fell back on the bed and Nadia pressed herself to his side like she was made to fit there. He continued to hold her close, stroking her back and hair until she had finally cried herself out and relaxed against him.

“Thank you, Kurt.” She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. It was a familiar motion - Nadia had always been free and easy with her affections when it came to those she cared about - but this time it burned like a brand, leaving a claim on him for the world to see. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and murmured against her hair, “You’ll never have to find out.” It was the easiest oath he’d ever had to make, and he meant it with every bone in his body.

The last of the tension bled out of her, and he could feel her go slack as sleep claimed her at last. 

He continued to caress her back for a while longer, the repetitive motion as soothing for him as it clearly was for her. He knew he should leave now that she was asleep, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to move. He didn’t want to wake her, he reasoned to himself. She shouldn’t be left alone in this state. It would be easier to protect her if he stayed--just in case more trouble came for them.

He was still trying to convince himself when sleep dragged him under too.

[obsidiancorner]

ObiYuki- Terminator

Wherever You Go- Chapter 2 Word count: 1400

They are in and out of their respective surgeries and training faster than Shirayuki would have suspected. It was still a couple of months worth of what amounted to rehabilitation since their whole lives had changed when they went under the knife. They’d both had implantations put in just behind their ears, similar to a cochlear implant but with more extensive wiring involved which allowed her and Obi to communicate without words and that was something that took some getting used to. Tapping the bone behind the ear turned on communication, similar to that of a radio but on a frequency only their specific implants and brains can communicate on. That was all the augmentation Shirayuki had to go through.

The rest of her time had been spent in learning battle tactics, how to work on the hardware that had been installed on Obi and the software within the computer system now attached to his chest, resting behind a new skeletal system of Titan Steel ribs that are hydraulically powered to lift away from his body to act as a bumper in case of high energy impacts using a more advanced version of their vehicles’ collision avoidance technology. But those weren’t the only alterations made to Obi’s body.

Oh, no.

His retina on his right eye was replaced with a micro screen that can see the infrared color spectrum. It is terrifying to look at when it is turned on- though she will never tell him, since it turns his beautiful golden eye a hellfire red.

It was awful the first time he turned it on and she knew he watched her body heat make a subtle but notable dip by a degree as the chill of fear sought out every nook and cranny of her entire body.

He’d raised his hand to that bone behind his ear and she panicked over what he was going to say to her. “You okay,” he’d asked her, and he looked the least assured she’d ever seen him when she only managed a nervous and weak attempt at a smile and the most subtle bob of her head to indicate a ‘yes.’

They’ve come a long way since then. He knows now she just hadn’t been expecting it and he confessed that when he saw himself in the mirror as the bandages were pulled off, he had felt the same way she had.

It just reinforced and still to this day reinforces that he had gone through such a drastic transformation. He’d been in lengthy surgeries off and on for a week before everything was done. But nothing had stopped her in her tracks like his glowing red eye. Thankfully, he’s figured out how to turn it on and off at will by now.

A self contained air system was added to his back to work in low or no oxygen environments and he has a whole exoskeleton suit to go over everything made of the same new steel his internal structuring- complete with some sort of bizarre skin-like texturing over the top so he could pass for a much bulkier version of himself should he ever need to undress in front of anyone not qualified to know that he has been turned into a very real cousin of the cyborgs of science fiction.

What was the most unnerving of all, though, is when they’re in their training sessions and the skin-like covering to his exoskeleton unravels itself so he can use the plasma blasters concealed in his mechanical palms.

As the training regimen mounted in difficulty to prepare them for what lies ahead, Izana’s intelligence team gathered known targets through various infrared camera systems placed throughout the country. Traffic cameras; security cameras at banks, police stations, government buildings, hospitals, and even some highly frequented shopping malls; as well as intelligence officers sporting IR sensitive glasses were all in use to work in tandem with facial recognition software that allows them to match heat signatures with faces since the alien population ran much colder than natural humans and their facades only masked it, leaving them appearing as hypothermic humans to any infrared scanner.

Within six months, they rolled out as a team toward their first assignment: the assassination of a reclusive confirmed alien, living out in the woods near the tanbarun border.

----------

Year: Ad Pacem- 1107

Months turn into several years as time passes so slowly and so quickly all the same as Obi and Shirayuki become the top ranking covert ops pair. Meanwhile, the aliens developed better concealment techniques, leaving Clarines to also alter their detection methods.

As bodies of assassinated aliens rolled into the university at Lilias, studies revealed they had a different blood type entirely. It appeared human to the naked eye, but when tested, it revealed an extra component so blood testing became a requirement for anyone going into government buildings, hospitals, and other necessary buildings for basic human life. A quick prick of the finger was all that was needed, like testing for blood sugar.

