#but she learned the inside command in less than a week which is so impressive to me it took months for spindle to catch on

[spindle-and-nima]

Both my bunnies know the command "inside!" Where when I say inside they know to toddle back to their pen and retire for the night. However spindle has a track record of making a game of it by obediently running to the pen door, binkying, then bolting the opposite direction until he decides the game is over and he goes inside.

I found out today Nima has also picked up this exhausting game and it's now like herding mischievous goats around my room until they both go the heck to bed 😭

[manicpixiefelix]

*crashes my imaginary car into your inbox*

OLLIE WHO WAS ADOPTED BY READER'S FAMILY!!!!!

I know this is a major shift in established dynamics but hear me out!!!

What if Oliver's tales about his home life were actually true, worse even so he ended up an orphan? He gets adopted by Reader's parents for the optics mainly because it makes them look good and they figure it'll provide their heir with a companion.

So they become this peculiar little duo, both very observant of the world and people around them. Ollie is a stranger to this world of the ultra rich and endures etiquette classes.

Oliver Quick becomes Oliver L/N, the boy uplifted from squalor by the heroic family *eye roll*

Reader is fiercely protective of their brother and will ruin anyone that insinuates he's not ~really~ family

I know we've never really discussed the ancestral home of Reader but I imagine it is every bit as grand and impressive as Saltburn. Ollie's favorite room is definitely the massive library.

BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS A LOT OF COURSE I LOVE HOW YOUR MIND WORKS!!!!

Of course your parents love the optics of it all.

You're six when they adopt Oliver, and he's five; this mousy little thing who doesn't smile often and barely speaks and can't look you in the eyes. He shys away from your overbearing, performative parents, but you seem to be able to see how overwhelmed he's getting. There's no words in your first interaction, only gestures, taking and keeping Oliver's focus as best you can to ground him in the moment; you teach him a simple game, and he returns the favour. Not a word between you two. By the end of the visit, you realise the adults have gone quiet; your parents and Oliver's case worker are just watching you both, marvelling. As you're looking away, Oliver himself finally steps towards you, taking your hand carefully and half hiding himself from them behind you, as if already deciding to trust you. You and Oliver had begun the day as strangers, and ended as siblings.

Your parents love to tell anyone who will listen about how when you first met Oliver you 'practically fixed yourself to his side and haven't moved since'. You look like the perfect family in photos, and the press is quick to forget how little research your parents did on the last charity they very publicly supported, and it's less than ideal history. Oliver learns to smile on command the way you feel like you've always known, but at least they don't make the two of you seperate in these moments.

Oliver says your house is like a fairy tale. At first he sticks close by you, overwhelmed by it all, but as the days turn to weeks and then months, you start to lose him as he goes exploring amongst the estate's many rooms and corridors. No-one knows the old house better then you, but Oliver is a close second; Nan says Mother used to scurry around just like you did, used to know every trick the old house had, but that was a lifetime ago.

Mother's study locks from the inside and Father works long hours in the city, so it's up to you to help Oliver settle in with the nannys and the tutors and the rest of the staff. Your parents like to buck tradition, so they're not precious enough to hire anyone to teach Oliver the etiquette that usually comes with wealth and a house like this, so long as he was polite and respectful and sweet faced in public, they couldn't care less which fork he used for salad. Honestly adults at events found his lack of grace and understanding of their unspoken rules charming in its sincerity. You, however, know that their condescending adoration grates on your brother's nerves as they talk to him like he was some kind of pet.

On the weekends Nan comes over, and it's clear that Oliver likes her the best of all the adults in your lives. Like you she doesn't pressure him to talk, always taking his silence in stride, but also taking the time and putting in the effort to understand him when he does try and communicate, however that may be.

In public - not that you're in public a lot - you and Oliver tend to cling to each other. As you grow older, even as you stop physically holding on to each other, you barely seem to stray from each other's shadow. Of the two of you, Oliver still is the far more reserved one, happy to let you do the talking most of the time, often only sharing his thoughts as quiet asides to you alone.

Considering your parents had no choice but to publicly acknowledge you in this universe, you and Oliver very much grow up in the public eye. The strange, observant duo who seemed to have the uncanny ability to wrap rooms full of adults, the upper echelons of society, around their little fingers, grow into beautiful and bitchy socialites.

Considering you're both getting privately tutored instead of going to a proper school, most of your time is spent travelling and attending events. Following the various Fashion Weeks around the world is a yearly tradition since you were teens, you go to concerts and film festivals and galas, always together, always inseperable. Or at least, inseperable when being seen by people who might matter. Oliver's confidence grows, he's far more open and even talkative in public than when he was a kid, but there's comfort in your established dynamic too. It returns most often at formal events, with Oliver half a step behind you, murmuring his commentary and amusing aside to you throughout the night.

A few of the independent tabloids your family didn't own print unsavoury rumours about your closeness, but those get pulled from news stands within the day, and a few threats of defamation lawsuits make them think twice before printing those kinds of articles again.

Everyone in the Western world knows who you both are, or has at least heard of you. But thankfully it's been years since anyone had tried to tie Oliver back to the Poor Orphan Boy he was when he'd first been adopted. By the time you both get to Oxford, he's been your brother for so long that it's like the world has thankfully forgotten that it's not by blood.

[timeforbedwolfstar]

Finding Home - Chapter 3

As the months with Remus slowly stretched into years, I learned more about our master than any dog had ever known. Some of which, I began to realize, I’d already known. 

He was suffering. I knew he underwent a radical, painful change every month, which I was beginning to notice always fell on the night of the full moon. But there was a deep ache inside him, an ache I was unable to heal. 

He had a picture of four boys standing arm-in-arm on the small table by his bed, and every night, he would gaze at the picture with a sad smell coming off him. The ache was even bigger, and seemed to consume him whenever he did this. I would jump up into his bed and press my body into his side, offering him my comfort. 

He would read the newspaper, delivered by an owl, every morning with his breakfast. Whatever he didn’t eat that day, he would add to my own breakfast, a bowl of red meat, water, and dog kibble, to make a delicious mash of food that made my tail wag. 

Then, of course, we’d run on the sled. 

For every day that passed, the bond between me and Remus only grew stronger. When I was about three summers old, the bond between us was so strong that he only had to think of a command before I followed it. Remus still had to call out the command to the rest of the team, but I was almost always following it before he said a word. 

The pack accepted me as Top Dog now. I didn’t live with them any longer, and in my eyes Thor would always be Top Dog, but the pack respected me. They trusted me when I took my place at the head of the team. 

Remus trusted me, too. He paired me with Thor less and less as the years passed, until one day I went out to the Yard to greet him and he was gone. 

I nosed his thick red fur sadly, as behind me Echo howled in grief. Remus seemed sad, too, and took his body away to bury it. I had never much liked Thor, but he was a good dog. A great dog, even. One of the best. 

Zeus was placed by my side next. I liked Zeus. He was a hardworking dog, and always pulled his hardest. But he wasn’t cut out to be a lead dog, and he was moved back after a few short weeks, and replaced by Echo. 

Echo was her father, Thor, in miniature. She was broad-shouldered and strong, and she was quick to follow commands. She watched me, and I watched her. We improved on each other’s flaws. We worked well together as lead dogs. 

Echo worked by my side for a year. One day she was put in the Puppy Yard, and a few short months later, she had a litter of five puppies running by her paws. I looked forward to helping train the puppies like I’d once trained Echo. 

Geralt and Loki, long-standing wheel dogs of the team, were replaced one day by a pair of females Remus called Celeste and Faith. Celeste was taller, and pure-white. She had a silver sheen to her coat, and black laced her topline. Faith was jet-black, and it shined deep purple in the sunlight. She had a single white star on her forehead, which gave the impression of a single star shining in the night. 

In front of the two were Aspen and Sugar. Sugar was as sweet as her name, and a pretty silver color. The two females were teammates through and through. They complimented each other, building on each other’s flaws to create a seamless pair. 

In front of them were Apollo and Max. Apollo was a standard black-and-white husky dog, with one blue eye and one brown eye. He was aggressive and didn’t work with any dog except for Max, his brother and identical twin. Max, however, had two blue eyes. 

Directly behind me was Ace, a brown-and-white male, and Shea, his black-and-white sister. The two of them were lead dogs in training, so it was my job to teach them how to lead the team. One day, they’d take over. 

Beside me was Cedar, a young puppy of Echo’s. She was small and fast, and we worked well together. She looked identical to her mother, but was the complete opposite in personality. Where Echo was surly and aggressive, Cedar was outgoing and friendly. It made a nice change, and I found I worked better in harness with a friendly dog. 

Zeus had been an older dog when I’d met him, and he’d dislocated his shoulder on a run. Remus had put him on rest, and he wasn’t allowed out of the Yard except for leash walking. He wouldn’t be allowed back on the team until his leg healed. 

We were running on the team now, our faces alight with joy as Remus urged us faster and faster. “Hop Up!” he cried, and I shifted into a gear I didn’t know I had, running for my life. 

I loved running the sled, leading a team of dogs into the snowy mountains of our home. Beside me, Cedar panted, slowing down just slightly. Raising my tail, I tried to tell Remus that she was tiring. He seemed to get the message, and cried out, “WHOA!” 

I slowed the dogs down to a stop, panting hard. Cedar slumped to the ground, panting as if she were dying. Behind us, I heard Remus sink the snow hook into the ground, securing the sled in place. (I was smart enough to keep the team still, but Remus didn’t know that.) Cedar panted, her blue eyes gazing up at me in pain. 

Remus knelt down next to her, running his hands over her body. He took out a stick that smelled like leather and leaves and dirt, muttering words I didn’t catch. The world suddenly smelled like autumn leaves, orange and gold and red. 

Cedar went still. Remus snapped off her lines, leaving me alone at the head of the team, picked her up, and walked her back to the sled. He secured her, then took his place on the sled. 

“READY!” he cried, and I tightened the rope. “HIKE!” 

We took off, pulling the sled as fast as we could. “GEE!” Remus howled over the thrumming of blood and muscle and sinew. I angled right. Shortly after, we arrived at a house that smelled like chemicals. It reminded me of the day that Hera died, when the man led her away and her life ended in a bang. 

The same man exited the house, and Remus gave Cedar to him. The men took Cedar into the house, and us dogs settled for a long wait. 

It seemed like hours later when the men returned. Cedar was with them, limp and cold. She smelled like death. She was strapped to the sled, and we hauled her home. 

It wasn’t long after Cedar died that Faith was harnessed next to me. She made an excellent lead dog, and as the years passed and we remained together, I began to love her as the sister I’d somehow always known. 

One day, shortly after Remus and I spent a night locked up in the cellar, Gerald and Loki came to live with us. The two of them were old, with white hairs on their muzzles. They lived with us for a time until Death came for them. They were together until the very end. 

The morning after they died, Remus fed me breakfast, then put his hand on my shoulder, a familiar gesture. I wagged. 

Suddenly the world seemed to collapse. I couldn’t breathe, my eyes were being pressed into my skull, it felt as if I was being shoved through a rubber tube. Suddenly the sensation ended, and I was in a whole new place. 

Remus snapped a leash onto my collar, and led me forward into a quaint little village that looked vaguely familiar. I knew I’d never been here before, and yet, it was as if I’d never left. 

Remus led me down to a large block of stone with names written on its shiny surface. As we neared, it shifted into a statue of three people — a tall, skinny man, a shorter woman with long hair, and a baby, a small baby that I wanted to protect and love for the rest of my life. 

Remus stopped by the statue, then raised his hand so it touched the man’s. “Prongs,” he whispered, and I pricked my ears at my name. Remus looked down at me and gave me a sad smile. “Come on, old mate.” 

Remus led me into the yard beyond. It was full of stones that I knew instinctively I could not touch. I followed Remus to the end of it, where a white marble stone was rising out of the earth. 

Remus crouched down, his hand resting lightly on a name carved into the stone. “James,” he whispered, “James, I miss you so much. 

“Remember Thor? You knew him, back, oh, about fourteen years ago, when he was born. Remember? Sirius got him for me on my seventeenth birthday, to get over my dog fear. He’s gone now. Died a few years ago. 

“I have a new lead dog. He’s about eight years old now. Born a few days after you died, in fact. He’s … you would love him, James.” Remus looked at me, right in my eyes. “I see so much of you in him. You … you would both love him. I named him after you, James. I named him Prongs.” I wagged at my name. “He’s changed my life. Just like you did.” 

I sniffed at the headstone, wagging my tail at the familiar scents. It smelled so familiar, but my memory exceeded me. I couldn’t remember where I’d smelled it before, only what it was like. Buttermilk and rose petals. 

I wagged harder and looked at Remus. Tears were running unchecked down his face. 

“Prongs,” he whispered, “and Lily Flower. I love you both so, so much.” He held me close to him, and I licked away his salty tears. "One day," Remus vowed, "when the time is right, we'll all be home again. Together. One day, James, I promise you, we'll come home."

I wagged as Remus crouched there for a long while, silently sobbing. It was quiet between us for a long while, Remus bringing himself under control, me acting as a river for the grief. The deep ache inside him seemed to swell again, until it encompassed us both. 

As Remus stood, ready to leave, I took one last sniff of the headstone. The buttermilk and rose petals called me to stay, to bury myself beneath the earth. But it also awakened something inside me. 

Something I didn’t quite understand. 

What was my purpose?

[jamespotterthefirst]

Prelude (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5 K Premise: Three moments leading up to their fateful meeting.

Author’s Note: In which I try to explain why MC didn’t know what Ethan, her medical hero, looked like. Also, my (late) fic for the book 1 replay. Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Three.

Harper frowns down at the file in her hand, her sharp gaze burning into the collated papers as though coercing them to solve their dilemma once and for all. From the end of the table, Cyrus lets out an inpatient sigh.

“It's very simple, Harper,” he drones. Ethan's fists clench reflexively at his sides, urging to remind Cyrus that Harper is the chief now and warrants more respect than his insufferable tone is offering. “The last spot should go to the candidate from Harvard. We are the best hospital on the east coast, after all. It only makes sense.”

Harper looks unconvinced and still, her pensive expression remains fixed in the file.

“An ivy league degree does not a good doctor make,” Naveen adds sagely into the ensuing silence. His smile is placid enough but Ethan knows the older doctor well enough to hear the warning edge in his voice. Evidently, even Naveen disapproves of Cyrus's lack of respect for their new chief.

Cyrus scoffs.

“And if you need further proof of that, Doctor Cyrus,” Ethan begins dryly, eyes boring into him. “Then look no further than your side of the conference table.”

A few attendings—at least the ones who have become increasingly tired of Cyrus's boastful proclamations about his alma mater—laugh quietly at the jab. Cyrus splutters, his face an unpleasant shade of red as he glares daggers at Ethan.

“This candidate,” Harper says at last, unaware or uncaring of what she had just interrupted. Her two lone words are enough to command the room's attention at once, but her hazel eyes are on Ethan. “You're convinced she's the best fit for Edenbrook?”

Ethan meets her eye and pauses.

It's the first time they look at each other directly since he ended their relationship two weeks prior. Despite the brief time apart and an unshakeable resolve to be professional, his stomach sinks heavy, like a stone.

Harper looks as graceful and dignified as ever, keeping every emotion in check. Yet, as she holds his gaze, Ethan can see a small flicker or sadness and his stomach twists with guilt.

“I'm positive, Chief Emery,” Ethan responds. “This candidate exhibits the type of potential we look for at Edenbrook.”

The use of her new title seems to snap Harper out of a reverie.

“She graduated top of her class and ranked in the top percent among our chosen cohort of interns,” Ethan continues. “I've also looked into her research and it's among the most promising I've seen. I recommend her without reservations.”

With a single nod and a sense of finality, Harper closes the file.

“Then it's settled. We have our last intern.”

“You're joking, Harper,” Cyrus blurts out, incensed. “We're giving a coveted spot to the candidate from UCLA?”

He says the name of the school with so much derision, Ethan feels his ears flare up.

“That Doctor Ayala?” Cyrus continues.

“Doctor Allende,” Ethan corrects, jaw clenched.

“Don't we have enough charity cases in the cohort already? This is token—”

But the vitriol is quickly interrupted by several things happening at once: Ethan darting forward, fists ready; a startled, collective gasp from the other attendings; Naveen, quietly intercepting Ethan and halting his steps with a steady hand, a feat that is impressive for a man much older and shorter; and Harper, also on her feet, directing a disgusted look at Cyrus she doesn’t bother to disguise behind professionalism.

“I would think very carefully about finishing that sentence if I were you, Doctor Cyrus,” she says, her voice low but with the impact of a clashing gavel. “And I ask that you address me as Chief Emery moving forward.”

Two.

“If you end up marrying someone with a Boston accent,” Laurel is saying with a devilish grin. “I will never be able to keep a straight face when they talk. Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.”

Her older sister peers at Lilac over the flaps of an open cardboard box, the glint in her eye growing wickeder still. “Imagine what they’d sound like in bed. You're so fucking gawgeous, dawctaw—”

Before her sister can escalate that impression into disturbing territory, Lilac silences her with a well-aimed pillow. It succeeds in hitting Laurel straight in the face but also in turning her laughter into a cackle.

“Are you going to help me pack or not?” Lilac says sternly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile that manages to break through.

Laurel raises her hands in defeat and returns to packing Lilac's books neatly. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes with nothing but their favorite music blaring from the speakers of Lilac's phone.

“Is this the book?” her sister asks suddenly, turning a worn textbook in her hands and studying it closely. “The one written by your medical crush?”

For some inexplicable reason, Lilac feels her face flare with heat. “He's not my crush.”

“You just worship the ground he walks on,” her sister returns, flipping through Diagnostic Principles. “Though, you're right. In order to have a crush you'd need to know what he looks like.”

Laurel reaches the back cover, frowning. “Why wouldn't he add an author picture?”

Lilac says nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. She can't blame her sister for being curious and a bit disappointed at the lack of visual representation. After all, Lilac had felt crestfallen when all she found in the author's information section was the green and blue Edenbrook logo.

“Maybe he's a private man and doesn't like his picture out in the world? Maybe he wants aspiring doctors to focus on his research and not his looks?”

“So he's either really hot or really ugly,” Laurel returns, unmoved by Lilac's impassioned speech. “Have you ever tried looking him up online?”

Lilac had been tempted many times, but she was fiercely adamant about keeping her medical hero a mystery outside of his work. It already felt invasive enough to track down his undergrad research and every other minor paper he'd ever written. When it came to Ethan Ramsey, Lilac had searched every corner of scholarly journals and databases, absorbing every piece of his work with an adoration that was already embarrassing enough.

Plus, she would never admit it out loud, but she was also afraid that knowing what the brilliant doctor looked like would somehow ruin him for her. Or at least, alter the image of him she had constructed in her head for so many years. It felt right to continue seeing Dr. Ramsey as the brilliant force that pushed her into her dream career and not as a definitive set of features.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like. He's the best and I'm going there to learn from him, not to judge his appearance.”

“I'm Googling him,” Laurel announces, already typing furiously into her phone. After a few seconds, her phone returns results and her eyebrows shoot up, staying suspended for longer than normal.

“What?” Lilac asks despite herself.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Just… wow.” Laurel stares down at the screen with such awestruck amazement that Lilac feels a powerful wave of curiosity. “He’s shirtless in some of these.”

“What?” Lilac yelps, feeling her face flare up at once. 

“Yeah, apparently you’re not his only fan. Tons of people have taken his picture.” Her sister seems to blink out of a trance, turning the screen toward Lilac. “Here, see for your—”

But Lilac turns her gaze away almost out of reflex.

“No!” 

The word comes out far more impassioned than Lilac intended. Still, she resolutely turns her head. “That feels...invasive, somehow?”

“Come on—”

“I'm serious, Lau. I don't want to see. I'm already nervous enough about this whole thing without having to worry about this wow-worthy revelation. And besides, taking someone’s shirtless picture without their consent and posting it online is already bad enough. It feels wrong supporting that.”

Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I'm going to see him in less than a week anyway. With clothes. In a professional setting. As I should. If I waited all these years, I can wait that long.”

A knowing, devious sort of smile pulls at her sister's face. She mumbles something over the music and Lilac can swear it sounds oddly like: “...worth the wait.”

One.

Ethan should have taken the broken and sputtering coffee machine in his apartment as an omen. His morning definitely declined from then on, starting with gridlock traffic and ending with an infuriatingly long line at his favorite coffee place.

The ultimate lack of coffee is probably his fault because Ethan had spent too much time deliberating whether or not he wanted to go with store bought coffee on what promised to be a grueling day. When he had finally made up his mind, however, the line was already out the door.

Irritated and caffeine deprived, he drives back to Edenbrook.

“You're earlier than we agreed,” Naveen says as soon as Ethan accepts his incoming call. “What was the point of rearranging the whole schedule if you were going to come in when you pleased anyway?”

“I'm not even through the gates yet. What are you spying on me?”

“No need. You forget how predictable you are.”

Naveen chuckles as he says this which eases some of Ethan's irritation. The older doctor had purposely scheduled him later in the day to give him some peace on the first day of the new intern cohort.

Naturally, Ethan arrived several hours early, as per his custom.

“Or maybe you know me too well by now.”

Naveen's benevolent laughter turns into a dry but lingering cough on the other end of the line. Instantly, Ethan's insides freeze over, his stomach sinking unpleasantly.