It was only after that system of testing rolled out that a file for Touka Bergatt, a member of Clarines nobility, hit Shirayuki’s desk as their next mission. Once she was done processing their target, she reached up a shaky hand to press the comm button on her mastoid bone.

“H-hey, Obi?”

“You wrang,” he drawls, as the door to her office slides open, revealing an exoskeleton free and shirtless Obi, drying his hair with a towel he quickly discards in a heap in the corner, done with no purpose other than to get under her skin. “Excellent timing, by the way. I was just heading to see a handler about a mission.” He whips the chair beside her around and plops down with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed and resting over the chair back. “Rumor has it that our new mission came in.”

She levels him with a glare because that is impossible. This mission is top secret. He was likely coming to remind her that lunch had been served two hours ago and she hadn’t left her office since she walked in at six this morning.

“I’ll eat something later,” she remarks without looking at him. He chuckles as she punches a few keys on her keyboard and Touka’s face pops out of the hologram monitor on her desk.

Obi snorts as he drops his head onto his hands. “You didn’t really call me in to look at his obnoxious face, did you? You know he’s not my type.” His head rolls to the side so he can look at her and he pokes her in the ribs in a quick but soft jab.

He’s teasing but his cavalier attitude is grating since she knows what she knows and he hasn’t even asked about the importance of what is happening. Without looking, she thrusts the burn-after-reading level of classified dossier into his chest and ignores the fact that the bone of her wrist smacked into his external ribbing hard enough she’ll have a bruise later.

“He’s our next mark-” she turns to face him- “you ass.”

She felt rather pleased with herself as she watched the color drain from his face. At least it’s sinking in now.

“Miss,” he says as he flips through the file with Touka’s expected upcoming engagements both private and public. “This is going to be hard.”

She sighs. The risks are high with this one. “I know.”

----------

Taking him out was a nightmare. He was never alone- not even in sleep. There was always someone keeping an eye on him. It took a month of staking him out to learn the singular weak point in his coverage. Once a week, on Monday evening, he was allowed ten minutes of completely private time. He spent it locked in his room at his compound, sitting on a call with some unknown woman.

It was then Obi struck, perched high on a hill from almost a mile away. Just before he made his call.

The instruction to ‘leave him afterwards and let his death look like a standard assassination’ was a gross miscalculation by King Izana’s intelligence committee. Touka Bergatt was not only King Izana’s biggest opponent and most vocal dissenter in the political sphere, but he was also the highest ranked alien in Clarines- information Izana’s team hadn’t found yet.

His assassination led to an active invasion. Within the week, several small ships and one monster lead ship moving into the Earth’s immediate neighborhood in space, positioning themselves just outside of Earth’s orbit.

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 4, chapter 1

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Content warnings: None

It took a moment for Morgan's head to stop spinning. However angels travelled, he thought, it certainly wasn't designed for people to come along. Not comfortably, anyway. Eventually he was able to take in the hall they were standing in. Bookshelves lined one wall, extending almost all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Several ladders provided access to the higher shelves, though they were sparsely stocked. A few dozen beds sat in orderly rows that looked as though they hadn't seen regular use in years. There was a hearth nearby, which didn't seem strictly necessary given the heat of the place. It was considerably less humid than the jungle, though, which was something of a relief. An archway was surrounded by decorative stonework but the corridor beyond it was partially collapsed. Numerous smaller doors sat open, the spaces beyond unlit and untended if the dust on the floor was any indication. The sound of metal on metal echoed in the large room, its source out of sight. Tyrael's voice also echoed as he gestured broadly to encompass their surroundings.

"Welcome to the Pandemonium Fortress. This is the last bastion of Heaven's power before the Gates of the Burning Hells. This place has been hallowed by the blood of thousands of champions of the Light. It will serve as the base of your attack on the remaining Prime Evils. You will find two emissaries of the Light ready to assist you; a healer, Jamella, and a smith, Halbu. Speak with them before you head out. They can guide you in ways I cannot."

Tyrael pointed in the direction of the metal sounds and Morgan started to walk almost without thinking, leaving Blaise and Cain to follow at their own pace. It was so easy to just follow the angel's instructions. The tiles beneath his feet gave way to dirt in some places, having clearly seen ages of use under multitudes of feet. The hall was almost silent now, though, except for the hammering. Perhaps the two emissaries Tyrael had named would be the only company here. That would be a welcome change from the bustle of Lut Gholein and the smaller but less predictable group of mages in Kurast.

Around a corner, the hall opened into a wide room. There was a tawny-skinned woman mixing ingredients in a rather complex and interesting alchemical apparatus atop one of a few large work benches. Behind her glowed a forge, illuminating the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man hammering something on an anvil. The woman, presumably Jamella, glanced up as Morgan approached to speak with her as requested. She raked a coldly assessing gaze over him.

"Hail to you, champion. Tyrael warned us of your arrival. What is that abomination?" She pointed to his left arm. Morgan glanced down at it.