He opens his mouth to question his mentor about this persisting symptom, when sheer reflex prompts him to stomp on the breaks so suddenly, his body jerks forward then slams against his seat.

“Shit.”

Something—or rather someone— had crossed the parking lot road right in front of his car, standing mere inches away from his front bumper.

“Ethan?” Naveen asks through the speaker.

When Ethan recovers and regains movement of his arms and legs, he feels the spike of adrenaline give way to pure annoyance.

The offending pedestrian is a young brunette clad in blue scrubs, a medical intern by the looks of it. She stands there in the middle of the road, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comical to Ethan if he wasn't so irritated.

They stare at one another, though Ethan is convinced she can't see much through the tinted glass.

Then, right before his eyes, she seems to recover from the shock. Drawing herself to her full height, she glares at Ethan. At least, he thinks she's glaring through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

Ethan almost scoffs.

She has the audacity to be angry when she was the one who made the rookie mistake of aimlessly crossing in front of him?

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Asshole,” she mutters, the word quite audible through his windows.

Before a stunned Ethan can respond, she turns on her heel and rushes toward the hospital, a curtain of dark hair dancing behind her.

“What was that?” Naveen asks, still on the call.

“I hate interns,” Ethan responds much to the older doctor's amusement.

Bonus:

Author’s Note: In other words, my MC was late to her orientation because of Ethan and that’s how she met him in the waiting room lol. Thank you so much for reading! 

*Tagging Separately 

[biggest-stupidhead]

Hello! First of all I have to say that your writing is the best I have read so far and you have a way with words that has me going crazy at 3 am 🤣🤣 I wanted to suggest a short story where Levi and the reader have feelings for each other and are on a mission together. Then it starts to rain and it gets really cold at night so they’re forced to seek shelter and have to spend the night together in an abandoned old house until the rain stops, and they basically get to know each other better and eventually start flirting ya know ya know? 😗Thank you so much and please feel free to add any more ideas you may have 😁

ahhh the classic, stuck with a stranger trope. I dig it :) 

Summary: You spend a rainy night with your bitter captain

Word Count: 1.8K

__

The rain felt like needles as you rode into the wind, your cloak felt heavy and waterlogged as you struggled to see through the shower. You had lost your squad, leaving you alone in the middle of titan country. Your gear felt light, meaning that your blades were nearly gone and gas as well. In other words, you were royally fucked. 

Your horse was huffing, sides rising and falling deeply as she tried to hold the pace you had set. Her head bobbed and you threaded your fingers through her mane and stood on the saddle to ease the weight on her back, and allow her to resume her natural gait. 

Just as you emerged from the thin thicket of trees you had been riding in, you spotted a small cabin, and a black horse tied up out front. You recognized Captain Levi’s stallion and felt relief flood through you. You steered your mare towards the squat building and swung off once she came to a halt. Tying her up next to Levi’s stallion before jogging up the stairs. You lifted your hand and pounded on the door, a flash of lightning illuminated your form when Levi pulled the door open. His hair was dripping wet as was his clothes. 

“Cadet (L/n), surprised you made it this far.” He scoffed before turning and stalking back into the cabin. 

“Captain....the formation is broken.” You stated the obvious, unsure of how to respond to his jab. 

“No shit, this damn rain fucks with the signals. Seen it before.” You almost weren’t sure if he even said the last part since he muttered it so quietly. 

“So what do we do?” You asked, clutching your cloak anxiously. 

“We wait it out idiot.” Levi grunted as he began rummaging around the small cabin’s kitchen drawers. 

“What...about the formation?” 

“The formation doesn’t exist anymore, what matters now is getting back to the wall.” 

You remained silent, stunned by the gravity of the situation you’d found yourself in. 

“Shitty eyebrows needs to stop putting the fucking formation on a pedestal, you brats need to learn how to act at your own discretion.” Levi continued as he pawed through a drawer, he pulled his hand out holding two stones. Flint, to be precise, he had already taken some of the firewood that had been sitting in the cabin and chucked it into the fireplace. You wondered how long it had sat there in the lonely cabin, who had gathered it? A child maybe? When you were younger, you had lived on a farm with your family, raising horses for the military. One of your many jobs had been to get firewood. You wondered what had happened to the people who lived here before, wondered if they could ever return. 

“Oi, take off those boots. Just because nobody’s lived here in three years doesn’t mean you get to track mud inside.” He scolded and you quickly stripped yourself of your mud caked boots. 

“Yes sir.” You grumbled as you numbly wandered into the kitchen, pausing when you found a small corn husk doll, very similar to the ones you once made. You picked it up, cradling its head as you held it up in the dim light. The sound of stones clicking and then the crackle of a small fire brought you back. You turned to see Levi hanging his cloak and jacket by the flames. 

“Take off your cloak and jacket.” He ordered and you placed the doll down to fulfill his command. You shivered in just your shirt, which was soaked, the olive colored fabric nearly see through due to the wetness. Levi averted his eyes as he snatched your jacket and cloak from you. You dropped down to sit on the floor near the fire, staring into the flames as you allowed your mind to wander. Levi sat down as well, crossing his legs and closing his eyes as he tried to even out his breathing. The only sound was the crackling fire and the patter of rain on the old roof. You had nearly forgotten how it sounded, having lived in the castle for years now, the cozy cabin brought you back to your childhood. And before you could think better of it, you asked: 

“Where are you from captain?” 

“None of your concern.” He grunted, eyes still closed and face lacking any signs of emotion. 

“Well, where I’m from, when it rained like this...we’d go outside and-” 

“I didn’t fucking ask. Now shut up and go to sleep or something.” 

“There’s no need to be so bitter Captain.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and angling your shoulders away from him, the sting of his words. You sighed heavily and fell flat on your back, staring up at the rafters, a drop of water seeped through and landed right on your nose and you let out a huff of disgust. 

“....Look” Levi’s voice was heavy and less annoyed than previously. 

“If talking...makes you feel better about all of this....then I guess I don’t mind listening.” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, bangs obscuring the top half of his face as he studied you, splayed out on the floor. 

“....Thanks.” 

“As I was saying, when I was younger, I used to be scared of thunder storms. But my grandma, she would make this cake. She called it thunder cake.” You closed your eyes and a dreamy smile curled onto your lips. Levi felt a pang of jealousy, being nearly 28, one would think that he could get over his childhood. But he just couldn’t seem to, he wished he grew up in the sunshine, known his family, gotten to be scared of thunder instead of men in the underground. 

“-it wasn’t really anything special, just a lemon cake. But making it during the storm...she said it was magic, and you know.....I believed her.” Your voice cracked and Levi frowned, he remembered that naivety, how his mother would tell him about fairies or goblins. He had believed those stories for a time as well. But when she had died, he no longer saw beauty in the world. How could he? 

“She was so smart Captain. She knew everything, how to treat a tooth ache, how to make the best bread, break a horse. I wish I could be half as wise as her.” You continued, Levi turned to look at you, your usually bright eyes seemed distant and foggy, mouth screwed into a frown, your bottom lip trembling. 

“When she died, I felt so alone. I couldn’t compare, how could I? She was so strong and, I was just a shitty kid.” You scoffed bitterly, Levi understood your pain deeply, loosing people was something he was all too familiar with. He blindly reached out and let his hand awkwardly fall over your own. You froze, head turning to look at him. 

“How about you? What did your...parent do to help you through the scary parts?” You asked, eyes wide and hopeful. Levi’s jaw locked as he tried to wrack his brain for something to say, you had just been so vulnerable with him. How could he not repay the favor? Especially if the two of you would die in this shitty cabin. 

“She would....give me a bath, or we’d clean the house.” He said with a curt nod, remembering his mother pouring soapy water over him after he had scrapped his knee, or cried so hard that his eyes were nearly swollen shut. Yes, that was the truth, they would take a bath and then she’d tell him those shitty stories. 

“That sounds nice.” You said wistfully as you turned your hand to lace your fingers with his. You sensed his tension and decided to carry on telling your own story. 

“I hated cleaning, my grandma used it as punishment for me. Like when I was 10 I threw eggs at the neighbor boy after he lifted my skirt up.” You chuckled lowly at the memory. 

“Sounds like he deserved it.” Levi said with the smallest of smiles. You beamed up at him and nodded. 

“Yeah, he sure did. My grandma made me clean the coop for two weeks after that, and the stables.” You giggled, squeezing his hand as you laughed. He felt another wave of jealousy, wishing he had memories like yours. 

“And you? Did you ever get in trouble?” You asked, rolling onto your side, pulling your hand free from his, he immediately missed the contact, not that he would admit it though. 

“That’s all I did when I was younger.” Levi scoffed, looking down at you with a gleam of amusement in his gaze. 

“What kind of trouble?” You pressed, resting your chin on your palm as you stared up at him. 

“I bet it was with girls, you seem to be popular with the cadets.” You teased and Levi’s nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“No, more like I was stealing and selling government property illegally.” He scoffed, reaching his hand down to ruffle your damp hair, you let out a bark of laughter as he grabbed the roots of your hair and shook your head playfully. 

“Yeah right, you’re the strictest of all the squad leaders, as if I would believe-” 

“I grew up in the underground, didn’t matter down there, just did what I had to do to put food on the table.” He shrugged, trying to keep the atmosphere light, yet stay honest with you. 

“No way....that’s impressive captain-”

“Levi, call me Levi.” He said, withdrawing his hand and leaning back against the couch that was behind the two of you. 

“Okay then...Levi, I call bullshit.” You said, propping yourself up on your elbow and beaming up at him. Levi glared down at you, not sure if he liked the defiance or loathed it. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, but your eyes never strayed from his and he let out a scoff. 

“It’s true, I was born a bastard and escaped through the military.” You raised your brows at this, you hadn’t expected him to be honest. 

“I...admire you for that, takes a strong person to overcome things like that.” You said a tad sheepishly as you averted your gaze, feeling like you had overstepped some boundaries. 

“We all face our own challenges..” Levi muttered, eyes still locked on you. 

“That is true.” You agreed, with a small smile thrown his way. The rain still pounded against the windows and your gaze strayed to them, watching the water stream off of the roof. 

“This will all be a bad memory in the morning.” Levi said, following your gaze, he recalled how you said you’d been afraid of thunder when you were younger. He wondered if you still harbored that fear. 

“I don’t think it will, I hope I can look back on it fondly.” You said, turning and smiling softly up at him, and Levi’s stomach began doing flips, his cheeks flushing at the sentiment behind your words. 

“Yeah....whatever, just go to sleep brat.” He grunted, reaching down and ruffling your hair once more, you giggled and laid down, soothed to sleep by the feeling of his hand in your hair and the sound of rain on window panes. 

[hansoulo]

lead me to the promised land

part two of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - language, kissing, heavy petting, dom!Boba, gagging/choking, marks and bruises of the Spicy nature, hand and finger kink, allusions to canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/tylowen

A/N: good day gremlins i am not very good at updating but i bring u some fun times as penance pls forgive me

༓ series masterlist ༓

7:00 PM: T-MINUS 14 HOURS UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

You were used to being moved around by other people, poked and prodded and lifted up so that stays could be tied or burdensome headpieces be attached to your head. Shuffled around to smile and be proper, sedated by heavy skirts and perfume. It was a fact of life.

Your dress was unlaced by the mechanical hands of an attendant, the change happening quickly and without fond regard from any party. It was early evening now and the sky peeled itself into a burnt orange. If you closed your eyes, you could almost taste citrus.

“Careful, please,” you whispered with a slight wince as the woman’s thin fingers brushed against your neck, both of your reflections cast warm in the mirror you now stood in front of. They were almost-bruises. Little ghost flower petals. Delicate and pretty, trailing behind your neck and not quite noticeable.

The woman only nodded. Servants weren’t ones to ask questions.

 ⫸ ———————————————————————————— ⫷

3:25 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 35 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The world seemed to tip on its axis, spinning too fast and not at all. It’d only been a minute, maybe two, but Boba’s words hung out to dry in the summer air and there was nothing else to do but wait for the actions to fulfill themselves. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to let him keep kissing you, but you only broke away to warn in a jolted, harsh whisper when his touch became too sharp. “Don’t leave any marks.”

“Are you commanding me?” Boba sneered, his voice slightly cruel as his gloved thumbs rubbed circles into your hip bones. You didn’t bother opening your eyes to look at him, letting his mouth skid over your jaw. Your answering yes or no wouldn’t make much of a difference. You had the feeling he would do what he liked either way. You had the feeling you’d let him.

It was strange, too fast. Too fast because really, what did you know about Boba? Were you even on first name terms? He’d never called you your name, and you’d never called him his. You’d only known of him for a few weeks. Had truly talked to him for even less than that. Maybe you should stay a capitalized Princess and he should be “Fett.” For the sake of clinicality.

Letting him lift you up and onto his lap was most definitely not clinical. “That depends,” you croaked out after a moment, finally looking at his face in your half-stupor. He’d sat you up to face him and you’d gone with, pliable and keening. Being champagne drunk felt like this; like his eyes coal-black and the way he seemed to take up everything in your mind until there was no room for reason.  You traced over the scar on his forehead with a light mouth, knees bowed to nestle closer and every muscle in your body flexing, tensed as if dripped over with sunshine. “Are you going to listen?”

The smile of a predator was the only answer he gave you.

⫸ ————————————⫷

3:30 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

Men were vile. They had clammy hands that wandered to your thighs at banquet dinners, slimy mouths when they pressed their lips to your hand in greeting. They were all insufferable and you promised never to go near one as long as you could help it. But promises were a boring thing to keep sometimes. They were much more fun to break.

Boba spoke but it was swallowed in your interlocking mouths, hungry and escalating desperate. You were still sitting with—on?—him, too cowardly to do anything more than kiss and let yourself be felt by the strength of a man’s greed. He tasted like teeth and blood and pink flesh. That was the thing that no one had ever told you about kisses; about men like him. They tasted like broken skin. 

You were eating Boba whole. He was eating you piece by piece. 

You were just kissing. Had been just kissing for what seemed like ages but was actually only fifteen standard minutes. Fifteen standard minutes for your stays to be dragged loose, your lips to be bitten plush, and both sandals abandoned somewhere in the slow scramble. It wasn’t so much desperation as it was just a sheer curiosity goading your irrationality, but the end result was the same: a man squeezing the back of your neck, calling you lovely in the same breath he called you naive. 

“Take them off,” you almost demanded, pulling desperately at his gloves as the warm leather dragged against your fingernails. Learned manners were added in as an afterthought. “Please.”

His one-handed grip on your thigh tightened. It would bruise, likely. Raise questions, definitely. You would have to chalk it up to something else. A fall. A bad trip on a set of stairs. Anything besides what was happening now. The words rumbled against your chest and registered vaguely as a threat. “What was that?”

Huffy and impatient, you answered in a much more keening, undignified echo. “Please, pleasepleaseplease—”

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Stuffed was the more apt word. You tried not to think about how he could only fit two of them inside without hurting you. It made you feel temperature-hot, physically burning until your cheeks and your insides twisted into smoldering ash because his fingers breached the alabaster edges of your teeth until they almost gagged you on your own tongue. Boba drew his hand back only when you sighed around it, sedated with fluttering eyes and no longer asking questions. His voice seemed to get deeper, raspier around the unplaceable accent from a place you’d never heard of and probably never would. “Good girl.”

The gloves stayed on. Why they did and why you couldn’t just get him to do what you wanted like everyone else you had no idea, but your frustration quickly ebbed into hazy, sparking pleasure. He called you good. You liked being good. 

Your hips stuttered when they caught on Boba’s trousers and suddenly you were giggling into the thick muscle of his shoulder, quiet and juvenile in your own disbelief. Everything about this was absurd and inappropriate, which formed the basis of your amusement. It was something to play with. Someone. Big and shiny in the most literal sense of the word. 

The hunter let out what could be construed as a laugh but sounded more akin to a growl and two large palms settled again on the soft rise of your hips. “Not here,” he repeated into your jaw, the words that were previously muffled so long ago now clearer. Not here. Which implied a theoretical somewhere other than here where you would possibly, hypothetically be doing more than- “We need to go.”

You should go. You should be pushing him off of you and running and screaming or something equally inflammatory because this was… because his...

“No,” you protested weakly with a slow shake of your head. Your hands curled around his pauldrons and rested there, limp and slightly shaking. “No, they- they didn’t actually need me for anything. My father just had to—oh Maker-” his cuisse plate pressed up hard between the warm softness of your thighs. “—had to send someone out to search for me—” you rutted against his leg once, twice before the arms around your waist tightened again and inhibited any further attempts at movement. You recovered from the loss of friction quickly, instead letting yourself sag into his solid chest as one set of fingertips dragged along your spine. “—’s just a poor look for him not to,” you finished flippantly, barely audible from where your face settled smushed against the creep of stubble on his cheek. “Bad press.”

“I’ve still got places to be, princess. Even if you don’t.”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry,” you tried replying sarcastically as his mouth flattened against the thin skin of your neck. His lips were soft, but they pressed against you like anything but. You tried rolling your hips again but were thwarted. “Am I in the way of a prior engagement?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then,” you flattened your palms against his chest plate and broke away from the seal of his touch. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t breathe right and looked like you’d been dragged through a sarlacc pit, but he was just sitting there. Watching you. His eyes were hungry though. “Why let me keep you?”  The words were shot through with airy exhales as you were lifted up off the smooth stone. “I was under the impression that you hated me,” you continued into Boba’s neck with hands curled around the dark curls at its nape.

You did think that, before… this. Now you didn’t know what to believe, what his intentions were. Most likely they were the same as yours. Nothing good.

Whatever either of your motivations were, they would have to be paused now. For his mysterious, vague “engagement” and probably for the betterment of your health, because you were certain if you stayed here with him, shielded away from prying eyes and marching men, your heart would burst right out of your chest and through your ears. 

Your legs wobbled slightly when he set you standing on the ground, Boba’s helmet still laying on the fountain’s edge, and you handed it to him with a reverence that belayed the previous minute’s informality. When it was restored to his head you found yourself mourning the loss of his face. You’d been spoiled this last hour. You didn’t like not seeing it anymore.

“I don’t.” was his short reply. What a wordsmith. 

“Aren’t you still my escort?” you huffed, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell in panted inhales. Wiping haphazardly at your mouth, you leaned over the fountain’s reflection and attempted to compose yourself. The circlet usually pinned neatly to your head lay crooked and loose, glimmering its delicate metals in the daylight as you fussed with it this way and that. The pool of water currently acting as a mirror rippled too much to be of any real use. You pressed your palms to your flushed cheeks and mumbled. “My penitentiary guard, more like.”

Boba turned you around to face him with his hands on your shoulders and you imagined his eyes to still be edged in charcoal embers. The last smudge of lipstick on your chin was rubbed away by a broad thumb and you watched, curious to his intentions and surprised at his actions, when he reached up to right your crown.

“Let’s go, princess.”

You didn’t argue. You’d been sated from rebellion for the time being.

 ⫸ ————————————⫷

4:10 PM: T-MINUS 15 HOURS AND 50 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The mercenary stood by the side entrance watching you. 

“You look a mess!” your mother admonished, harried with the exertion of the day’s events that you somehow managed not to be privy to. Apparently there was to be a dinner with the guests leaving the next morning, and apparently you specifically were asked to be present. Both would be dull pieces of information on the best of days but now, after the events that had just transpired, they were positively brain-numbing. 

The queen consort motioned for you to turn around and you complied with a slow spin as your being was examined for minor casualties. Once the woman assured herself of your being alive and unharmed, barely registering the tall figure that stood mere yards away, she allowed herself more frantic inquiries as she shuffled you down the hallway. “What were you doing out there?”

“Oh nothing,” you answered vaguely, eyes trailing as far back towards the doors as they could go without actually turning your head. There was a flash of green armor. “I just wanted to take a walk, is all.” You turned to her and smiled your best attempt at a brilliant, royal-white assurance. “Clear my head.”

[meikuree]

the centre cannot hold

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Hitch Dreyse & Annie Leonhart Characters: Annie Leonhart, Hitch Dreyse, Armin Arlert (mentioned) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Mild Psychological Horror

ao3 link

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

(Or: a look at Annie's time in the crystal.)

The days blend into a seamless fugue, dreamlike and out of reach.

She can't place what time it is, inside. Time is meaningless. The interrogators who enter complain about the cold drafts puffing through the bricks; she can't feel any of it. Only the blunt sensation of the crystal’s cover, cool as iron is cool, running over her arms and torso and head, her entire body.

Hitch visits, many times. She comes to know her by the telltale skip of her boots on the floor. The way she always leaves the door ajar, as though she hadn’t intended to stay long. Her own eyes are closed now, all the time. It means her other senses become sharper. She hears mutters even through the thick slab of wood that passes for a door, and learns the smell of autumn filtering through the bars of her cell’s sole window, carried into the space in dead leaves stuck to the soles of soldiers' boots.

Those signs are what she begins to rely on to mark the passage of time. In the initial months, it’s an inexact science. Mere guesswork, in which she misestimates, on a few occasions, the correspondence between the oil-stench of polished boots and badges and the exact military festival being celebrated outside.