"It's a golem. The original limb was damaged beyond repair, so I was forced to replace it."

Jamella sneered. "I'm sure I could have fixed it, if you'd been able to wait. My healing potions are second to none."

"I have had quite a lot of very strong healing potions. They did nothing to improve the damage, and I did not have the option of waiting."

She raised her eyebrows. "When you say quite a lot, how much do you mean?"

"Enough to develop a tolerance. I couldn't tell you the exact amount. I would prefer not to taste yours if it can be avoided."

"I see. And if your... golem is damaged, how am I to repair it?"

"You shouldn't have to. It self-repairs by drawing on my stores of magic."

"Good. Unless there's something else I should know, talk to Halbu next. You're going to need better equipment than what you've got."

"Nothing else. Thank you." Morgan couldn't recall the last time he'd had such a concise conversation. It was refreshing. He approached the smith as Blaise rounded the corner behind him. Cain was nowhere to be seen but the resonant sound of Tyrael's voice was audible. The scholar evidently hadn't asked his fill of questions just yet.

Halbu was only slightly more talkative than Jamella. He passed a critical eye over Morgan. "Magic user, right? Leather armour for the weight, engage from a distance. Don't need a shield if you're good enough at that, I suppose, but I can find you something small. I'm guessing that sword doesn't get too much use either, but may I take a closer look?"

Morgan passed his blade over, hilt first. Halbu ran through a series of quick examinations, only some of which Morgan could guess the purpose of. He turned to retrieve a different sword and offered it to Morgan. "Here, give this one a try."

The sword was obviously of superior quality, slightly heavier and balanced more towards the hilt. It had a faint resonance when Morgan felt for it. "It's very nice," he said. "What is the enchantment?"

Halbu looked pleased. "Just a little trick I picked up, keeps the blade sharp for longer."

"Ah. What would you take as payment?"

"You have already defeated one of the Prime Evils, and you are in pursuit of the others. That will be payment enough. It is our duty as emissaries of the Light to assist you in carrying out Tyrael's orders."

"Oh. That's... thank you." The dissonance grated a little. He did intend to follow the angel's command, but only because his aim aligned with that of the Order of Rathma. The final goal was the important thing, Morgan reminded himself.

"Unless you have a particular attachment to the armour," Halbu continued, "I can make you something much better. Might take a little while, though. I don't have forms in your size."

"No attachment," Morgan confirmed. It had simply fit him adequately while being light enough for him to manage without tiring too quickly. That assessment was accurate. It would be a rare luxury to have properly fitted armour.

"Well then, off with that so I can take some measurements." Halbu hummed as he worked, pausing occasionally to direct Morgan to lift his arms or turn around. The amount of contact required was unpleasant, but at least the smith was quick and efficient with the necessary touches.

"I also do the cooking," Halbu said as he laid a tape across the span of Morgan's shoulders. "I restock supplies once a week. Let me know if there's anything you can't or won't eat. You can write a list if that's easier."

Morgan considered his response as Halbu went on measuring. "I'm not picky," he said eventually, "I just don't eat much. I prefer to have a few small things at a time, rather than large meals." The smith grunted an acknowledgement.

Jamella raised her voice as she was speaking with Blaise, ensuring Morgan could hear her as well. "Outside the gate of the fortress you will find the outer steppes. You can follow the path down through the steppes to the plains of despair. To one side of the plains you will find the city of the damned, which houses the Hellforge. To the other lies the river of flames, on the other side of which is the derelict Chaos sanctuary. You would do well to familiarize yourselves with the whole of the area. Diablo and Baal could be sheltering in either place. This fortress is warded to keep it hidden from the demons' notice, but they will pursue you if you flee from them."

"Not going to happen, but thanks." Blaise noticed Morgan looking in her direction, and shot him a grin. "You almost ready?"

He glanced at Halbu for confirmation. "It's going to take me a while to work something up for you," the smith said, flipping through a stack of thick tanned hides. "If what you've got has served you so far, I'm sure you can carry on."

"Great. Never thought I'd be excited to go to Hell, but I guess there's a first time for everything. I wonder where the demons go when you kill them down here."

"The Black Abyss," Jamella supplied. "That's where they always go to be reformed. But the process takes time, so it should be possible for you to clear a path."

Blaise beamed. "Let's get started, then. Which is closer, the forge or - nah, never mind, we'll figure it out. Come on, it's time to hunt some more demon lords."

Morgan followed gamely. Although he didn't share her degree of enthusiasm, there was a certain undeniable energy thrumming in him. This was important work. Darkness was making moves to tip the Balance in its favour, and had to be stopped for the good of humankind. And there were allies, excellent ones. With Blaise's strength and Cain's keen intelligence, and the support of Tyrael and the emissaries, there was some real potential for success.