She listens to the chatter of the scouts who return daily to work out the mysteries surrounding her. How she breathes, what is keeping her alive. She knows the answers herself, of course. In this state she is tapped into the Paths realm; feeding on the otherworldly largesse of Ymir Fritz somehow, her lungs sustained by oxygen piped into her chest by means metaphysical and invisible. How long do you think she’ll last in there, they ask, and she wants to bark a laugh, say: I can stay here for the rest of my life. She starts a betting pool with herself about when they will meander towards or away from the answers, and also memorises some of their names—Anya, Nicolas, Louis—as a matter of personal amusement. Hange is the one who gets closest to piecing together anything about the truth, including the concept of an afterlife and/or higher realm.

Eventually they give up on her. With the Shiganshina basement breached, Hange’s purview as commander shifts to other horizons. The room hollows out as they clear the furniture, the echo that bounces off its walls widening into a sound vast enough to fill graveyards. A looming silence. Still as death. Only Hitch continues to come by, and Annie begins to yearn mentally for the stimulation of her conversations, like a plant straining towards the sun. Towards necessary sustenance.

She reminisces about her history lessons back in the Survey Corps, sometimes. It had been fascinating to see what counted for fact and narrative in a different land. She now wonders if she's become an artefact of history herself. Dead for all intents and purposes, preserved only in textbooks. Pragmatism brings her back to earth, when she remembers that nobody has ever been memorialised for lying in a coma.

Her sensory awareness only extends so far, after all that. It is deep, but not very broad. In the first year she keeps track of worldly happenings by the generosity and latitude of Hitch’s reports. Her passionate spiels, often preceded by a long indrawn breath and groans of despair that could have rivalled Eren’s, span an impressive set of topics ranging from Eren’s whereabouts, the Survey Corps’ movements, and military gossip, to more quotidian ills that ail her: a nail chipped while filing paperwork, her anguish over a sold-out bakery on the way home. The twenty letter-long saga she has going on with a romantic rival-turned-interest-turned-rival-again. Annie becomes the unwitting beneficiary of her ability to transform all ordinary occurrences into effusive theatre.

There are a few signs. The stunning perseverance with which Hitch comes. The verve and enthusiasm Hitch puts on full display before her, as though she is performing—and hoping that somewhere, she might be watching. The fond wonder and melancholy with which she speaks of their short-lived time in the Military Police. Hitch, Annie suspects, comes because she is nursing the remnants of a badly timed crush on her.

In this place, it’s a happy accident. It relieves the slight irritation she feels when Hitch confesses a touch too much detail about the minutiae of her morning routines and new interests. She’s grateful, in some deep unacknowledged part of herself, for the contact with another person from her old life, even if it’s one-sided and not very conversational on her end.

Every now and then she gets glimpses of the activities her erstwhile associates—Eren, Armin, Mikasa—are getting up to, in updates from Hitch spaced months apart. It is amusing, at first, to hear Hitch discuss them with distant respect and reverence as if at a remove, when she has firsthand knowledge of their individual quirks and neuroses, and can fill in the blanks within her iron silence much better than Hitch can. She saw long ago how they were some of the greatest breathing idiots to walk the earth; she briefly wishes she could tell it to Hitch too, puncture the aura of myth that has surrounded them like a bubble.

Eventually enough time passes that she has to recontextualise what she knows of them against the secondhand knowledge Hitch relays to her each time, adjusting her mental picture of who they are, the distance between memory and fact asserting itself. It grows apparent in those moments that they are becoming foreign to her too, changing while she remains fixed here, with outdated fragments of people, an insect trapped in scintillating amber.

Armin drops in to see her about four times in the first year. When he speaks he reaches a hand out to touch her crystal, and probably gazes at her the whole time; she can tell by the soft thud of his fingers upon her looking-glass cage. He tells her about Paradis’s defenselessness, their discoveries over the ocean. Pleads with her for a sign, any sign, that she is listening, and then sits with his knees drawn up, the stone floor vibrating imperceptibly with his motion. After his second call he begins to express his sympathy for her. The belief that he now understands why she had to betray them.

She wonders, idly, if he’s kept his nervous habit of biting at his cuticles. He has a grim edge to his voice now, a flute and gravel ruthlessness she hadn't recalled belonging to him before. Unlike Hitch, he doesn't say much. With him, she gets treated to dense silences interspersed with outbursts of conviction, or emotion. As though he speaks only when he has no choice, no other outlet.

She supposes his approach is one of delicacy, in opposition to Hitch’s: there is no evidence she is conscious, although she is alive, so talking is more or less a fanciful gamble; there’s no guarantee his words will reach a living being. She can’t fault him, on a technicality. She only laments that his idealism has given way to unimaginative realism too. Officially, he is devising a plan to establish contact with underground allies in Marley; unofficially, she wants to ask him if reaching the sea had truly made him happy, or only brought a new wave of troubles.

But her opportunities to have anything to think all these against are privileged and few. The visits are sparse, on the whole, so that she learns to conserve her responses and, most importantly, ration her thoughts—like a precious, corked wine, fit to be let through into her conscious refrain only in drips, a resource not to be exhausted too quickly. She has to remain here until there is certain guarantee she can complete her mission. In layman terms: she has to last through years of boredom.

She repeats it to herself, like an idle song or a blinkered reminder: she can endure it. She has to endure it.

After that she slows down her pace of thinking by necessity. Draws every internal argument that would have taken minutes out over the span of weeks. This dissolution makes her feel not so much like a primordial titan, moving according to vast, immense timespans, but a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, shrivelled and ready to burst.

Dreaming is the most direct analogue for her existence in this crystal shell. But it’s an incomplete description. It’s not like being asleep. She hasn’t relinquished consciousness, simply adopted a fickle and yet compulsory relationship with it. Some days, her mind is sharp and lucid like clear water. Others, she wakes up sluggish and nauseated, with the slow pressure of an anvil headache at her temples, a feverish chill bathing her bones. Like she’s slept far, far too much. Like she hasn’t woken up at all, but passed into a worse, second slumber. The effect is that of being drugged, of being sunk into an unnatural fatigue.

In these moments her choices are confined to the binary of staying awake and suffering, or returning to sleep and worsening it. Her muscles ache and scream for movement or stimulation; but she cannot move, and so has no recourse to relief. Only the sickening ache, the awareness of the uncomfortable fog, her arms trapped by her sides, always, like dumb logs.

Consciousness becomes the centrepoint her life revolves around. Sometimes, its presence is like a bullet aimed at her that she can’t catch: fleeting, painful, inescapable.

Back in the trainee bunkers she’d moved slowly. Pulled off the act of a sullen, indolent girl, better inclined towards a long nap than proper sparring. It’d shocked people that she was in fact a first-class prodigy in hand-to-hand combat. More than once she’d heard herself described by her peers as a concealed knife: inconspicuous at first, lethal once unleashed and in motion.

Those days are behind her now. A trite touch of fate, perhaps, that her languorousness now looks like it had been a rehearsal for this longer, extended sojourn in stillness. She can no longer summon movement; she has no defense against any assumptions people might concoct about her. She can only hope that people will remember the shadow her outsized figure cast as the Female Titan, even in the absence of continued proof.

As it turns out, what is most difficult is not the boredom, or time, or the trappings of her mind. Solitude suits her. She is not afraid of her thoughts. The symptoms of wakefulness frustrate her, but her mind has long been a well-controlled thing, smooth and cunning. She’d perfected the skill of disciplining it through the gruelling, unending hours of training with her father in her youth. Learning great focus, concentrating on the exercises that determined if she got to sleep, or eat, or drink. Disregarding all other excess, like the russet burn of sunset or sundown behind her in the courtyards. Your mind could not be suggestible, in this situation. Not even as an eight-year old.

No; what truly grates is the loss of sensation. Her capacity to interact with the world. Heading inside has severed her from her repertoire of fighting stances, uppercuts, movements. No longer can she understand her environment by the rhythms of her body attuned to it: the sunspots in her vision, the wind whipping her shins, the recoil of her fists against an enemy. She once knew the world by the blows and kicks it directed back at her; they were signals, an entire language of their own. She's been reduced to a lonely speck, disconnected from her single means of communication, her vernacular for parsing the world around her. The lonely, obsessive cycle of thoughts she can stand—but this? The dark, empty corridor of her body where she once had access to momentum, eruption, injury and the lightning burst of revelation in knowing her enemies by their punches, the scrapes and bruises left on them? It’s unbearable.

She resigns herself, but never quite crosses the hurdle. Many times she registers the itch of her limbs desiring to move, a furious bristle skittering upon her skin or on the edge of her brain. There is no outlet for them. Even the smallest movements are off-limits to her. She can’t flex her fingers, or tense her toes. The boundaries of her prison are absolute. These impulses, blossoming and then dead-ended, coil up and accumulate inside her like poison. Like a stricken scream with no release.

After a period of time she tentatively defines as three years, she hears Hitch entering and turning the key in the lock in her usual smooth motion. The tiny clink a struck bell in the gloom of mental oblivion. She perks up. Prepares to listen for any news.

“I know it’s been a while,” Hitch starts, “but we’ve been busy preparing for the Queen’s inauguration— like, god, how many ceremonies do these nobles need?— and I was detained by gift duty, can you believe, which meant I had to shop for the second-tier nincompoops over at the chambers—“

Annie’s blood, a gentle throbbing before, suddenly runs cold. Inauguration? But surely— Historia’s coronation, according to the silver measure of her careful timeline, had passed a long time ago. They should have moved far beyond by now.

“Anyway,” she hears Hitch saying now, a little morosely, “hard to believe it’ll be one-and-a-half years soon with you here. That you’re still in there.“

Annie chokes, a gutted sound in her head. She must have lost touch with her sense of time in the previous few weeks. It’s the one possible explanation.

If it’s only been one and a half years, she can only imagine what the next two, or three, or five, or seven years until her death will be like.

She feels the rug being pulled out beneath her feet. There’s panic now, a stab in her throat, the realisation she has to move back to the drawing board. Reassess everything she knows. She’d kept track well enough in the later half of the first year—what had changed?

Hitch leaves. She doesn’t register it.

Her sanity has so far hinged upon the single, fantastic, incredulous constant of Hitch’s visits to her. It’s a fragile coincidence—Hitch might one day get tired of her, reality outpacing her idealisation of her, and stop coming, too. She is beginning to feel the hours and days like an acrid trap, her thoughts a rapid torrent that her body—inverted in frozen stasis—will never keep up with. Suddenly every second is too slow, too long.

She wants to yell. Wants to rattle the bars of her mind-cage. But the only thing that answers her is drifting somnolence, like a hand passing sluggishly over her head, and then disappearing. The same smiling silence of her unresponsive body, indifferent to her will.

What life will this be, she thinks, what life will I be left with, and tries to plan, to consider the contingencies—but just as suddenly, nothing comes to mind, except the hollow echo of her voice referring across her insensate headscape, the strain of her thoughts thinned into pieces from disuse.

[dameafterdark]

Fanning the Flames [Roy Mustang x Black Femme Reader]

CW: workplace sex, oral sex, vaginal penetration, blow job, body worship, pubic hair, making out, light femdom, tickling, enthusiastic consent, boss/employee relationship, semi-public sex, porn with plot, BBW reader

WARNING! The contents of this fic are NSFW! Read at your own risk!

word count: 5769

summary: After transferring to Central Command, you’re determined not to let a certain smooth-talking colonel distract you from your job duties.

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You never could have imagined meeting a man like him when you walked through the doors of Central Command. But then again, trivial things like infatuation and love making were the last thing on your mind. Bright eyed and eager to impress, what mattered most to you were your ambitions. You didn’t have time to fool around with romance; a cushy job in Central was everything you could have hoped for as a fairly new recruit. And besides, the higher ups didn’t look too kindly upon fraternizing. 

You had heard of the twenty-something aspiring general long before you sent in your letter of acceptance, but didn't think much of him. You learned long ago not to get involved with military gossip, especially the kind that involved sleazeballs like him. You know, the type of man that flirted with anything on two legs with a pretty face. You barely liked guys on a good day, so you were certain you’d have no trouble rejecting his advances. Lay low and work hard was the motto you repeated to yourself every morning as you ironed your uniform.

Unfortunately, your name was on everyone’s lips before you had the chance to introduce yourself. It couldn’t have been avoided, and you were naive to think it could. Being the only non-native Amestrian in the Central forces was mostly to blame, but you figured your looks also had something to do with your sudden popularity. After all, you were below average height, and your round curves rivaled the thin waifish figures of most Amestrian women. It definitely wasn’t the “ideal” body of a soldier, but that never stopped you in the past. Your brown skin, head full of tight curls, and full lips were impossible for others to ignore. You demanded attention whenever you entered a room, whether you wanted it or not. 

And as soon as the two of you made acquaintances, you knew something was bound to happen eventually.

From the moment he uttered that first sultry “Hello” and took your gloved hand in his, kissing the back of it like he was some sort of prince out of a fairy tale, your heart decided on its feelings faster than your brain could process. He pushed the knife in deeper with a little coy smirk that made your breath hitch and your stomach tighten.

“(Y/N), at your service,” you stated, doing your best to hide the tremor in your voice. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Colonel Mustang.”

“Please,” he said as he let go of your hand, his eyes never leaving your own. “Call me Roy.”

Those four little words sparked the first ember, and from then on you walked with fire in your chest and heat pressed against your cheeks. And no matter how often you dampened those flames, they always reignited into an inferno.

You weren't the one to give into your primal urges, though. You were a professional, for God’s sake, and after clawing your way up through the ranks you’d be damned to throw away years of hard work for a pair of bedroom eyes. Especially when so many others only saw your job offer as an Affirmative Action-esque handout. 

It’s not worth it, you’d mumble under your breath while sorting through piles of paperwork, doing your best to avoid meeting the colonel’s gaze as he sat across the room from you. Knowing what might transpire if you did. For weeks you daydreamed about making that connection with those steely grey eyes that followed your shapely figure wherever you walked, most likely imagining what was underneath. Truthfully, you wanted him to want you. You desired to be desired by the man that tossed out flirtatious remarks right after another, remarks you pretended to hate yet secretly made you giddy. Steely eyed with a boyish charm, he was 100% your type. And you had no idea what to do about it.

At first, you resisted him under the pretense of “work professionalism” and your “commitment to duty”. Sure, you'd play with him a little every now and then just to watch him squirm. Pursing your lips in the shape of a kiss whenever you caught him staring, bending over with the right side showing after “accidentally” dropping something in front of him, giving him a peek at the black skin tight crop top you wore in lieu of a bra whenever you stretched your arms. 

And he'd respond by taking every opportunity to get close to you. Like placing a hand on your waist whenever he moved past you and letting it linger a few seconds longer than it should have, or coming up behind you to whisper something in your ear until goosebumps lined your spine. 

“Your uniform is looking pristine today, (Y/N),” he complimented you one day after you dropped off another pile of urgent documents on his desk. “But I know something that will look better on you.”

You rolled your eyes in response, but decided to humor him.

“And what would that be, sir?”

“Me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you made your leave. Sure, it was predictable, but it was earnest, and the more desperate he got the more it amused you. 

It was all in good fun, at least in the beginning. But after the first couple months, you could sense his growing agitation as each day passed. His movements became strained, his eyes hungrier, his muscles more tense. One day, as you sat at the edge of his desk with your ass just inches away from his hand, you could visibly see him clench his fist as if fighting against an insatiable urge. The sight gave you a rush of power unlike any other.

By the end of your three month mark, the entire department was making bets on when the two of you would finally hook up. Which became a nuisance in the eyes of one person in particular.

That’s right, it wasn’t just your position you had to worry about. Although most of the other military members were quite welcoming to you on that first day, First Lieutenant Hawkeye was the exception. She gave meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill”. Sure, you pretended not to notice the daggers she shot in your direction every time you dared to banter with the roguishly handsome colonel, but that didn’t make it any less intimidating. However, you were no stranger to workplace rivalry, especially in the military. No blondie was going to run you out, not after you worked your ass off to get there.

All of your resolve, however, was put to the test one fateful Friday evening.

Central Command was nearly empty. The rest of the officers had gone home for the day (or were sent home, in Hawkeye’s case, but you didn’t find that out until much later). Apart from a few stragglers hanging around in the hallways, you were pretty much the only one left… apart from him, of course. You’d only been there for a few months, so you had taken every opportunity to build your reputation as a workaholic, refusing to go home unless ordered to. You were hoping it would show your diligence and dedication to the right people. You could practically taste the promotion, you just had to hang in there a little longer. If you could resist the colonel for another few months, you’d be a shoe in. You just knew it.

You headed towards his office to drop off one last pile of paperwork. One he was certain to ignore until the following week, but at least it would’ve been out of your hands and his responsibility. You gave the door a quiet, yet firm knock with the back of your knuckles and waited for permission to enter.

“Come in,” he crooned, his voice sounding more alluring than authoritative. 

You opened the door slowly, clutching the thick pile against your chest before heading inside. When it closed behind you, you clicked your ankles together and gave your colonel a firm salute.

“At ease,” He said off-handedly, placing the file he had in hand onto his desk. You heard him crunching on something, most likely one of those peppermints he always kept by the phone. He focused his rigid eyes onto you, clasping his hands together to form a small tent for his chin to rest on. 

“The paperwork you requested, sir,” You gave a staunch reply, hoping to hide the nervous butterflies that suddenly began to flutter about in your belly. Ah, what was it about that look in his eye that made you feel so skittish? It wasn’t so intimidating when there were people around, but now that you were finally alone...

“I told you, there’s no need for these formalities when it’s just the two of us.”

“With all due respect, this was how I was trained. Sir,” You put extra emphasis on that last title and flashed him a cheeky grin, knowing how much he loved hearing you call him that. It did something to you, seeing his breath hitch and his grip tighten. If he was attempting to hide his arousal, he was doing a pretty shoddy job.

“Were you also trained to put in 12 hour days without clearance?”

Welp. He got you there. So much for all that overtime pay. Not like it would've been approved by HR, anyway.

“...No, sir. But you asked to have these forms done by the end of the week, and I promised to follow through.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow in amusement, not bothering to show restraint as he looked you up and down. The way his eyes were devouring you was enough to make you question all your morals.

“Or maybe you were just looking for an excuse to get me alone.”

You felt your face heat up at his comment, which only got worse when he flashed that usual shit eating grin of his.

“And what if I was?”

“Then I’d forbid you from working so hard and offer to take you out instead.”

You blinked a few times in disbelief, unsure how to interpret his words.

“...What?”

“You’re still pretty new to Central, aren’t you? You’ve been working so much, I doubt you’ve gotten the chance to really explore the city. I could be your tour guide.”

“Are you…?”

“Asking you out? Affirmative.”

Your lips parted in shock, then formed into a grin as the corners of your lips crept up.

“Isn’t that a bit inappropriate, colonel?”

“It could be. But only if you wanted that.”

“Sir.”

“Please, (Y/N), I said call me Roy. We’re close enough now, aren’t we?”

“...Roy,” his first name was unfamiliar on your tongue, yet rolled off like smooth silk. It felt odd to call your superior out of his title, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t excite you.

“Yes?”

“Your offer is tempting, but I’ll have to decline. I can’t risk losing my position.”

“Who has to know?”

“People talk, you know.”

“Then let's give them something to talk about.”

It was corny, but genuine. You could tell he was really trying, perhaps as an attempt to live up to his womanizer reputation. It made you wonder if that was all an act.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Why don’t you come here and find out.”

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have hesitated to obey a command from your superior. But hearing him toss aside the suggestive comments for a more direct method of flirting had taken your head for a spin. After months of playful teasing that usually led to nowhere, you suddenly found yourself on a direct course to somewhere. 

It was foolish to fall for a man like him, but there wasn’t a single thing stopping you from taking the plunge. You were about to dive in headfirst without bothering to take a breath.

“Alright, then. I guess I’ll have to come to you.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back so he could come round the desk and make his way towards you. Your heartbeat steadily increased the closer he got, pounding against your rib cage until it felt like you’d explode. In just a few short seconds, the colonel’s face was inches away from your own and you could practically smell the peppermint candy he had been sucking on just moments ago. You didn’t realize that you’d backed up against the wall until his right arm was suddenly beside your head. He leaned in close until you could smell of his expensive cologne wafting in the air. It reminded you of your dad’s aftershave, with hints of sandalwood and bergamot. 

You’d never been so close to the colonel before and hadn’t realized how much height he had on you. He wasn’t anywhere close to being six feet, but you had always been on the shorter side, and the confidence oozing from his aura was making you feel three inches tall.

“(Y/N),” he said with a stern tone. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to give me your honest answer.”

“Sure.”

“That’s an order.”

“... Yes, sir.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes boring holes into you as you waited with stalled breath for him to go on. A few moments passed; you noticed part of his face twitch before he took a big gulp.

Was Roy Mustang… nervous?

“Do you…” He finally spit out after several long seconds. “Do you… want this to go any further?”

You stood there quietly for a moment, wondering if you’d do permanent damage to his ego if you toyed with him any longer. You decided on a mix of genuine honesty and playful taunting, just to keep him on his toes.

“What kind of woman do you take me for, Roy?” you teased, crossing your arms while donning an amused smirk.

“A phenomenal one,” he half-whispered. “One I’d be honored to know more intimately.”

“And once you’ve known me?” you said, meeting his famished gaze. “What will happen?”

“Whatever you want. I could give you space. I could never give you space again. It’s your choice.”

“My superior has handed me the reins,” you goaded gleefully. “What will our colleagues think when they hear of this?”

“I’m serious, (Y/N),” he growled with an unfamiliar sense of urgency. “If you want this… whatever this is, to end here, just say the word and I’ll obey without question. This will never happen again, and everything will go back to the way it was.”

You fell silent, your smile fading away as the conversation began to fall out of your favor.

“But,” he continued, letting out a sharp exhale. “...If you’ll have me. We could m-”

You silenced him with a kiss on the lips, one that left him red faced and dazed. It was a risky move, but one you were more than willing to take. You pulled away after a few seconds and held back a chuckle when you saw his shocked expression; certainly, those long months spent building up tension had paid off. Armed with a silver tongued response, you let your words sink into him like teeth in supple skin. You leaned in close until your breath wisped across his ear.

“Does that answer your question?”

He stared at you with wide eyes and mouth agape for a few moments before pulling you into his embrace once more, kissing you deeply.

His kiss was ravenous, but his hands rivaled that hunger, taking in palmfuls of you as much as he could with all those layers of uniform covering your body. You felt his tongue against your own and relished the sweet peppermint flavor while strong hands slid under the fabric of your outerwear, causing your back to arch further into his grasp. You felt his hands on your back and then again on your hips, groping every curve until his appetite was satiated.

Desperate to get closer, he suddenly pushed you against the wall and grabbed the backs of your thighs as he prepared to lift you up. You let out a tiny yelp a little too late, a weak attempt to warn him of your weight, but your words failed to reach his ears and soon you found yourself in the arms of the Flame Alchemist. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as his hands rested comfortably on your ass, cradling each cheek in his wide palms. You looked down, realizing that your concern for his strength was unfounded. It was as if he was carrying a basket of feathers; there wasn’t any sign of strain to be found in his expression. Your anxiety returned to passion while your hands found their way into the jet black fields of his hair. You found yourself grabbing fistfuls of it as you kissed him deeper and deeper, smiling against his lips every time he moaned from the action. 

Abruptly, he pulled away, eyes soft with desire and longing. You opened your mouth to speak, but he silenced you with another wet kiss before carrying you towards the burgundy couch on the other side of the room.

He laid you down carefully on the velvet cushions, as if you were made of delicate porcelain. Your uniform was already in shambles; the hem of your top coat had ridden up, exposing your disheveled black undershirt and your lack of a bra, and your outer apron was practically on backwards. He took in the sight for a moment; his eyes lost in a lustful haze before finally doing something about it. He dug his fingers under the waistband of your pants in search of the buckle, causing you to let out a surprised squeal right before bursting into giggles. 

“Stahahap!” You weakly batted his hands away. “It tickles!”

You were doomed as soon as the words escaped your lips. With the narrowing of his eyes and a mischievous grin, he placed his fingers in the same spot you just pushed him away from and dug into your belly with a gentle, yet maddening touch.

“Ticklish?” He asked, already knowing the answer. You would’ve spat back a retort had you not been laughing so hard. Feeling him wriggle around in such a sensitive area was more than you could handle at the moment.

“Aaaaah! Roy!! Nooohoho!”

“Ah, now she calls me Roy. Who knew all I had to do to get you to obey me was to tickle you.”

“Nonononono- AAAH!”

Your little outburst was due to him raking his nails down the length of your now-exposed sides, which made you arch your back and push yourself further into his grasp once again. He quit the unbearable wriggling, trading them for soft and gentle strokes, but even those were enough to make you squirm. Your laughs quieted down to muted giggles, ones you tried to mask by covering your mouth with both hands. He took care of that swiftly, taking both wrists into one of his big hands and pinning them above your head. You could feel the heat radiating from his palm, and it made you sweat even more.

“There will be none of that,” He said with an amused smile, looking you up and down as you laid there at his total mercy. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you quietly thanked whatever deity was out there for giving you so much melanin.

“Aaahaha… pleeease…” You half-heartedly begged, not for his hands to leave your skin but to continue touching the rest of you.

His free hand trailed up your side, purposefully tickling your bronze skin every inch of the way up until it reached your chest. Now only protected by a thin layer of dark cotton, he began to caress one of your budding nipples as it poked through the fabric of your undershirt. You let out a small moan, unable to hold yourself back. He gave the same attention to your other nipple, flicking the swollen tip until you began to whine. The gentle stimulation was enough to drive you wild, despite the fact that he had barely touched you.

“Why don’t we remove this troublesome uniform so I can find your other sensitive spots?” He cooed, eager to continue his exploration of your body. He released your wrists momentarily and waited for you to undress. You rolled your eyes but obliged, pulling off your unbuttoned top coat and white gloves while he got to work on his own clothes. You scoffed at him as he fumbled around with his own gloves and pants; you assumed the colonel would be a pro by now, with all the “experience” he bragged about having with the ladies, but seeing him awkwardly stumble around like a preteen about to lose his virginity was enough to make you laugh out loud. He put an end to it quickly, however, with another scurry of fingers up your sides. You shrieked again, curling up into yourself to get away from those torturous touches.

“How dare you mock your superior,” he joked, finally managing to undo his belt buckle. His pants slid off unceremoniously; he kicked them across the room and flinched when they landed on an expensive vase, subsequently knocking it over and shattering into pieces. You covered your mouth again, failing to hide another laugh. However, one look at his dejected expression made you regret poking fun at him.

“This is not exactly how I imagined this going,” He mumbled, furrowing his brows in frustration. 

“It’s alright. It’s cute.”

“How dare you call your superior officer cute. I should punish you for that.”

“You’re such a big baby. Stop whining and touch me already.”

“Look who’s giving orders now.”

“Shut up and do as you’re told.”

“As you wish, ma’am,” he teased as he leaned forward, pulling your pants down your thick legs and tossing them aside, this time with a bit more care so as not to break any other valuables in the room. All that was left were your black lace panties and matching undershirt.

He unbuttoned his top coat, removed his white undershirt, and placed both of them on the floor beside the couch, and finally it was your turn to admire his form. You knew the Flame Alchemist was strong after fighting in two different wars, but you had never gotten the chance to see his body in its full glory without the layers of his uniform hiding it away. The muscles in his arms bulged with every movement, complemented by thick veins that ran from the back of his hands to his forearms. He must have been committed to his core workouts as well; he had a well defined six pack that rose and fell with each haggard breath he took. It was enough to make you go feral. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to caress his milky pale skin, which flinched at the sudden contact. It was warm beneath your fingertips, and after a taste you wanted more.

It would have to wait, though, for he was a gentleman and wouldn’t dare come before his lady. 

He crouched down and planted a gentle kiss on your stomach as he began his worship of you. Your skin quivered from the tender gesture and you struggled to hold back another tittered reaction for fear of ruining the moment. Biting your lip failed to stifle the giggles bubbling in your throat as he kissed, licked, and sucked every inch of your exposed belly. He flittered his lips along your sides, moving from waist to navel until his tongue dipped into your belly button. Each subtle movement sent electric currents throughout your body, filling you with pleasure as he adored every centimeter of your seldom touched skin.

Moving downwards, his lips grazed your thigh crease as they continued their descent, but when he went to spread your legs you grabbed his shoulders to stop him. He looked up, brows furrowed with worry at your tense expression.

“Wait,” you said as insecurity overcame you. “I don’t… like how I look down there.”

He said nothing, his gaze returning to the empty space between your thighs that he planned to fill himself. He rubbed the tops of your legs with the lightest pressure, making you writhe in place. He looked up at you again with puppy dog eyes, begging for you to let him in.

“May I?”

You hesitated, but nodded in response. He slowly pushed your legs apart, and suddenly you felt more exposed than ever before. The scars that dotted your pantyline were front and center, the ugly browns and bumpy red ridges garnering all the attention from your colonel. Your pubic hair was wild and unkempt, so much that he’d have to sift through the strands like a man on a safari. Surely, seeing these scars, along with the state of your pubic hair, had turned him off completely.

“It’s just… been a while,” you continued your lament. “A long while.”

Still saying nothing, he leaned forward and surprised you with more gentle pecks directly on the scarred skin you had spent years hiding away from the light. He added his tongue, pulling your thin lace panties to the side and carefully spreading your lips so he could begin to feast. That first lick sent your mind soaring to the heavens, causing your hands to clutch the stiff fabric of the couch for leverage. The space between your legs increased as you opened yourself to him, allowing him access to your seldom shared treasure. Your insecurities quickly faded into nothing, and you surrendered to him body and mind.

Admittedly, it took awhile for you to cum. Longer than you wished. But he was dedicated to your pleasure, keeping his face planted between your thighs through every guttural moan or sudden thrash. You made sure to let him know he was doing the job well, your moans growing louder whenever he licked your clit in just the right way. Alternating between sucking and flicking, he finally found the rhythm that suited you best after several long minutes of trial and error. He kept going, refusing to change his pattern until he heard those magic words.

“I’m gonna come,” you cry out in a breathy voice. “I’m gonna come I’m gonna come I’m gonna-”

An explosion of stars in your peripheral, plus the involuntary curling of your toes, told him all he needed to know. Waves of pleasure washed over your body as your mind went fuzzy, like television screens after a long day’s broadcast. Your chest rose and fell in rapid succession, and upon opening your eyes you were greeted by a victorious smirk from your baby-faced superior. He leaned his cheek against your thigh, lazily kissing along your path of scars until he reached your knees.

“You’re amazing,” he uttered in between smooches. His fingers traced constellations in your skin, making you flinch now and then from the ticklish sensations. You tried to grab his hands, but he was faster, and made sure to take advantage of your vulnerability and increased sensitivity by tickling your hips until you screamed.

“And you’re a menace!” You cried out, playfully slapping his cheeks while he laughed at your expense. 

Once you regained logical thought, you pushed yourself up and faced your superior officer head on. He had given you a taste of pleasure, but you craved more. You wanted him inside you, and you wanted him your way. It was time for Roy Mustang to take orders.

“Lay down,” You commanded, a sudden authoritativeness washing over you. Roy seemed just as shocked as you, but followed your command willingly. He laid back on the couch across strewn cushions and scattered pillows, allowing you to take full reign over him. He wasn't moving fast enough to your liking, so you pushed him down and wrapped your hand around his throat with enough pressure to hold him in place without affecting his breathing. You kept your thumb and forefinger in the shape of a V, careful not to press down too hard too quickly. Your fingers rested comfortably on the sides of his neck as he looked at you with eyes full of affection.

“(Y/N), I never took you as an aggressive one,” He teased, showing no signs of fighting back.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Roy,” you ran your thumb over his bottom lip and caressed his freshly shaven face as he watched you, holding back from acting on his arousal.

“Well, I’d certainly love to find out.”

You released him from your grasp and carefully stood up on the unstable cushions, lifting your undershirt over your head and sliding your panties down until you were stark naked. Stark naked, in front of your superior officer, who was gaping at you like he’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. You crawled on top of him, seizing the waistband of his own briefs before yanking them off unceremoniously. They were discarded next to the couch with the rest of the wrinkled pieces of your uniforms.

Finally, you saw his member in all its glory. It was pale, with a hint of rosy hue, and exactly the right shape for your preferences. If you had to guess, it was at least 8 inches erect. He’d teased you with his dickprint for those long months, aware of how its size and girth demanded your attention every time you were lucky enough to sit next to him in a meeting. How long had you yearned to feel it for yourself?

You took his rock hard penis into your hand, gathering all of the saliva in your mouth before taking it in. You licked the tip with a flicker of your tongue, smiling to yourself when you saw him writhe where he laid. You wrapped your mouth around him as he cried out in pleasure, finally giving him the relief he desired. Your head began to bob up and down as your tongue licked the entirety of his member. You felt it twitch in your mouth every so often as he began to pulsate, grunting every time the tip hit the back of your throat. You suppressed the urge to gag, slowing down whenever that sick feeling arose, then returned to the same deliberate rhythm when the feeling passed. You could tell the ebb and flow was driving him mad. It was time to give him more.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked, ready to go all the way.

He nodded, reaching over the side of the couch in search of his pants. He fumbled around for a bit, letting out a frustrated curse every once in a while before he found what he was looking for. He ripped off the plastic wrapping and pinched the tip as he slid it down over his painfully erect penis.

When he was ready, you climbed on top and spread your legs.

“Do you want me?” you said, pressing the tip of his head into your vagina. He let out a groan and pushed his hips upward, desperate to get deeper inside of you.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“How badly do you want me?”

“I want you so bad,” his pleas became more urgent, almost turning to whimpers. “Please, let me feel you.”

You obliged, taking him into you. You were still quite wet from his masterful oral skills, so his member slid inside easily without much discomfort. The cry of pleasure that came from him almost caused you to stop in place. You lifted yourself up, then back down again, your cheeks making a smacking sound as they slammed against his thighs.

“Fuck,” he sighed with eyes closed, grunting with every long stroke. “You feel so good.”

You silently agree as your body rises and falls in a steady pattern. He feels so good, so unbelievably good inside you, and all you wanted in that moment was to make him feel as good as you did. You bounced around, testing out different angles to see which gave the best reactions, then settled on one and sped up your strokes.

“Tell me you love it,” you demanded, dripping with sweat, seeking affirmation of a job well done. 

“I love it. I need it. Please, give me more.”

You could feel him getting close. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching your hips for dear life as you rode him into dawn and let out more than a few moans of your own.

Finally, he reached his peak. You could feel his warm cum bursting inside you, protected only by the thin lubricated condom. You sat there for some time, delighting in the random pumps and twitches as he continued to burst inside you. 

Exhaustion finally hit, and when he pulled you into an embrace you didn’t bother protesting. The two of you laid there for however long, lost in a world of ecstasy. One hand was wrapped around your shoulder while the other stroked your wild curls. You closed your eyes and melted into him, making sure to enjoy the moment as much as possible before it was over.

“Roy,” you spoke up after a long bout of silence. “What happens now?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, continuing to caress your frazzled curls and rubbing the back of your neck every now and then. Seemingly lost in thought.

“I told you,” he spoke up after some time. “You call the shots.”

You clenched your fist as it rested against his chest. You could feel his heart beating rapidly, unwilling to let the excitement go.

“I want more of this. I want more of you.”

He responded by cupping your cheek in one hand, pulling it towards his own face so he could address you properly. For once, you felt shy as you made eye contact with your colonel.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Uh, nothing. I have to tend to my garden, but that won’t take long.”

“Let’s do dinner at 7. Then I’ll tend to your garden afterward.”

He was truly something else. You scoffed at his ridiculous innuendo, gently backhanding him for daring to be so cheesy at such a time. He simply smiled back, pulling you in closer so he could kiss you again, and again, and again.

Work, promotions, envious colleagues… all of that could wait. Right now, you had everything you wanted. You’d figure the rest out later.

After all, you were a phenomenal woman. 

[clonesimp]

More Than A Princess | Cody

To say Cody wasn’t fond of this mission was an understatement. He absolutely hated it and would rather clean the mess hall for a week. 

What was the mission you might be asking? Well it was simple. The 212th was assigned to protect a royal family from Separatists invading their planet. Apparently, this royal family was one of the main families funding the Republic. So the survival of this family was essential to the Republic. 

But why did Cody hate this mission? It was because of the royal family itself. He heard rumors that all they cared about was their wealth and how they had a cold persona. He also heard murmurs about how they didn’t care for anyone else and was only helping the Republic simply because when the Separatists asked for their alliance, they didn’t offer that much money. 

Despite if those rumors were true or not, he was determined to not let this royal family intimidate him. 

---

He lied. He was slightly intimidated. One look at the Princess and he was practically swooning. Her face was beautiful and she carried herself elegantly. She had this aura around her that automatically attracted Cody. It didn’t help him when he was assigned to personally protect her, while Obi-Wan was to protect the King and Queen. 

“I cannot say how much I appreciate your service to protect us General Kenobi,” the King said. 

‘Yeah right,’ Cody thought. The King could care less about the General or his service. All he probably cared about was that he was keeping his family alive. 

“The pleasure is all mine, your majesty. It is my duty to protect those in need,” Obi-Wan said back. 

“Please General, you are a guest on our planet. You should join us for dinner.” The Queen spoke now and her tone of voice made it seem like she was demanding him, not asking. 

“Of course, I would love to join for dinner.”  

With that, they all moved inside the castle with Cody and the Princess walking side-by-side. It just occurred to Cody that she still hasn’t spoken a word. All he remembered was that she did a curtsy when he and Obi-Wan arrived. 

Why was it important for Cody to hear your voice? It’s not like he needed to know what it sounded like, it wasn’t vital information. 

But why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? 

---

Dinner with the royal family was over and everyone started to get out of the dining room. Obi-Wan was to escort the King and Queen while Cody was to escort Princess (Y/N). He learned your name by hearing the Queen introduce you to Obi-Wan. 

Why did the Queen have to introduce you? Why couldn’t you do it yourself? These questions roamed his mind while he was walking with you to your room. You still haven’t said a word the whole time he’s been around you. 

You were leading the way to your room since he had no idea where it was. This was his first time at the castle after all, but if he was going to be guarding you then he had to know how to get to your room. 

He noticed that he had arrived at your room when you stopped in front of two grand doors at the end of the hallway. 

Okay, this shouldn’t be hard to remember. 

“Thank you for walking me to my room Commander,” you finally spoke. 

Oh kriff. Your voice was angelic and was music to his ears. He could listen to you talk all day and he wouldn’t be annoyed. 

Seconds had gone by without a word exchanged. You stared into his helmet while he looked back at you. What you didn’t know was that Cody was analyzing your face. He analyzed how perfectly the moon radiated off your skin, or how your hair flowed gracefully down your neck. 

He quickly regained his posture and said “it’s my duty ma’am.” 

“Goodnight Commander. I hope you sleep well tonight,” and with that you gave him a smile and walked into your room. 

Oh how smitten he was for you. 

Cody did not sleep well that night. All he could think about was you and how you enraptured his thoughts. 

---

Cody got on board the transport and looked around for an empty seat. He was surprised to find that the only empty seat on the transport was the one next to yours. 

So he walked past some other people that were on the transport which were advisors of the royal family or some clones and sat down next to you. Your attention was out the window and it wasn’t until he sat down that you noticed he was on the transport. 

You gave him the most heart-warming smile that made his whole body jittery. 

“Hello Commander, did you sleep well last night?”

“Oh uh… yes I did.” Lie. “How well did you sleep last night?” 

“I slept great. Thanks for asking.” You gave him another smile and redirected your attention out the window. 

This was new to Cody. No one had really asked how he slept, not even his brothers. Everyone slept in the barracks and they all knew how uncomfortable they were, so there was no point in asking.

“Oh I almost forgot something,” you went under your seat to grab a small basket. You unraveled the cloth that covered it and handed it to Cody. The scent that came out of the basket was rich and enticing that almost made Cody drool. Inside the basket were some pastries. 

“Grab one. It’s for you.” Your gaze lingered on him as he put a hand in the basket and grabbed one… what was this exactly? 

As if you read his thoughts you said, “it’s an exo-protein wafer if you’re wondering. I made some for your brothers but I’m not sure if they’ll like it, so you’re the first person to try this.” 

This was new to Cody. No one made anything for him or his brothers. So why were you doing something nice for them? It confused him as to why a princess would spend her time doing something kind for other people. 

Cody took one bite out of the wafer and his taste buds exploded. The wafer was delicious and it was both savory and sweet at the same time. It was so full of flavor that he ate the rest in one big chomp. Suddenly realizing what he did, he looked away embarrassingly trying to avoid eye contact. You giggled in response. 

“So, I take it that you like it?”

“I love it. You did a really good job making these.”

“Thank you Commander.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and put the basket back under your seat after he grabbed another one. Knowing that you brought a smile to his face made your face blush. 

“So why did you make these for us clones? We’re not anything special.”

“What are you talking about? You guys are special. I really appreciate the army protecting me and my family.”

“Just doing our duty ma’am,” Cody said instinctively. Not a lot of people appreciated him and his brothers efforts, but whenever someone did he would mutter those same words. However, when you said it he could tell you genuinely meant it. 

“I have to save some of these for your brothers, but I’ll make more for you when we get back to the castle.”

“I would love that.”

---

Everything was absolute chaos. For some reason on the way back to the castle, you were ambushed by Separatists. Now Cody and his brothers had to fight off these droids that were blocking the way to the castle. 

Cody ordered you to take some cover and hide behind a large rock. His attention wasn’t entirely on you since his mind was focused on the battlefield. 

One second he looked at you, and the next you grabbed a blaster and started shooting back at the droids. He was utterly shocked to the point that he stopped shooting and directed his whole attention to you, and how wonderful you looked using a blaster. 

“Cody look out!” 

All of a sudden, you pushed him to the ground and he saw a blaster bolt go through you. Luckily it didn’t hit you or Cody, otherwise you two would be dead from a head shot. You had just saved him from getting killed. 

Now he realized that you were on top of him, hovering over his body. You were panting heavily and had your arms around his head holding yourself up. 

He never saw such a beautiful sight before. 

Noticing the awkward position you two were in, you got back up and went back to shooting the droids. Throughout the rest of the battle all you could think of was how handsome Cody looked beneath your body. 

---

“I gotta say, I’m impressed how good you are with a blaster. It’s not everyday you see royalty shooting down droids without missing a single shot.”

“Whenever mother and father are out of the castle, I go to the training grounds to practice with a blaster.” 

You and Cody were walking back to your room talking about the battle that occurred today. He was fascinated by how flawless you handled yourself in battle and was surprised you weren’t a warrior. 

After the battle, you gave the wafers to some of his closest brothers and they all insisted that you ate dinner with them. You happily agreed and spent dinnertime sitting next to Cody and listening to stories told by some of his brothers. 

“Well, here we are.”

You both had finally reached your room and it saddened Cody because he did not want the night to end. Neither did you. 

“Thanks again for walking with me Cody.”

“No problem your highness.”

Cody grabbed your hand and gave your knuckles a sweet kiss. He looked back at you lovingly and you couldn’t help but fall in love with the man before you. 

He bent his head down next to your ear and whispered, “goodnight (Y/N),” only for you to hear. 

“Goodnight Cody.” You smiled and opened the doors to your room, but before you walked in you turned back around to him. 

“Oh, Cody?”

“Hm?”

You leaned forward and kissed his lips, using your right hand to caress his cheek. 

“Sleep well,” and with that you walked into your room and closed the doors. 

Cody unconsciously moved his hand up to his lips and licked them. He really wanted you to kiss him again.

[etirabys]

Downbelow Station, a fanfic summary

I’ve been writing fic for this tiny book fandom and have at least a few fandom acquaintances who want to read my fic but don’t want to read the book. This is a summary of what happens in the novel, whose heart, to me, is the relationship between a mindwiped ex-slave and a cross-cultural married couple who take him in under their protection.

The premise

People are in space, since the Earth Company started establishing space stations around increasingly distant stars for manufacturing/trade. There are several types of people:

Stationers stay on one station – stations were originally established by the Earth Company but have since gained de facto independence because Earth is so far away

Merchanters live on ships and trade – family very important to them, so is family name, regularly deal with Stationers as part of their life but find settling down very foreign. More sexually opportunistic than Stationers, possibly less monogamous.

Earth Company Fleet soldiers live on ships; originally under the control of Earth Company, as of novel start have gone kind of rogue, will continue to go even more rogue over the course of the novel

Citizens of Union, a... nation in space that grew in the deepest reaches, furthest away from Earth's influence. Union is currently trying to annex everyone else. Earth Company is trying to resist this through their Fleet. However, Earth Company is not very enthusiastic about this war and have been drawing out; the Fleet thinks it's important to keep fighting and keep doing dipshit moves like impressing Merchanter ships and ?? maybe looting stations a little bit to keep going.

Azi of Union – a genetically engineered underclass specific to Union. Basically designer subs. I believe the word azi is never brought up in Downbelow Station, but it's very clear a character is an azi, and what that means is explained in Cyteen, which takes place in the same universe. Union citizens use 'tapes' casually and at-will for fast learning and entertainment and conditioning, but starting later in life. Azi grow up on tape – their psyches are designed to be good at whatever they were designed to do, whether that's soldiering or psychologizing or childcare. Azi require varyingly regular check-ins with a Supervisor, who is an assigned person who tells the azi they are Very Good and On Course With Their Lives and give them tapes to keep them aligned with their values and mentally stable. Azi have normal human names but also an ID that looks like AO-1234, where the first alphabet character indicates what ‘class’ you are – an Alpha-class azi is probably far smarter than your average citizen and is more capable of functioning independently. Azi can win citizenship, but so far the only people onscreen who’ve done so are Alpha-class azi.

The cast

Damon Konstantin is a head of Legal Affairs on Pell Station, and the son of the Stationmaster, which is apparently a hereditary position. Despite the hereditariness Pell seems to have the most familiar culture to me, a 21st century American expecting democracy and rule of law. Pell Station is special – it orbits a human-livable planet called Downbelow, and there are only three such planets under human control. This means the planet can be used as a base for ‘bioform production’ (a vague category encompassing everything you can grow on a planet but not a space station) and makes Pell strategically valuable. The other two livable planets are Earth, under the control of the Earth Company Fleet’s nominal masters, and Cyteen, the base of Union operations. Pell is neutral, as many star stations try to be.

Elene Quen is a Merchanter who stepped off her ship to marry Damon. They’ve been married for four months at novel start. Her formal role is liaison with Merchanters.

Joshua Talley is a soldier of Union who was captured when Union forces sabotaged (blew up) a station called Mariner Station. He was tortured for information on another station – Russell’s – whose inhabitants feared the same fate for themselves. He had nothing to give them – he was a medium-level technician/soldier, an ‘armscomper’, which I think means he was the person pressing buttons to fire on targets or programming the weapons to fire on targets. During his interrogation Russell’s station was also sabotaged, ensuing in a mass evacuation.

Signy Mallory is one of the ~10 captains of the Earth Company Fleet. She is commanding and very deadly, commands fanatical loyalty from her soldiers. She’s also a sexual sadist. When she comes to evacuate Russell’s Stationers from a failing space station she finds that they have a Union POW who is very pretty, and takes him into her personal quarters for their journey to Pell. It is not said how she rapes him but it was a lot. Joshua thinks of this part as worse than the previous interrogation.

The events from there

When the Fleet arrives at Pell Station, they are convoying huge ships full of thousands of refugees from stations sabotaged / fallen to Union. It has been weeks or months since they started out. The ships were overpacked, many inside are dead, the culture of the ships has quickly turned anarchic/violent.

Angelo Konstantin, master of Pell, says "wtf, we can't take all these people, we don't have space. We literally cannot do this." The Fleet says, “You better,” unloads the highly upset and sick refugees, and leaves. Pell Station clears out two sectors of their station and makes it the 'quarantine zone', later shortened to Q. Conditions are very bad in Q and what to do with the violent, desperate people inside, many of whom cannot prove who they were in their past lives, when Pell doesn’t have the capacity to relocate them, is an ongoing problem throughout the novel.

Before leaving, Signy Mallory also said, "in addition to the refugee crises we unloaded on you, here is a Union prisoner of war we transported separately because the refugees would have killed him", and dumps Joshua on Pell leadership.

Around this time, Elene Quen finds out that her ship was destroyed when Mariner Station blew up. She now has no blood family, and Merchanters put great cultural emphasis on having clan and name. She decides to have a kid, talking Damon into it.

Joshua Talley is extremely depressed and keeps asking for a mindwipe so he can live as a normal citizen on Pell rather than being indefinitely detained. Mindwipes are used on stations as a consensual way of rehabilitating criminals. His captors are reluctant – it’s tantamount to execution. Damon Konstantin is the final permission-giver on the issue and gives it in the end. The process of mindwipe (or Adjustment) necessarily causes the person to regurgitate their whole life. This is recorded. Due to this, he discovers only after the mindwipe is complete that Josh was tortured on Russell’s with mindwipe drugs (presumably for the same regurgitating-your-whole-life property) and then raped on Signy Mallory’s ship on the way to Pell, and that wanting to wipe out the trauma was the real reason he wanted a mindwipe.

Damon feels really bad about this. He checks up on Josh Talley a lot when he's recovering from the mindwipe. He and his wife Elene decide to 'sponsor' him when he's rejoining normal society on the ship. Elene does so through some personal resistance – Josh once belonged to the military force that wiped out her family. They check in with a guy who doesn’t remember much of anything but definitely has abandonment issues and is afraid of emotional entanglement with people.

Josh Talley quietly converts much of his internal body mass into gooey loyalty.

Plot chaos. The station comes to be formally occupied by the Fleet, who wants to use it as their new base of operations, and a Union saboteur named Gabriel who talks to Stationmaster Angelo Konstantin’s main rival and conspires to bring him to power instead...

There’s a part I really really want to summarize here where Josh tries to fall on  grenade for the Quen-Konstantins – literally, trying to take an action that would end in his death but keep them safe from the Fleet – and they show up and say “you idiot, never do that again” and bring him back to their apartment and say “while the Fleet is suspicious of you, you are living HERE, so everyone knows you are under our protection. Forget your old job, we’ll find you something working closely with Damon every day – while you’re in sight they can’t get at you.” But I can’t find a non-confusing way to relay it, sorry.

Soon after that, the Union saboteur succeeds. Angelo Konstantin is assassinated. His rival, Jon Lukas, takes his place, and starts enacting subtly Union-friendly policies. I think this somehow happens concurrently with the Fleet still using Pell as a base of operations. It’s highly chaotic. Elene flees the chaos on a Merchanter ship whose family she knows. Damon and Josh, fearing whoever assassinated Angelo, hide within the more bad and chaotic parts of the station (I honestly don’t believe the author when she says they managed this for months – Pell has tens of thousands of people, that’s not a lot! You could close each sector at a time and sweep everyone!). This part feels like big missed opportunity to me – they spend their time moving from hiding place to hiding place, coming up with hopeless schemes that they know they’ll never enact. One infers they got much closer, but the author doesn’t go into that either. The one delight that comes out of this sequence is that Josh becomes more assertive and competent than we’ve ever seen him – being in hiding, under danger, brings out submerged training. He’s not a dependent anymore – arguably in some places he’s in lead.

In the middle of this, Josh makes contact with the Union saboteur, Gabriel, who hails him as a colleague and informs him that they’re of the same kind. They have the same training. The story Josh gave Russell’s interrogators, and Pell, that he was a mid-tier technician, is an implanted set of memories that automatically flushes his real ones when he was under duress. 

This means, although the author never explores it, that Josh was probably integral to destroying Mariner Station, and concomitantly responsible for Elene’s family’s deaths.

Josh asks Gabriel for safe passage to the planet Downbelow for both himself and a companion. Gabriel acquiesces, but is shocked when the companion Josh brings to the meeting is the Konstantin heir. He starts to say, “Well, well, what a useful person you have brought me –” and then gets shot by a Fleet soldier who’s following reports of a suspicious person. (My fic Half-Silvered Mirror diverges from canon at this point, and asks what would have happened if Gabriel had his way.)

Now in the hands of the Fleet, Josh and Damon meet with Signy Mallory again. Josh isn’t what Mallory remembers – as a rape victim he was passive, inward-turned. This Josh is articulate and emotional and loyal. Damon isn’t what she expects, either – he manages to jab at her conscience about what the Fleet has become, lawless and unmoored from any democratic interest. She plans to execute both of them the next day.

Due to convoluted plot reasons, she doesn’t. She turns against the rest of the Fleet, which for their own reasons is headed back towards Earth – to conquer. Her ship, Norway, enters a standoff against Union warships over Pell. Which isn’t on course to go well for her, until someone broadcasts at both of them that Pell is now under Merchanter claim. Elene, while out in space, has been convincing Merchanters to form an unprecedented coordination bloc. She demands Pell for the Merchanter Alliance and informs the Union military leader, Azov, that if he doesn’t acquiesce all Merchanter ships in her fleet will refuse to trade in Union space.

She wins. The scene when she docks at Pell and walks in, pregnant and victorious, to kiss her husband, is one of the most visually !!! scenes.

In the aftermath, Azov tries to take Josh back for Union. Damon says nope, he’s ours. Josh, what do you want? Josh says nothing. Looks at nothing. But when Azov and the other Union soldiers leave, he stays.

And afterwards, he goes to Signy Mallory – whose ships now constitute Pell’s militia – and asks, sincerely, to work as crew on her ship for a while. He says he can’t live on a station comfortably. That the stationers know him, and his past. (Not sure how true this is.) Mallory says it’s nothing another mindwipe can’t cure, and he says he doesn’t want to forget. “I’ve got something. The only real thing. All that I value.”

“So you go off and leave it?”

“For a while.”

Comments

There’s... so much I want to write about and explore.

Did Elene know when Josh left that he was probably responsible for her family’s death? (My fic Awarding Damages is about one way they could resolve this)

What did Signy Mallory do to Josh? Can he handle working under her?

Damon and Elene are so parental to Josh, and they're also embarking on having a family in a dynastic way where having a clan is their way of asserting that they exist and are rooted in the world. And of course Josh is going to feel really weird about how he fits into that – he's only watching it happen because he's a charity case, of course he's going to have no involvement in that project – what place is left for him anyway, he has no one and is nothing. I want this man to have feelings about family and how he doesn't have one and then HAVE A FAMILY I want him to hold the baby and go "OH. You are a biological composite of the two greatest people in the world. I cannot hold it against you that you are now going to push me out of my current living situation with the two greatest people in the world"

Due to the amount of mindfuckery Josh has gone through, it’s unclear to both him and the reader how many his memories are real. What does that do to a person?

From what I know of azi from Cyteen, Josh has psychological needs – again, he’s like a bred sub – that non-Unioners aren’t going to understand. Can he get them met? How does he negotiate that?

[worksofthedaemon]

Salt & Lime

Reno x Reader mini-fic

It was supposed to be a drabble.... and now it’s not, sorry *Shrugs* So I don’t know if I’m 100% happy, BUT I had a whole lotta fun writing this. I was chatting in a FFVII fandom group chat about the Turk’s drinks of choice, and most of us were in agreement that Reno is a fan of tequila.  And I guess thats where this came from!  Theres also a healthy dose of canon Rude crushing on Tifa ok sorry 

I hope you enjoy uwu

In the growing late Friday evening, a pleasant buzz filled the air in Seventh Heaven. Tifa was hard at work behind the bar; serving the regular punters, managing the riff-raff, brandishing gloved fists at the troublemakers, and barely a moment to polish glassware in between. 

Rude looked silently on from his seat at the end of the bar, giving him a clear view of the door, so he could monitor those coming and going, with a pleasant bonus of the dark haired girl behind the bar. The latter of which he was too proud to admit. Reno, however, saw right through his facade - and boy did he like to tease his partner. The second-in-command Turk sat adjacent to Rude, back to the door, leaning heavily on one elbow propped up on the bar. Shirt uneven and mostly unbuttoned, a stark contrast to Rude’s sharp appearance, who even after hours, maintained a straight tie and regularly checked his cuff-links.

Reno poorly hid his smirk behind his beer as he took a gulp from the bottle. He followed Rude’s gaze, masked by the shades he wore, as Tifa collected the empties on the bar and walked away with a customer service smile. Reno cleared his throat, and Rude snapped back to attention, averting his now chagrined expression away from his partner, catching a nervous cough in his gloved hand. 

Chuckling, Reno reached out to harmlessly jab his partners shoulder. “Yo, ease up. Your secret’s safe with me. Although…” Reno trailed off, glancing at Tifa, now serving the other patrons. “It won’t be much of a secret anymore if you keep being so goddamn obvious.” 

Rude refused to meet his partner’s eyes. “Don’t be absurd. I have nothi-”, 

“You gotta make a move sooner or later though. This tension is killing me, man.” Reno pretended not to hear, as he continued to lecture Rude about his crush. “Just call her over and ask her out - I’ll do it for you! Hey, Tif! Rude wants to-”

Rude immediately clapped a hand over Reno’s mouth before he could do any more damage, however, Tifa had already heard her name amidst the commotion and had turned her attention to the two of them, a perplexed look on her face.

“Did you guys need something?” She asked, hands on her hips. 

Rude dropped his hand from the other Turk’s mouth, revealing the annoying grin hidden there, and cleared his throat. “My apologies.”

Before she could turn away, Reno said, “My partner here was just going to order another round, and offer you a drink. Ain’t that right, Rude?”

Rude sighed, pulling his card from his breast pocket and placed it on the bar before Tifa. “That’s correct.”

Tifa paused, glancing between the two of them, before shrugging and collecting the card. “Why the hell not? Another single malt on the rocks and a house beer, coming right up.”, she declared, waltzing away. Basking in the awkward exchange he had caused, Reno drained the last drops of his beer and spun the bottle on the bar top. Rude looked like he was going to chide him, but instead he diverted his attention with a sidelong glance at the door. It was his turn to smirk.

“Time to practise what you preach.”

Puzzled, Reno glanced over his shoulder to see who had entered the bar. 

You strolled into Seventh Heaven, looking forward to that glass of wine that had been on your mind since you left work. Working repairs and maintenance at the weapon store wasn’t exactly a strenuous job, but it was a tedious and mentally draining one. Especially since, recently, the number of monsters spotted in the outskirts of the slums had been increasing as of late. Naturally, that meant more work for you. Not to mention the newly nested drakes in the warehouses. Business was booming, your pockets were heavy from the bonus you received, but it sure was tiring, and more than warranted a trip to your local bar after a long week of being hunched over gun grease and blow torches. 

Tifa met you with a bright smile and a wave as you approached, already reaching for the wine glasses hanging above to prepare your usual. You returned her smile, adding a two finger salute. It was then you registered the familiar shock of red hair from the corner of your eye. As usual, the same pair of Turks were seated at the far left side of the bar. They had been coming in for the past couple of months, though weren’t exactly sure why. Your best guess was that they weren’t under a watchful eye while down in the slums, no one to keep tabs on them while off duty. You were acquainted with them, occasionally chatted to them in passing when you ordered your drink. Well, chatted to the redhead at least. His partner was more akin to a chiselled statue than a man, and spoke as openly as one. Reno, on the other hand, over compensated for Rude’s lack of small talk. You had learned each of their names from Tifa, and Reno had coaxed your own from you after your third encounter at the bar. On the condition that he bought you a drink, of course. Typically, you didn’t like company, you preferred your own space, some time to clear your head after work. Nevertheless, you weren’t completely opposed to Reno’s efforts to socialise, and he was very easy on the eye.

Upon reaching the bar, you threw your phone down on top of it, shortly joined by the finger-less gloves you proceeded to tear from your hands. Tifa placed a glass of wine down in front of you, pursing her lips while she waited for you to take a sip. She never charged you for your drinks, since you did a lot of weapon repairs for them as a favour. You weren’t exactly a member of Avalanche, but you were friends with them, and did what you could to help out in a way you knew how without being directly involved. In return, Tifa waved your bar tab and hooked you up with a place at Stargazer Heights to stay. 

You picked up the glass, closing your eyes for a moment and savoured the crisp, oaky aromas that rose from the glass contents. Bringing the glass to your lips and taking a generous mouthful, you swallowed slowly, nodding your approval.

“Wow, Tifa, I’m impressed! Where did you steal this?” You accused, jokingly. 

Tifa clapped her hands together and laughed lightly. “It came from Wall Market!” She leaned forward slightly and cupped a hand over her mouth, adding with a whisper, “A crate of it fell from the Don’s cargo.”

You raised your eyebrows and gasped in exaggerated surprise. “Oh my, what a shame! Well, I suppose we’ll have to make the most of it, huh?”

From the opposite end of the bar, you caught sight of Reno, clearly listening in to your conversation. He was jabbing Rude in the ribs with an elbow and no doubt saying something cringe-worthy, as Rude’s reaction was to pinch the bridge of his nose,his lips forming a thin, disapproving frown. 

“Has Rude made a move yet?” You chided, playfully.

Tifa ‘tsked’ and rolled her eyes. “No, just the usual pleasantries. Can’t say the same for him though. He’s up to no good...” She made no gesture but it was clear that the ‘him’ implied Reno.

You smiled, knowingly. Reno loved to get under his partner’s skin, listening to them converse for a mere five minutes was enough to discern that much. You had neglected to admit that you liked Reno and hadn’t mentioned it to a soul. He was a Turk, and that was a huge problem. As far as first impressions go, you were seemingly cold towards people, so it was easy enough to shrug him off at first. However, that did not deter Reno, and he persistently flirted with you. You had picked up on it around a month ago. Not that you minded, but you knew for a fact you couldn’t get involved with a Turk. Despite this, you certainly couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to some particularly daring places.

“Well, I’ll go take my regular spot.” You stated, mentally shoving your forbidden thoughts to a vault in your mind. Sweeping up your phone and gloves from the bar top as you turned to go, you paused, twisting back towards Tifa, swilling the wine in your glass and adding, “I’ll be back for more of this, it’s amazing.”

Tifa simply nodded with acknowledgement, and went back to serving the Turks. Turning, you caught Reno’s eye, who was giving you a once over. You weren’t dressed-up in the slightest. Although, rocking your work clothes, you supposed the combat pants and cropped shirt you wore gave him a decent view of your defined shape. You couldn’t hide the half smile that twitched at the corner of your lips before walking over to your usual seat.

Reno watched as you sauntered over to a seat at the round table near the window, your back to the jukebox. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the knuckle of his thumb over his bottom lip in contemplation.

Tifa had returned with their drinks, and she hesitated when placing the bottle down in front of Reno, regarding the red haired Turk seemingly deep in thought. She tilted her head, blinking down at him, then peered over at where you had gone to take a seat. Tifa swallowed a giggle as Reno brought his attention back down to earth. 

“And just what exactly are you scheming?” Tifa examined him with a grin filled with scrutiny. 

Rude stared into his glass, tipping it this way and that so the singular ice cube knocked around the inside of the tumbler. He shook his head. “Nothing good.”

As if to reinforce his statement, Reno fished out his card, and held it out for Tifa to take. “Keep hold of this. Say, Tifa, what’s your best tequila?”

Thunk. The dart missed the triple twenty zone by a thread, resulting instead with a measly twenty. Rolling your eyes, you plucked the darts from the board and chalked your score. Just gotta beat Wedge, you thought, readying your next throw. Behind you, the clinking of glass settling on the table behind you caused you to divert your focus, the dart slipping from your fingertips sooner than anticipated. You stared begrudgingly as it struck the centre of the ‘0’ in twenty. 

Spinning on your heel, you registered the unexpected sight of Reno settling into a chair at your table, placing a bottle and two shot glasses upon it. The expression he wore was a smug one.

You met his eyes with a leer, holding his gaze for a moment. His implied offer was more appealing to you than you cared to admit. You debated just flat out refusing, but instead, tentatively returning your attention back to the dart board and raised your hand for another throw. Reno rested his chin on an upturned palm, glazing over your dismissive attitude at his unspoken proposition. 

“Come on, just a few drinks. Indulge me.” 

You sighed, heavily. “And what do I owe you if I do?” You threw a dart. Double eighteen.

The Turk innocently raised his hands. “Oh please, I’m not that kinda guy.”

You arched a brow.

Reno looked offended. “Don’t give me that look. I can be an asshole, but not that kind of asshole.” He gestured to the shot glasses with a curt head tilt. 

You shot a quick glance at the bar, where Tifa stood watching the scene play out. Rude averted his gaze, pretending to straighten his tie. You stood for a moment, curling your lip. Decidedly, you stepped up to the dart board to retrieve the two darts, along with another set from the pocket next to the scoreboard, and returned to your table. Reno’s grin widened when you took a seat nearest to his. You placed the newly acquired set of darts down in front of him, and grabbed the bottle he had placed on the table. 

“Tequila, huh.” You commented, skimming the label.

Reno lifted a dart with his index finger, balancing it on the tip. “To your liking, I hope?”

You shrug. “I’m partial to tequila.” You placed the bottle down. “Sure. I’ll drink with you. On one condition.”

The Turk raised his brow, interest piqued.

You flick the dart up from where it balanced on Reno’s finger and snatched it out of the air, brandishing the point at him. “Beat me at a game of darts, fewest throws to three-o-one. Then we’ll drink.”

Reno appeared to be calculating your offer. He poked at a shot glass. “Sure you don’t want a warm up drink?” You snorted. “And have you beat because your aim is off? Don’t shoot yourself in foot, hotshot.”

He threw his head back, “Ha! Take me for a light-weight? I can assure ya, you’ll be the one crawling to keep up once we get into this.” He shook the bottle for emphasis. 

You shook your head, a confident grin on your face. “You should not underestimate me.”

“Oh trust me, I don’t.” Reno affirmed, rising from his seat, hand pushing away from the table.

 Dart still in hand, you clasped your free hand over his and slammed the dart point first between the splayed fingers of Reno’s hand and into the weathered wood of the table. “Not so fast.” You picked up your wine glass, a few drops at the bottom, and held it out to him. “Go get me another wine first.”

Reno held your gaze as he took the wine glass from you, his hand lingering on yours for an extra breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

Waiting until the Turk left the table and got to the bar, you expelled a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. What am I doing?! A thought in your brain flared out as you went to reset the scores, wiping the board clean. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the opportunity for a challenge, yet you also couldn’t help but wonder if you were stepping on dangerous ground. He’s a Turk! Your thoughts needle your conscience once more. You brushed your hair back from your face and inhaled a deep breath. “Let’s just have some fun for once.” You muttered under your breath.

Reno returned, full glass in hand, and a fresh bottle of beer for himself. He placed the drinks down, and collected the darts up off the table. “Ladies first.” he announced, gesturing with mock courtesy.

You stepped over to the jukebox, cranking the volume slightly as ‘Fight On’ began to play. You levelled Reno with an icy stare. “Game on, bitch.”

Six darts in and you were tied. Both your own and Reno’s scores sat at 240. His throws had followed yours to the millimetre, his unwavering concentration taking you by surprise. Two more throws could call the round, and despite the casual nature of the game, the competitive pressure had you on edge. 

“Your throw, sweet heart.” Reno leaned against the jukebox, sipping his beer.

You stepped up to the hockey, lined up your throw, and shot; One.

Reno scoffed,“Yikes, playing it safe there. I thought you were going to go hard on me.”

You reached for your wine, taking a sip and meeting Reno’s nonchalant gaze over the brim. You hated how much you loved his cocky demeanour, but kept up your cool facade. 

“All I need is that triple. You should be shaking in your boots, Turk.”

Much to your disappointment, he didn’t seemed phased as you lined up your next shot. You sucked in a sharp breath, held it. Sights on the triple twenty. In the split second you exhale and loose the dart, you glanced over in Reno’s direction to see if his poker face had faltered. Big mistake. He was staring directly at you, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted. The image of him relaxed there against the jukebox, wearing a deadly expression that caused your heart to lurch and your breath to hitch. Your eyes widened slightly at the placement of the dart in the board and you froze in disbelief. Double twenty.

Sauntering over to you with a swaggering gait, Reno leaned in close enough for you to feel the loose strands of his hair tickle your ear, whispering “Oops, my bad.” 

Standing frozen with your back to him, you failed to note his conniving smile.

“You wanna take that last shot or are you going to forfeit to me?”

Visibly grimacing, you ignored his jape and took your last shot. Double ten. You retrieved your darts without a word. Reno finished up with two shots as you looked on in disdain, a triple nineteen followed by a double two, winning by one less dart. Not once did he drop his composure or appear nervous. 

“You’re a dirty player, you know that?” You opined, though if challenged you weren’t really sure how to back up that statement. 

Reno feigned shock. “I have no idea what you’re implying, but I won fair and square. Unless… you just really wanted that drink, so you let me win.” 

“I would never let you win.” You snapped, and Reno raised a brow. You paused. “But I definitely deserve that tequila now.”

He seemed to comply with your statement. “Alright, alright, but let’s take this outside. I need a smoke, and you could probably use some air to cool off.” 

You had to bite on your tongue in order to prevent a retort.

Outside, you were in fact thankful for the cool night air on your apparently hot skin. You leaned over the railing while Reno proceeded to light up a cigarette, inhaling a few puffs before setting it down in the ashtray. The smoke wasn’t completely unpleasant, as you caught a passive taste of the menthol that laced it.

Tifa kindly brought your drinks outside, and you both settled into the seats at the small table on the veranda.The redhead reached for the bottle but you snapped it up before he could lay a finger on it, and you inwardly berated yourself for being so fickle. The wine was really hitting you differently tonight. Sure, you were sassy, but this seemed to coat you with a few extra bristles - or maybe it was the circumstances in which you found yourself in, you couldn’t say. 

You poured the shots and set the bottle down. You lifted your glass without so much as checking to see if Reno had picked up his, when suddenly he raised a finger to your lips. 

“Nah-ah, you can’t just drink it, you’ve got to go all in.” He scolded, taking your shot from you and reaching to a condiment on the table, beside which was a lime wedge resting upon a black napkin. 

You chuckled, grinning sheepishly. “Right, because I’m not salty enough?” 

The smile Reno gave you in return this time was a light hearted one. “Alright, salt, shot, lime. Got it?”

Rolling your eyes, you said “Yeah yeah, I know the drill.”

Reno scooted his chair closer, holding the salt shaker. He brought his free hand up and licked the base of his thumb before tipping the salt on the slightly glistening skin.

Your stomach felt as if it did a small flip at the sight of this gesture, meaningless as it was, but it was enough to cause you to shudder with a feeling you didn’t want to give voice to. You did the same with your own hand, vaguely noticing the mirth slipping into Reno’s smile as he poured the salt onto your hand. Placing the shaker down and picking up your shots, you raised them between the two of you, pronouncing a simultaneous ‘cheers’.

In one fluid and unanticipated motion, Reno caught your hand, bringing it boldly to his lips and lapped the salt from your skin, a deviousness in his eyes as he winked at you and drained his shot. All you could do was gawp, so stunned by his audacity that you simply watched as he dipped his thumb in the salt on his own hand, and brought the same hand to cup your face, thumb poised on your lips.

Tentatively, you darted your tongue out, allowing it to caress his thumb and taste the sharpness of the salt. Reno’s stare locked onto the movement, and you grasped the opportunity to break his composure. You gently closed your lips around the tip of his thumb, and sucked the remaining salt off with a slight pop. The raw desire that pooled in Reno’s eyes in that moment was satisfying enough for you to warrant it as revenge, his hand dropping without him registering. You knocked back your own shot, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol as it spread through your chest from within. 

You held out your hand with an upturned palm, a confident request falling from your tongue. “My lime, please.”

Reno’s piercing blue eyes seemed to penetrate your own, as his lips parted into a smile, revealing the lime wedge clenched between his teeth. Oh, fuck m- However, your intruding thoughts were thrown to the wind as you jumped from your seat, reaching for Reno’s jaw with your already outstretched hand and crashing your lips into his. The Turk tugged at the waistband of your pants to bring you closer, planting your free hand on his exposed chest to prevent you from falling into him, your tongue fighting with his as it withdrew the lime. The juice of the lime tangy and sweet, mixing with the scent of the lingering cigarette smoke, bittersweet and somehow sinful. 

You parted from the kiss abruptly, nipping his lip a little before standing back and wiping the juice from your lips. Reno reached up with the napkin to remove the lime from his mouth, his smug grin dripping with mirth. 

Now that your mind had a chance to catch up with what had just transpired, you felt an angry blush blooming on your cheeks. This gave Reno more satisfaction than you willingly wanted to give, though the growing desire in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed, and this ignited something else in you.

“Yo, no need to go shy on me now, y/n. Maybe you need another shot to take the edge off?” Reno suggested, leaning back in his seat, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oh shut the fuck up and kiss me asshole,” you asserted, roughly grabbing the colllar of his suit and forcing him up and out his chair, pressing him against the wall of Seventh Heaven. Not a single part of him resisted, his arms wrapping around you and pulling your body against his own, his left hand snaking up into your hair and the other grasping at the curve of your hip. Faster than you can comprehend, Reno had pushed off the wall and flipped you around so you were now pinned against it. The kisses were hot, angry and desperate, as you allowed the self restraint to slip away and submit to carnal desires.

Reno broke the kiss, momentarily satiated. He withdrew his hand from your hair and traced his finger along your jaw to stop under your chin, tilting your head up.

He shook his head a little in disbelief. “Well I gotta be honest, did not expect my night to turn out quite like this.”

“Likewise,” you huffed, then swiftly pushed Renos' body from yours. He stumbled a little, shooting you a questioning look.

“I want a rematch!” You demanded, shaking your fist and marching back into the bar.

[khoicesbyk]

Beloved.

A/N: I'm officially obsessed with Wolf Bride and what does one do when she's obsessed with a certain book? She writes an AU about it! 😁 So, Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Rated: Mature. | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual from me. 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: Roman (LI) and Naia Evans (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and certain original characters, created by me) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 3,970 words. (more or less. I stop counting after editing and re-editing. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

Prompt Time! Using @theworldofprompts story prompt of “You get put into an arranged marriage, only to find that the person you're engaged to....is a shapeshifter.”

Missing a chapter or want to read a chapter again? I got you covered! Click ——> Here

Song And Story Inspiration: Burn Slow-Ro James. | Survivor-2WEI feat Edda Hayes

Tag List: @shewillreadyou @choiceslady @txemrn @pixie88 @secretaryunpaid @aussieez @lucy-268 @bebepac @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @otherworldlypresents @hopefulmoonobject @theworldofprompts @choicesficwriterscreations

This series is rated Mature. It is NOT reading material that is safe for those under 18. Reader discretion is STRONGLY advised!

This series may contain spoilers. If you wish not to see spoilers, please do not read any further.

(Also this series is a slight deviation of the original story. In the original story, the werewolf hunter is a woman. But in this series the hunter is a man.)

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or dm me and I will gladly add you. 😁😘

Chapter 6.) Burn Slow.

Oohh... Shit… How you wanna feel? Do you want it raw? Do you want it real? Ima give it to ya. Ima give it to ya real honest. Yeah...

You ain't never had it like this before. Roll in my sheets while we rolling paper. Trying to get you higher than them scrapers. Catching vibes, catching vapors. You should call in sick. You should call in favors. I promise...

When Naia came to Hunt’s Peak it was to learn why her mother left and why she never wanted to talk about it. Never in a million years did she think that she’d meet Roman, who is the man she had been dreaming about for weeks. Nor did she think she’d meet Trent. A mystery man that enchanted her the first time she met him.

She definitely didn’t think she’d be kidnapped. But that’s exactly what happened. She was in the back of a white van with a hood over her head and her feet bound by zip ties. She had no idea where they were or where they were taking her. Wherever they were it was off road because she felt every bump they went over.

“Ow dammit!” She hissed as she hit her head on the floor.

When the van came to a sudden stop, Naia had one plan. She was going to run like hell and not look back. When the doors opened she knew it was now or never.

“Come! It’s time for the preparations to begin!” The man commanded.

“Eat a dick! I’m not going anywhere!” She hissed.

“We’re wasting time!” The woman said to her.

“Does it look like I care? Matter of fact does it sound like I care?” Naia asks.

Rather than answer, the man yanked Naia out of the van and threw her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” Naia shouted.

The two ignored her as they walked her down a strange path. Naia tried but couldn’t wriggle herself out of his grip.

“Goddamn this idiot is stronger than he looks. But I have to get away! I need to get away.” Naia thought to herself as she struggled to get free.

They came to a stop and the next thing Naia knew, she was being thrown onto a bed.

“SERIOUSLY?!”

Neither one answered her, instead the woman ripped the zip ties off with a yank. It scared Naia to witness how strong both of them were.

“This is where you will be until the ceremony at sundown.” The man told her.

“Sundown?! You can’t just leave me here!”

Both left her in the room alone, scared and confused.

She looked around the room to get her bearings, it was set up like a guest bedroom. Complete with candles on the wall, a plush bed and a fireplace. The room had no windows and the entrance was a stone door that she couldn’t move.

“I came all the way to West Virginia to learn why my mom left and I got kidnapped!” She says to herself.

Naia was just about to give up before remembering that her cell phone was in her pocket. When she pulled it out though, there was no signal.

“Well this is absolutely peachy!” She fussed.

As she looked around the room, she found herself slightly impressed.

“Not my taste but not bad.” Naia thought to herself.

She didn’t know what it was but something called her to the bed. She wasn’t tired but she felt the pull to rest. When she laid down her mind was lulled into a peaceful rest. It didn’t take long for her to doze off and dream.

You ain't never had it like this before. So don't you lie. Don't you tell me that you gotta go to work baby. Cause I can pay you for the whole week in bed. I just wanna get lost with you. That mean you belong to me. I wanna wake up.

Waking up to you in the morning. It's better than sunrise. So we can keep the curtains closed. Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow. Baking up with you in the morning. Trying to get a little rewind. Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Elsewhere Roman was preparing for the ceremony himself. With Noemi at his side, Roman was eager to prepare.

“My my! You are eager, my child.” She said to him. She was like a grandmother to him.

“Indeed I am. I have waited for this day for so long, Speaker.”

“What are you most eager about Roman?” She asks.

“It is our bonding ceremony, Speaker. We will finally be together. I am eager to finally welcome her home.” He replied.

“This is indeed a momentous occasion. But, we mustn’t rush, you must remember that she knows not of our ways.”

“She can learn, yes?” He asked.

“Of course she can. But you mustn’t force her. It will only cause her to recoil and reject.”

“I understand, Speaker.”

“Very good. Now let us prepare.”

Oohh... Shit… Girl that Honey Jack put us on our back. When we on our back we get back to that action. Pour up Pour up. And let us take another round down. So we can get in another round. Yeah… I don't need no breakfast 'less it's you on my face. (Then we wake and we bake)

Waking up to you in the morning. It's better than sunrise. So we can keep the curtains closed. Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Baking up with you in the morning. Trying to get a little rewind. Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow.

Noemi had Roman wade into the sacred springs as she prepared him.

“Mother Earth! Hear my call. Prepare my child for the bond of his Beloved. Open their hearts, minds and souls to receive one another.”

Roman inhaled then exhaled slowly as he closed his eyes. The Primal Magic flooded his being and guided his thoughts and soul to hers. He was transported to her dream. He was in the woods as was she.

Naia didn’t know how she wound up in the woods at night but she wasn’t scared. In fact she felt giddy because this time she was human. She was eager to run. What started out as a brisk walk turned into a jog, that turned into a sprint that turned into a full run.

She felt free as she ran through the woods. The wind in her face and the ground underfoot gave her a sense of invincibility. She felt like nothing could stop her. As she ran, she heard the sound of water. Whether it was the river or the creek she wasn’t sure. But, she followed the sound. She felt the water calling to her.

When she came out of the woods she came to the edge of a lake with a waterfall. She was out of breath but exhilarated. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the roaring waterfall soothe her.

Even with her heart thundering in her chest, she felt this strange sense of calmness. When she opened her eyes and looked out on the water she saw Roman. Only he wasn’t himself, he was a werewolf. He was huge, monstrous and beautiful. He held out his massive hand to her.

“Beloved…”

His voice was a low growl. And it should’ve terrified her but instead she trusted him. She walked to him and wrapped her arms around him and felt his arms embrace her. Her trust in him is strong and absolute. She felt safe, she felt loved and when he stepped back from her, she felt powerful. She watched him throw his massive head back and howl. It was commanding and made the woods around them come alive. When he looked at her with his now golden eyes, she woke up.

When Roman opened his eyes, they were golden and determined.

“Did you see her, my child?” Noemi asked.

“I did.” He replies.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

“Yes. Begin the ceremony.” He replied as he waded out of the springs.

Cause I ain't really ready to let you go. No no no no no… Then we wake and we bake. Waking up to you in the morning. So we can keep the curtains closed. Keep em' closed. Let's burn baby.

Baking up with you in the morning. Rewind Rewind… I just wanna get lost with you. No no no no no No no no… Just light a few more candles and burn em' slow. Ooh Shit…

Naia shot up in the bed breathing heavily with her heart pounding. She frantically looked around the room and quickly remembered where she was. She didn’t know what just happened but whatever did happen in that dream felt real. She was face to face with a werewolf. She was in the arms of a werewolf.

“Impossible. Werewolves don’t exist.” She thought to herself as she tried to make sense of her dream.  

That’s when she heard the stone door move and the man and woman who brought her there entered the room.

“It’s time. The ceremony is beginning!” was all he said.

Naia knew that fighting them was pointless. So, she decided to play along for now and she would find a way to escape later. She followed them out of the room which was connected to a corridor inside a large cave. She saw what was a makeshift kitchen, other pieces of furniture and a massive fireplace. It looked like the living room of The Flintstones.

When she stepped outside with them, it was nighttime. She had been asleep for hours, yet it only felt like she had a 20 minute nap. Naia followed the man and woman through the woods, formulating her escape plan as they walked.

Thought I couldn't breathe without you. I'm inhaling. You thought I couldn't see without you. Perfect vision. You thought I couldn't last without you. But I'm lastin'. You thought that I would die without you. But I'm livin'. Thought that I would fail without you. But I'm on top. Thought it would be over by now. But it won't stop. Thought that I would self destruct. But I'm still here. Even in my years to come. I'm still gon' be here.

They arrived at what she thought was a poor man’s Stonehenge. She saw people standing around the stones and a large fire, chanting in a language that she couldn’t understand. All she knew was she had to find a way to get the hell out of there.

“Ooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy…I’m in a cult. Yup I’ve been kidnapped into a cult.” She said quietly. Or so she thought.

“Quiet girl! This is no time for jokes!” The man snapped at her, before he and the woman joined the group that was chanting.

Naia looked around for a way to escape. And when she found it she knew all she had to do was turn around and run. That’s when she saw Roman. He was dressed in leather and body paint. When they locked eyes her heart did backflips. He took her breath away.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn! This is creepy as all hell but sheesh! He’s fine as wine!” She thought to herself as she looked at him. She couldn’t help but notice every last one of his muscles.

There was something about him that turned her fear into curiosity. Any plan she had to run like hell was gone. She just stood there frozen in place. Her eyes never left him.

“We have been waiting for you.” He said to her. His voice was low and commanding. As the others around them chanted, Roman spoke again.

“Precious Mother Earth, we have gathered here to welcome Naia home to us. With her now returned to us the Pack is and will be stronger. We will thrive with her among us. We thank you! We worship you! May you live and flourish within us all.”

Naia thought she was seeing things when she watched his eyes turn golden. Roman had his arms outstretched to her.

“Come to me Beloved…”

“Roman I—“

She felt like she was in a trance by his words as she walked to him. She felt she was a puppet that was being controlled by someone else. She was beyond terrified but at the same time she felt that fear was irrational. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. Nor would he ever allow anyone else to hurt her. She knew she was safe as long as she had him.

When she felt his arms wrap around her, she felt like she did in her dreams. Loved, desired, needed and wanted. She felt at home in his arms. She could feel his warmth, love and devotion for her as they stood locked in each other’s arms. Whatever thought she had of running for the hills was long gone.

“Do not be afraid, Beloved. I’m here.”

“I don’t understand how any of this is happening.”

He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. His gaze was deep and smoldering and made her knees weak. As weird and frightening as all of this was to her, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but there in his arms. He rested his head against hers which put her at ease. Listening to his breathing calmed her own.

“Welcome home Beloved.” He whispered softly to her.  

She looked up at him and was lost in his eyes. He took advantage of the moment and kissed her. The passion, force, intensity and power behind his kiss was intoxicating. She wanted more. She needed more. She wanted him. Their kiss ended because something was wrong. She felt a pull towards someone else. It was powerful enough to make her stagger.

“Beloved? What is it?” He asked her.

“Roman…something…is…wrong…” she replies before losing consciousness.

When she woke up the next morning, she was dizzy, disoriented and her head was pounding. Thankfully Roman was by her side.

“Beloved are you awake?” He asked her.

“Yes.” She said in a voice just above a whisper. She was holding the side of her head.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

“It’s just a headache.” She replies.

“Still…drink.”

He handed her a cup of water. After drinking the water she was able to get her bearings.

“How did I wind up back in this room?” She asked.

“This is our room.” He replies.

“Our room? Where are we?” She asks.

“The den Beloved.” He replied.

“I was here earlier. I was brought and left here.”

“Yes I know. I apologize for that.”

“You knew I was here and never said anything?!” She asked.

“Yes but let me explain. I gave Jett and Isobel the command to bring you here.” He replies.

“You mean you told them to kidnap me?” She asked.

“Yes I did. I had no idea that they would treat you the way that they did. And for that I am deeply sorry. I want you to know that I have no reason to lie to you, Naia.” He replied.

Naia sat completely still trying to process what Roman had just told her. He openly and honestly admitted to having her kidnapped. And she needed to know why.

I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm the survivor. I'm gonna make it. I will survive. Keep on survivin'.

“If you wanted to see me all you had to do was ask.” She said with a teasing smirk.

“I can’t apologize to you enough. How can I make it up to you?” He asks while taking her right hand in his. His touch was electric and warmed her skin.

“Tell me why I was brought here? What is all of this?” She asked.

“Today was our bonding ceremony, Beloved.” He replies.

“Our bonding ceremony? I don’t understand. What does that mean?” She asked.

“Our hearts, our minds and our souls are connected forever. We are bonded until the end of time.” He replies.

“Like an arranged marriage?” She asks.

“Not exactly. Just an awakening of what was always meant to be between us. You are mine Naia and I am yours. Always and forever.” He replies.

“I believe you. As weird as all of this is to me.”

She could feel the sincerity in his voice. Something in his tone and poster relaxed her. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was intrigued by him.

“Come. It is time for you to meet your people, Naia.”

He stood up holding his hand out to her.

“Let me show you what you were meant to find.”

She took his hand trusting him just as she did in her dreams. She spent the day getting to know everybody. Most like Layla, Callum, Noemi and Grayson seemed nice while others like Isobel, Jett and Barrett left much to be desired. By the end of the day, Naia was tired but not sleepy. Not yet anyway. Roman found her sitting in front of the fireplace in the bedroom, lost in her own thoughts.

“You seem distracted, Beloved.”

“Just trying to process everything that I’ve learned today. That’s all.”

“Come. Allow me to show you something.”

They walked out of the den and to a clearing in the surrounding woods. When they sat down in the grass, they looked up and saw the stars clear as day.

“I wanted to show you this.”

“It’s beautiful! I love to stargaze.”

“Do you Beloved?” He asks.

“Yes! My daddy bought me a telescope when I was a kid and we would look up at the stars with it. My love for the stars inspired my tattoo.” She replies.

He cocked an eyebrow at her then asked, “you have a tattoo?”

She gave him a small smile before moving her hair out of the way, to reveal a tattoo of butterflies and stars along the back of her left shoulder blade.

“It’s beautiful. What does it mean?” He asks.

“The stars represent my dreams and the butterflies represent freedom. And together they mean the freedom to follow my dreams.” She replies.

They went back to looking at the stars. She felt him wrap his arms around her and pull her closer to his chest. She relished in the warmth that came from being close to him. When a shooting star streaked across the sky, both looked up.

“Make a wish, Naia.” He whispered softly in a husky voice. She closed her eyes and made a wish.

“What did you wish for?” He asked.

“I’m not telling you! That would ruin the wish.” She replies.

“I bet that I can guess what you wished for.”

“Oh yeah? What did I wish for Roman?” She challenged him.

He tilted her chin up and kissed her. The kiss was soft yet deep and powerful. For the second time in less than a day, Roman took her breath away. When the kiss ended she was desperate for him.

“That is what you wished for Beloved.” He whispered against her lips.

“Damn…you’re good.”

While her brain was screaming for her to run, her heart kept her in his arms. She was right where she needed to be in that moment. A yawn indicated that she was getting tired.

“It’s late. You should rest.”

“I am not the least bit sleepy.” She said as she yawned again.

“Come Beloved.”

“But I want to stay out here with you.” She whined.

He shook his head at her and smiled. She was perfect to him.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was getting sleepy. It only took 20 minutes for her to doze off. He tightened his arms around her. In one motion, he stood up with her in his arms. He carried her back to the den and put her to bed.

When she woke up the next morning, Roman was gone. As she scanned the room she noticed a giant paw print on the ground. But there wasn’t a dog in sight. The print was wider than her hand.

“Ooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy apparently there are very big dogs here too…this place just gets weirder and weirder.” She thought to herself as she walked into the main den.

“There you are!” Layla called out to her.

“Layla! You’re here too?” Naia asked.

“I live here.” She replied proudly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all of this?” Naia asked.

“Because much like everyone else, I thought you already knew. I heard about what happened.” Layla replies.

“You thought I knew about this?” Naia asked.

“I thought your uncle told you that the bonding ceremony would happen.” Layla replies.

“So he knew about this too? Who doesn’t know?” Naia asks, clearly frustrated.

“To be honest, I’m sure the whole town knows.” Layla replies with a shrug.

“Yuuuuup. This whole place is weird. Just weird.”

Layla chuckled.

“How has Roman treated you?” Layla asks.

“He’s made me feel comfortable and welcomed and he’s given me space.” Naia replied.

“Well that explains the look on your face.”

Naia blushed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. Then why are your cheeks flushed?” Layla asks.

“They aren’t flushed.” Naia replies in protest.

Layla just smirked at her.

“Where is everyone?” Naia asked.

“On a hunt. They’ll be back soon.” Layla replies.

The two chatted and laughed until the Pack returned from a successful hunt.

Later that evening, Naia found herself walking along a creek watching the sun set behind the clouds. That’s when she ran into Trent.

“Naia! There you are!” He said in relief.

“Where else would I be?” She asks.

“I went by your uncle’s place and he said he hasn’t seen you in days. So I figured I’d check near the den to see if you were there.” He replied.

“Well yeah. That’s where I’ve been.”

“Are you alright? Have they hurt you?” He asked.

Naia noticed the panicked urgency in his voice.

“I’m fine and no, they haven’t hurt me.” She replied.

“We have to get you out of here! You’re in danger.”

“From what?” She asks.

“Roman isn’t who you think he is. He’s dangerous Naia. You need to get away now.” He replies.

“What are you doing here?” Roman asks. His voice was booming. And he was flanked by Callum, Jett and Barrett.

“Naia’s coming with me. I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that. After all, you were the one who had her kidnapped!” Trent snapped at him.

“Leave now!”

“Happily! As long as she comes with me.”

“Do NOT test me Trent!”

“Or what?” Trent asked, challenging Roman.

Before Naia could intervene, Roman let out a howl and started to transform along with the others. The muscles on his body contorted, claws and hair sprouted as he grew bigger. Naia watched in complete horror as Roman went from human to a full on werewolf right before her eyes. Trent on the other hand drew his gun.

“Well! Well! Well! If it ain’t the Big Bad Wolf! I wondered when you’d make an appearance.” Trent said, almost giddy.

“She…is…mine!” Roman growled.

“HA! Not if I have anything to say about it!” Trent said through gritted teeth.

I'm a survivor. I'm not gon' give up. I'm not gon' stop, oh. I'm gon' work harder. I'm the survivor. I'm gonna make it. I will survive. Keep on survivin'.

Naia stood frozen in absolute fear. She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Roman is an actual werewolf.

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 14

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 5213 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Doflamingo, Violet, Baby 5, Trebol, Diamante, Monkey D. Luffy, Robin, Sanji, Usopp, Franky Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Two Days Ago

Law stood at the helm of the Thousand Sunny, one hand light on the wheel as he watched Dressrosa come into focus. Though Law’s own ship was a submarine, he’d learned how to sail other vessels well enough and directed the Sunny toward the port. The sea, as expected, was calm, so there was little maneuvering he needed to do. With the weather warming up as the ship approached Dressrosa, Law had discarded his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, though he was still warm beneath his hat. The ship was eerily quiet, considering whose home she was.

Law glanced down at the hat in his other hand; he could have put it down on the deck alongside his coat and Kikoku, but he hadn’t been able to when the feeling of the worn straw under his fingers was such a stark reminder of those weeks on Amazon Lily two years earlier—where the whole mess Law now found himself had begun.

As Law steered the Sunny into the familiar docks and dropped anchor, the only people greeting him were dock workers, already unwinding ropes in preparation for securing the ship to the dock. Curious. And fortuitous. The last person Law wanted to run into before seeing Doffy was Violet; the less she knew about what Law had gotten into on Punk Hazard, the better for them both. Though she’d obfuscated for him more than once in the past, she’d never outright lied to Doffy for him—and he wouldn’t ask her to, knowing what she was risking. He’d take the small victories where he could find them.

Straw hat still in hand, though with his heavy coat now draped over it, and Kikoku resting in her usual place against his shoulder, Law pocketed his log pose and hopped down from the ship. He peered down the docks to see the Polar Tang shining brightly in the late-afternoon sun. His chest gave a twinge at the thought of the ship that had been home for the last decade. Would she be able to take the Hearts to freedom? Or would she be stuck docked in the Dressrosan harbor without a crew to sail her after today?

He shook his head and glanced back at the Thousand Sunny once more, looking for anything out of place. When he saw nothing, he took a breath and turned back toward the city. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the harbor master hurrying toward him.

“Corazon, sir!” he huffed once he reached Law. “My apologies for not greeting you immediately.”

“It’s fine,” Law said, waving him off.

He really wasn’t in the mood for this, but the harbor master’s mood could be a good indicator of how he would be received in the city; if news from Punk Hazard had reached Dressrosa and Law was walking headfirst into a trap, Doffy likely would have had the harbor master and his workers watching for Law’s arrival and trying to detain him until Doffy himself could arrive. The harbor master, however, like most Dressrosans, was too terrified of the executives to lie to their faces—even on order of the king. That he didn’t seem to be hiding any ulterior motives was a positive sign.

“Shall I call a carriage to bring you back to the palace?”

“I’ll walk,” Law said, talking a few steps up the dock.

“Are you sure?” the harbor master asked, falling in step with him. “It’s no trouble and would be faster.”

Law leveled a stare at the man, and he quavered. “O-of course, I didn’t mean to challenge you, sir.” He swallowed before nodding at the Sunny. “And this ship?”

Law forced his lips into a smirk. “A trophy from a defeated pirate crew. Keep it in good shape until the king can inspect it.”

Doffy loved keeping trophies, from plundered goods and hijacked ships to defeated crews themselves—many of whom turned into merchandise—from his many victories, so the harbor master didn’t so much as blink at the explanation.

“Of course, Corazon.”

They’d reached the end of the docks, and the harbor master bowed Law out into the city before turning back to the dock workers and yelling orders at them.

Law strode the familiar streets of the city toward the palace, ignoring the eyes and murmured whispers of his title by the Dressrosan citizens and the toys as he passed; Law always drew a fair amount of attention when he was out, considering his status as second to the king. Being watched didn’t mean Doffy knew what had happened. He forced his tense shoulders down as he walked. He was returning from a straight-forward mission, as he had hundreds of times before. There was nothing different about today.

Pushing aside his paranoia, Law trekked the familiar streets until he reached the palace. The grounds were quiet as he stepped through the gates, and he licked his lips. He was used to the palace being busy, members of the Family and servants alike scurrying around the grounds at all hours of the day. In the late afternoon, he’d expect to see preparations being made for dinner, but, as he walked toward the courtyard, he only saw a few figures moving about in the distance.

“Ah, Corazon!”

Law started as Rosalie, Doffy’s personal aide, came hurrying out of a side hallway. Forcing his expression neutral, he nodded at her.

“The Young Master asked me to find you once you arrived. He’s waiting in his office.”

Law nodded for Rosalie to lead the way, and she turned on her heel to head back into the palace. As they walked, Law considered whether he was more or less likely to be ambushed in Doffy’s office. On the one hand, it held fewer people, which meant fewer enemies for Law to fend off in the case of an attack. On the other hand, it was more isolated from the rest of the palace, meaning fewer people would know what was happening—not that Law would find himself with many allies in the palace if he was outed as a traitor to the Family.

He shook his head; there was no point in catastrophizing until he assessed what information Doffy had. Instead, he addressed Rosalie. As Doffy’s personal aide, she was aware of more goings on in the palace than most, as she was regularly required to track down Family members on short notice for the king.

“The grounds are quiet. Where is everyone?”

She looked back at him to acknowledge that he’d spoken before returning her gaze forward as she strode forward with purpose. “I believe Trebol is with Sugar. Diamante is at the Colosseum, making preparations for the upcoming tournament. I believe Machvise is with him. Pica is at the training grounds, drilling soldiers,” she said, ticking off executives with her fingers. “Dellinger is at the beach with Jora and Lao G. Señor Pink and Gladius left for a mission this morning. Buffalo and Baby 5 went to the market an hour ago. Violet retired to the library after lunch.”

Law nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. None of that seemed unusual and explained why the grounds were as quiet as they were.

Once they reached Doffy’s office, Rosalie knocked on the door and waited for the king’s call to enter. She ducked inside to inform him of Law’s arrival. A few moments later, she stepped back into the hallway and gestured Law inside.

Law took a steadying breath then strode past Rosalie into the office, suppressing a flinch as the door shut behind him. Doffy sat at his desk, papers spread out in front of him and a pen in hand. Law stepped forward but remained just outside of Doffy’s wingspan—not that it really mattered with his strings. He could have Law trapped with no more than a thought. Law’s fingers itched to activate a Room, but he knew that would only give him away. Instead, he did his best to wrap himself in the cloak that was Corazon, second in command to a Warlord and a king.

Even Corazon, however, knew to wait until Doffy was ready (having learned that lesson the hard way), so he waited. Once Doffy finished signing a document, he put his pen down and looked up at Law. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“Welcome back, Corazon.”

Law was unable to read anything in his expression or vocal tone so pressed forward. “Thank you, Young Master.”

“I trust you ran into no further complications?”

Law quirked his lips into one of his trademark smirks. “Of course not. I even brought presents. One is in the harbor.”

Doffy chuckled, a deep, pleased sound that rumbled lightly throughout the small room. “I heard.” Of course he had. “Very impressive. What else?”

Law pulled the straw hat out from under his coat and tossed it onto Doffy’s desk. Doffy froze as he realized what had landed in front of him.

“A trophy,” Law said. “From the head of one of the Worst Generation.”

“Take it, Torao. If it’ll make Mingo believe I’m dead, then take it.”

“Straw Hat-ya, I can’t take this.”

“Shishishi, I know you’ll give it back. I trust you!”

“This hat—” Doffy murmured, turning the worn thing over in his hands, the straw crinkling in the quiet between the two pirates. Doffy looked up sharply at Law. “Do you know who this hat belonged to?” At Law’s frown, Doffy shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, voice gentling. “This is quite the prize.”

Law blinked and caught the hat on instinct when Doffy tossed it back to him.

“You defeated its wearer, my Corazon. It is your trophy.” His lips twitched. “Though I think your own hat suits you better.”

Law snorted. “Not a lot of use for a straw hat in the North.” And Law was, at his core, a child of the North Blue—of winter islands and warfare.

“Indeed.”

“Was there anything else?” Law asked, raising an eyebrow. Impertinence was one of his defining traits, after all.

Doffy waved him off, already looking back toward the paperwork in front of him. “Dinner’s in an hour. Get yourself cleaned up.”

Law gave a shallow bow then turned to leave. Presenting his back to Doffy was one of the hardest things he’d done in a long time, but he forced himself to offer that vulnerability, since, if nothing were wrong, Doffy at his back would be no threat. Breath caught in his throat, Law headed out of Doffy’s office, part of him waiting to be impaled with an onslaught of strings…

But it never came.

He let out the breath he’d been holding when the door shut behind him and very nearly slumped against the wall. But the walls had eyes in the palace, so Law instead straightened his spine and headed to his chambers. He wanted nothing more than to make a direct line to the Hearts’ wing of the palace to check in with his crew, but with the distance he’d kept from them in the previous years, doing so would look out of character.

He encountered only a few servants as he headed for his room. Once he shut the door behind him, he leaned back against it tiredly and ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t been locked up in Seastone and thrown in the dungeon yet, so that was a good sign. Maybe, just maybe, he could get his crew out after all. They’d be on the run, but that would be better than the prison they found themselves in now—and they had allies.

Law dropped his coat on his bed and rested Kikoku on top of it. He placed the straw hat on his desk and pulled his Den Den Mushi from his coat pocket. He put the snail on the desk next to the hat then went into the bathroom, as if to wash up; instead, he activated a Room. He Scanned for the surveillance snail in the vents that kept an eye on his room and, with a quick Shambles, switched it with a snail he’d set up years earlier to broadcast a recorded feed of his empty room. Now it would simply appear that Law was in the shower. He’d found the surveillance snail immediately after he’d moved into the palace at seventeen, though he had no idea how often Doffy checked the feed nearly a decade later. The snail had never been removed, though, so Law worked under the assumption that the Warlord regularly monitored it to be safe.

Law then stepped back into the bedroom and went over to his desk. He pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled a note: After dinner. Crew meeting. He folded it and pushed his Room in the direction of the Hearts’ quarters until he found Bepo’s room. The bear wasn’t in the room at the moment, but that was not unusual at this time of day. Law switched his note with pen on Bepo’s desk then retracted his Room once more.

That done, he turned to his Den Den Mushi and dialed. He only had to wait two rings before the other side picked up.

“Torao, it’s about time!”

“I told you to give me until nightfall to check in, Straw Hat-ya,” Law snapped, glancing out the window at the late afternoon sun. “I’m early.”

“But it’s boooooring on your ship,” Luffy whined.

Law rolled his eyes. Before arriving in Dressrosa, he’d come up with a plan to sneak the Straw Hats in without them being noticed. Because Doffy had eyes on all the ships coming into and going out of the harbor, it was imperative the Straw Hats stay out of sight as the ship approached. They would stay below deck as Law steered the Thousand Sunny into the harbor.

Then, while Law then checked in with Doflamingo at the palace, pretending the Sunny was a conquest of their fight, the Straw Hats would use their submersible to make their way to the Polar Tang; Doffy would undoubtedly have his men examining the Sunny to see what Law had brought him, so it would be a poor hiding place. The Tang, however, was generally left alone except for some basic maintenance, meaning she would be safe for the Straw Hats to hide out in until Law could contact them with an update and to decide their next move. He’d left them with a hand-drawn map of the palace as well as a rough map of the city itself for them to study while they waited.

Luffy had protested, wanting to see the city and, naturally, try the local cuisine, but his crew had reminded him that they were all supposed to be dead; being recognized would put Law and his nakama in danger, and—after his suggestion that they go into the city in disguises was thoroughly shot down—that had quieted his complaints.

Mostly.

“Boring?” Franky called, affronted, from somewhere in the background. “This ship is super! I want to know everything about her, Tra-bro!”

Law sighed. “Please tell Robo-ya to refrain from destroying my ship before we leave Dressrosa.”

“We’ll rein him in, Torao-kun,” Robin promised, though there was humor in her voice. “What happened with Doflamingo?”

“Mm, yeah. What happened with Mingo?” Luffy echoed. It sounded like he was moving around the Den Den Mushi, likely bursting with pent up energy. Law only hoped his ship would survive the Straw Hats’ cyborg and its bored captain.

“He seemed to take my report at face value,” Law said. “But there’s no telling when he’ll hear from his sources in the Marines about what happened. We’ll still need to move quickly.”

“When do I get to kick his ass?” Luffy asked. Several of the Straw Hats groaned in the background.

“That’s not the point of this, Luffy,” Robin reminded him, not unkindly. “The goal is to get Torao-kun and his nakama out of Dressrosa unnoticed.”

“We’re trying to avoid a fight with a Warlord, Luffy!” Usopp added, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“Fine,” Luffy grumbled.

“I’m expected at dinner with the Family this evening,” Law said, breaking in. “If I skip it, it’ll raise suspicions.”

Luffy whooped in excitement at the thought of food, and Sanji snapped that he’d brought food from the Sunny, which only made the younger captain more excited.

Law grimaced, wondering not for the first time why the mysterious pull in his chest had brought him to these people. He knew the Family was its own type of ridiculous, but the Straw Hats took that to a whole other level. Why did he think he could entrust something as important as his nakama’s lives to them?

“I’ll see my nakama after dinner and contact you then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good luck,” Robin said over her chaotic crewmates.

“Same to you,” Law replied then hung up.

For a moment, he stared at the snail then at the hat on the desk next to it. This was a terrible idea, but Law was already in too deep to turn back now.

After a quick shower to wash off the travel and battle from the last two days, Law changed into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt then switched the surveillance snail back to the one with live feed and dropped his Room. Pulling his hat on, he glanced at Kikoku but decided not to bring her to dinner; he didn’t usually walk around the palace grounds with the nodachi in hand. His head was starting to ache—the concussion symptoms, while improving, were still bothering him—so he took some painkillers before heading to the dining room.

Though Law was on edge, dinner was a standard Family affair. The only executives not present were Señor Pink and Gladius, who were off the island. Law easily fell into his typical standoffish self, meandering into the dining room a couple of minutes late and sliding into his seat with an insincere smirk. Doffy, who was in the middle of a discussion with Trebol, merely raised an eyebrow at him, and Law shrugged. Doffy huffed once before turning back to Trebol.

Law rarely invited conversation at meals, though Baby 5 wanted to tell anyone who would listen—and for some reason, she thought Law was listening—about the wares she’d found at the market. Law ignored her, picking at his plate without much enthusiasm. The food, as always, was excellent—Doffy had high expectations of those who worked for him; Law’s stomach was simply tied in knots. It was a good thing Law rarely finished his meals, so his lack of appetite tonight didn’t appear unusual.

More than once, Law looked up to see Violet trying to catch his eye from several seats down the table. Law shook his head minutely and looked back down at his plate. He didn’t need to get her involved in this.

Law started when he felt a smack on his arm. He rubbed it with a frown at Baby 5. “What was that for?”

“Are you even listening to me, Corazon?”

Law snorted. “Of course not.”

Baby narrowed her eyes. “You’re such a jerk,” she muttered.

“Don’t act so surprised, Baby,” Law replied, lips twitching. It was easy enough to fall into this familiar pattern of banter with her.

She sighed dramatically. “You have been a jerk since you were ten.”

Law rested his chin on his hand, angling himself toward her slightly. “You want me to hear about your day, but you didn’t even ask me how my mission went.”

She scrunched up her nose then sighed resignedly. “How did your mission go, Corazon?”

Law shrugged, turning back to the table. “Fine.”

“You asshole!” she squawked, whacking him in the arm again. “Did you get rid of all your manners with your spots?”

Law gaped at her a moment before laughing in surprise. He would miss this; Baby was one of the only members of the Family he cared about. She’d been one of the few things that made his return to the Family tolerable.

“Just my people skills.” He picked up a piece of silverware from the table. “I still know a salad fork from a dessert fork.”

The rest of their conversation was cut short as Doffy pushed back from the table and rose. He nodded at the members of the Family gathered around the table.

“The rest of the night is yours. I have work to attend to.” He glanced to the side. “Pica, Machvise, a word in my office.”

As the summoned executives stood to follow Doffy from the dining room, Law pushed himself away from the table and headed for the hallway. He had a few things he needed from his room before meeting with his crew so headed that way; he could have just opened a Room and summoned them, but something told him to reserve his stamina for now.

He was about halfway to his chambers when he stopped. “What do you want, Violet?” He turned to see her turning a corner to face him.

She crossed her arms. “Why were you ignoring me at dinner?”

Law suppressed a sigh. “Because I’m an asshole.”

“True, but that’s not it. Try again.”

“I have a lot on my mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” Law started to turn back toward his room. He knew he was being unfair to her, but he didn’t want her reading him. Not today.

“Corazon, stop. Something is going on with you.”

Law turned back to her, jaw clenched. “Violet, don’t.”

“I can just read you to find out,” she threatened, lifting her hands.

Law grabbed her wrists before her hands could reach her face. “Don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Let go.”

“Don’t try to read me, Violet,” Law practically growled. “I mean it. Not this time.”

She let out a huff then nodded. “Fine. Now let go.”

He released her wrists, and she rubbed her left wrist absently. “Something happened on your mission.”

Law chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before agreeing, “Yes.”

“What can I do?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

“If you’re in trouble, let me help.”

Law shook his head. She’d been trying to help him almost since he arrived in Dressrosa, and now the only way he could repay her was to keep her out of this mess. She had her father and niece to think about.

“Not for this one.”

“But—”

“Let it go, Violet.” Then he did open a Room and Shamble himself into his chambers, leaving a pen in his place in the hallway.

Years of practice with his powers allowed him to avoid landing awkwardly on his desk, and he dropped to the floor. He opened a drawer in his desk and pushed aside the items inside. He pressed on the right spot, and the false bottom opened. He reached in and grabbed the papers inside then replaced the false bottom and shut the drawer. He spread the papers out on his desk: blueprints of the castle. Violet had once mentioned that there was a secret passageway in the castle that only the Riku family knew about. She hadn’t revealed its location, though, and Law hadn’t asked.

If he could find that on the blueprints now, perhaps he could use it to get his crew out without being detected. He leaned over the paper with a frown, looking for anything that looked out of place or that he didn’t recognize. He could have asked her in the hallway just now, but he didn’t want what he was looking for getting back to Doflamingo—not before he and his nakama were gone, anyway.

He was so focused on the blueprints that he was taken by surprise when his door slammed open, rattling on its hinges. Law jerked upright but didn’t have a chance to react before a wave of mucus slammed him into the far wall. Law’s head slammed back against the wall. His vision darkened, and his body went slack, air leaving his lungs in a sharp exhale.

Goddamn concussion, he thought blearily as the world slowly started coming back into focus in front of him. His doctor side was distantly outraged at the battering his brain was taking, but the rest of him—the part in the here and now—was just trying to breathe.

As he came back to his senses, the first thing he recognized was that he was being held upright against the wall by Trebol’s mucus. Gross.

The shapes in front of him slowly materialized into Trebol and Diamante standing in his doorway.

“What the fuck, Trebol?” Law growled, though his voice lacked the power he wanted to put behind it.

“That’s what we should be asking you, Corazon.”

Law’s stomach dropped as Doffy entered the room behind his two executives. Law could feel the anger radiating off him.

He knows, Law realized. I wasn’t fast enough, and he knows. Fuck.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Law said, glancing around to assess his options. Though the mucus was holding him to the wall, his lower arms were free, so he could still form a Room. Kikoku was on the bed, but he could summon her with a Room.

He just had to do it at the right moment.

Doffy paused at Law’s desk and looked down at the papers. “Blueprints of the castle?” He turned back to Law. “And how did you get your hands on these?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I know how resourceful you are. And why would you need blueprints of the castle? Looking for an escape route?”

“Escape? Because that’s gone so well for me in the past,” Law scoffed, though he knew it wasn’t lost on Doffy that he’d side-stepped the question.

“I just heard from some sources in the Marines,” Doffy said, resuming his approach into Law’s space. “You’ll never believe who they have in custody.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Law winced as a string sliced through his cheek. It was a shallow cut, but blood dripped down the side of his face. A warning.

“Monet and Caesar,” Doffy said, tilting his head as he looked down at Law. “And I can’t imagine how that could be when you told me you saw them this morning, Corazon.”

Law licked his lips, hating the way he had to look up at the Warlord. “I did see them this morning.” That wasn’t a lie. He’d just… withheld the condition he’d seen them in. “If they were careless enough to get arrested after I left, that’s not on me.”

Another string sliced through Law’s cheek, this one a bit deeper, just below the first cut.

Doffy leaned over to whisper in Law’s ear, “I’d be very careful of what you say next.” The temperature dropping with Doffy’s icy words.

Law swallowed but remained silent. Doffy could probably feel the racing of his heart at this proximity.

“I’m only going to ask once. Did you see Vergo on Punk Hazard?”

“I thought Vergo was here.” Which was true—he had thought that, until Vergo had shown his face on the Straw Hats’ ship the day before.

Doffy straightened and, eyes never leaving Law’s, pulled a Den Den Mushi from his coat. He dialed a number from memory.

The discarded coat on Law’s bed started to ring.

Law cursed silently. He’d completely forgotten to get rid of Vergo’s Den Den Mushi. He’d planned to look it over on the trip from Punk Hazard, but he’d gotten distracted by making plans to get the Straw Hats into Dressrosa, and the snail had remained untouched in his pocket.

Doffy finally tore his gaze from Law and went over to the bed. He grabbed Law’s coat and dug around until he found the buzzing snail. Law’s own Den Den Mushi was on his desk and silent, cutting off that potential excuse.

“This is Vergo’s Den Den Mushi.”

“I…”

“Vergo’s dead,” Doffy said, the snail still ringing in his hand. Doffy’s voice remained low, and Law had, from his childhood, found Doffy’s restrained fury far more terrifying than when the man lost his cool. “His heart had been removed from his chest and squeezed.”

Law was well and truly fucked.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, he flexed his fingers ever-so-slightly in preparation to open a Room—

Then cried out as a blade impaled itself through the palm of his right hand.

It took a moment for his abused brain to register why, other than the pain, this was such a problem.

It was his dominant hand.

The one he used to wield Kikoku.

The one he used to control his Fruit.

The one he led with in surgery.

Oh.

Oh.

“Nuh uh,” Diamante said from the other end of his waving blade. “No tricks, boy.”

“Nene, Corazon. Don’t surgeons need their hands?” Trebol chuckled.

Law made a choked sound as Diamante pulled the blade out. His thoughts spun as his hand dripped blood to the carpet beneath him. He’d felt worse pain than this—nothing he’d experienced had been worse than the final stages of Amber Lead Disease—but this was his hand.

“I can do the other one, Doffy. Make sure he can’t pull anything,” Diamante offered.

“No,” Doffy said, eyeing Law. “He’s no good to me if he can’t use his Fruit.”

Trebol’s mucus retreated, and Law fell forward. Without thinking, he reached out with his hands to catch himself then crumpled into a heap with a cry, hand coming to his chest as an electric shock jolted from his hand through his entire arm. The breath caught in his throat and the room around him fuzzed.

He’d failed.

He’d failed as an executive.

He’d failed as an ally.

He’d failed as a surgeon.

He’d failed as a captain.

He’d failed as a friend.

He’d failed Cora-san.

He barely registered the snapping of Seastone restraints around his wrists, the little strength he had left draining from his body as he went limp on the floor.

From somewhere above him, Doffy spoke, though Law couldn’t make out the words. He winced but didn’t struggle as Trebol and Diamante each grabbed one of his arms. The two executives dragged him bodily down the hallways of the palace, his feet trailing limply behind him. In his peripheral vision, he caught Violet’s shocked expression as the procession passed.

Law grimaced as they reached the stairs to the dungeon but didn’t have the strength to try to get his feet under him, so his legs thumped against each stone step as he was taken down. At the bottom, Trebol and Diamante exchanged a few words with the guard then followed him to what Law assumed was one of the Seastone cells. The guard opened the door, and Law was pulled into the cell and shoved against the wall, forcing the breath from his lungs. The chain between his wrist shackles was hooked above Law’s head before all the figures retreated.

Law slumped forward in defeat.

But he jerked upright at a familiar voice.

“Captain?”

Next chapter

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 10: She Sees the World in a New Light

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4272

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 9: The Past Comes Back to Haunt Her

It’d been years since you’d actually gone out into the Mortal World and stayed for any amount of time. You used to make trips daily to reap your own souls before Pierce came to work for you and Clint agreed to help you out. But that was during the time of the Ancient Greeks and Romans; way before any of the modern technology came out.

Back then, people went to sleep right as the sun went down. They were quiet, reserved, timid, and shy. You were free to roam the streets of the villages, hardly a soul to join you. You’d enjoyed the silence of the Mortal World.

But now?

You couldn’t believe how much the world had changed.

The city was set ablaze with neon lights and lamps. You could hardly tell that it was nighttime anymore. People bustled around, talking to each other, talking on their phones, or not talking at all. Some walked with friends, others alone, but all were awake and lively. The colors from the street lights and glowing signs bounced off their skin, turning them different shades and making them ethereal and strange. You hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.

Sure, Olympus had mimicked these mortal cities, but there was something unique about the Mortal World that Olympus simply didn’t have. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was beautiful and comforting and it made you happy.

The atmosphere was warm despite the piles of snow on the ground. White fairy lights were strung from lamppost to lamppost. People talked with animated gestures, a smile on everyone's face.

Sipping on your frappuccino, your eyes traveled from person to person, taking in their clothes, their hair, their facial expressions, everything. You were able to gauge what kind of a person they were within moments and garner a bit of insight into their life by mentally scrolling through the registry of souls and taking a peek at their file (that was the good thing about being the Queen of the Underworld—because every single soul was technically your subject, you were able to access every bit of their information).

A hand squeezing yours drew your attention away from the people, and you turned your eyes to the man beside you.

Bucky smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You enjoying yourself?”

Pulling your lips away from the rim of your drink, you nodded and smiled up at him. “I haven’t had a night like this in forever. I think I was in my early five hundreds the last time I got to roam the Mortal World. It’s changed so much.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Bucky took a sip of his latte and looked forward. “I’ve been coming here for decades, and every time I come, I find it astonishing.”

“Here? As in New York?”

“Heh, yeah.” He paused as he slowed to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk, a red stop hand commanding pedestrians to halt. “Steve and I love coming to Brooklyn. We practically grew up here. My mom spent a lot of time here before it got built on, tending crops and stuff. She moved away when the city sprang up, but I still love it here.” A happy sigh escaped his mouth. “It’s a beautiful city. I love coming here, especially in the winter.”

“Do you come here often?”

“At least once a week or so. I’m considered a regular at some shops.”

The stop hand turned into a walking man and you and Bucky followed the crowd across the sidewalk. Your voice quieted as you asked, “Isn’t that dangerous though? Won’t the mortals realize you never age and get suspicious?”

He shrugged. “Some might, but they hardly pay attention enough to realize that I still look the same as I did years ago. And the ones that call me out on it, well they deserve to know the truth.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head. “You told them?”

He laughed. “Relax, (y/n). I don’t tell everyone, only some. I think I’ve maybe told five people the truth in my 1,385 years of existence, and most of them are elderly at that. In fact, you’ll be meeting one of them tonight.” His grin was sly as he tugged you across the street by the hand. “He runs a pastry shop I’ve been dying to take you to. His cinnamon rolls are the absolute best.”

You followed Bucky down the street, eyeing the path ahead warily. “So, he knows about you and what you… are?”

“Yeah. I told him a few years ago when he called me out on not aging.”

“So then he knows you’re the real ‘Persephone,’ as the mortals call you?”

He breathed a laugh. “Yes, he does. And the first words out his mouth were, ‘I knew you were a flower child,’ and the second ones were, ‘Wait, you’re not a lady.’ Gods, it was mortifying to try to explain to him that the myths were wrong and that I was, indeed, not a woman despite the feminine name given to me by the mortals.”

“So am I to assume that he knows about me too?”

Tilting his head from side to side, he pursed his lips in thought. “I think he probably knows you exist, but I’ve never had reason to tell him about Hades, the goddess of the Underworld. I didn’t think it was important or necessary until I befriended you. But I’ll introduce you tonight. He’s a cool guy, and I think you’ll like him.”

Gods, you hoped you would; but you hoped he’d like you more. Mortals were not very hospitable to the gods that resided in the Underworld and dealt with death. They were afraid of you and that made them abrasive, hostile even. The last time you told a mortal you were Hades, she blanched with fear and ordered you (the best she could with her trembling voice) out of her house.

Bucky led you through the city, down another block or two, and stopped outside an old fashioned pastry shop. The red and white awning had faded to a salmon above the store, but the gold lettering that read “Pop’s Pastries” on the window was still crisp and neat as if it had been painted on yesterday. Bright lights illuminated the shop from the inside, casting a glow over the endless display cases of pastries and cakes as well as an elderly man sitting behind the counter on a stool with a book in his hand and reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you in by the hand. A little bell over the door jingled as Bucky pushed the door open and passed through the threshold.

The old man behind the counter looked up, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well well well. Look who it is.” He fit a bookmark in between the pages of his novel and set it down so he could give his undivided attention to the pair of you. “If it isn’t my favorite celestial being. And who is this you’ve brought with you, Persephone?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s Bucky, not Persephone, Arthur. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Arthur’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Now answer my question: who’s the pretty lady. A goddess perhaps? She’s pretty enough for it.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know about pretty, but yes, I am a goddess.”

“Ah-ha! I knew it! Now, which one are you? No no, wait, let me guess.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed you, scrutinizing your entire figure. “You’re… Aphrodite.”

The laugh that tore through your threat was louder than you had intended and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But no, I am not Aphrodite. That name belongs to the lovely Pepper.”

“Artemis then.”

“Nope. That’s Wanda.”

He hesitated. “Hera?”

Your lips curled up in a grimace. “No, that’s my sister’s wife Maria.”

“Your sister’s wife… You mean your sister is Zeus?”

“Carol, actually. But yes, the mortals call her Zeus.”

“So then, if your sister is Zeus, then you’re…” You could see the gears turning in his head.

You smirked. “You’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at this, mister. If you get it wrong, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Alright… My guess is…” He sprinted and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “Oh, lord; you’re wearing black. You are… Hades?”

A smile took over your lips. “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.” Bowing to him with an ounce of flounce, you said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, and Queen of the Underworld, at your service.”

Arthur whistled in appreciation. “Those are some pretty impressive titles, your majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of one of the big three. Just, one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why you hanging around with a minor god like Bucky here?”

“You know, I’ve been asking myself that for weeks.”

“Hey!” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You love me and you know it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, Springy.”

Arthur snickered, his voice ringing out through the otherwise empty shop. “Oh, to be young and in love. I swear you two act like an old married couple already.”

Your head snapped towards him and you lost even more color if that was even possible. “In what? No no. We’re not… I mean… No. We’re not a thing.”

“Oh, my mistake your highness,” Arthur said. “I only assumed that you were together cause Buck here has never brought anyone here unless they were special to him.”

“We’re just friends, Art,” Bucky said, holding up his hands. “Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me, I just barely got to be friends with her; she almost had my head the first couple times I broke in and she only just gave me the keys to the kingdom.”

“Ah, that is right. You were a little trespasser up until a few months ago, right?”

“Mhmm. He was.” You shot Bucky a glare. “However, I have learned to tolerate his presence in my kingdom. There are still places he’s not allowed to go, but he can come into my house so long as he has my permission first. Now.” You rolled your shoulders back and sauntered over to the display cases of baked goods. “Bucky tells me you have the best cinnamon rolls in the world and I’m curious to see if he’s right.”

Arthur popped off his stool and walked behind the cases, pulling a small plate out of seemingly nowhere. “I sure do. It’s an old family recipe, dating back to when the first cinnamon rolls were created in Sweden. I sell nothing but the best here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Arthur pulled two cinnamon rolls from behind the case and set them on two small plates that were just the size for the pastries.

Mumbling your thanks, you took your plate over to one of the tables that stood in the vacant shop. You took your seat elegantly, sitting up straight with the posture that only royalty seemed to have. Ever so carefully, so as to not dirty your hands, you wrapped your fingers around the roll and lifted it up to your lips. As soon as the sugary icing touched your tongue, you were hooked. “Oh my gods, this is amazing!”

Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you, milady. I’m glad that they have your seal of approval.” He moved back over to his spot and plucked his book from the counter. “Well, I’ll leave you two youngins to it.  I’ll be in the back reading. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Arthur!” Bucky sat down at the table across from you and smirked. “So what did I tell you? Best cinnamon rolls in the world, am I right?”

You bobbed your head as you chewed. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” As you swallowed your bite, you dragged the back of your hand across your face to wipe away the crumbs that had undoubtedly made their home in the corners of your mouth. Smiling down at your roll, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your current situation, though a bit saddened. This place—as quaint and lovely as it was—felt like one you should be sharing with a lover. Naturally, the only lover you’ve ever had fell into your mind. You could just barely imagine the naiad sitting in the chair across from you, his brown eyes sparkling as you covered his nose with frosting. It would be the perfect date. You would’ve loved to have brought him here. A mellow sigh left your lips and you murmured, “Gods… Brock would love this.”

“Who’s Brock?”

You blinked. Holy fuck, had you really said that out loud? Welp, shit. Time to roll with this. You gulped. “He’s my… Uh...”

“Boyfriend?” Bucky’s voice was timid, cautious, perhaps a bit scared. He spoke the word like it was bitter on his tongue.

You breathed a laugh. “No. I don’t know what he is to me.” Your lips formed a thin line as you averted your gaze.

His brows furrowed. “How do you mean? How can you not know?”

“Well, our relationship… It’s complicated, you know? Like, we obviously have some sort of feelings for each other. He’s been there for me for centuries and he’s loved me for that long too. But it… It doesn’t feel like love exactly. I don’t know what it is.”

Bucky’s lips pursed, but he let you speak.

And you spoke. You told him about how Brock was the only one who treated you like a queen and goddess in the beginning, going so far as to pledge his undying fidelity to you and vow to serve you with his life. You hesitated as you started to get into your relationship with him, talking about the late nights you spent together with only the vaguest detail. You didn’t know why, but it felt wrong talking about it in front of Bucky, and you were almost ashamed of it. No, scratch that, you were ashamed of it. You felt like it was almost betraying him to admit what you and Brock had done in the dark. But, swallowing the lump in your throat, you continued with your pathetic tale, telling him about how in recent centuries, Brock hardly ever came around anymore unless it was to satisfy his own desires. He never stayed for the morning after or to actually talk to you anymore and it left you confused and hurt.

Bucky listened with solemn interest, staying silent until you finished. He frowned, his brows pinching together and his lips turning down with an agitated air. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Always.”

He took a deep breath before starting bluntly with, “It sounds like he’s a dick.”

You snorted.

“No no no, hear me out! From what you’ve told me, this asshole is using you and doesn’t seem to care about your feelings. All he wants you for is someone who will give him what he wants and someone whom he can just take and take from.” He shook his head with a growl that surprised you. You’d never seen the god of spring so… angry and dark. “He sounds like a dick who only cares about himself and he’s hurting you in the process. He’s using you and it’s not right. Who does he think he is to abuse a literal goddess such as yourself. You don’t deserve that shit. You don’t deserve someone who will use you and leave you. You deserve the world. You deserve all the stars in the heavens. You deserve love—not that fake lust—true love. You deserve someone who will take care of your emotions and treat you with respect and adoration. You deserve someone who will stay with you through thick and thin, treating you as if you’re a precious gem. You deserve someone—”

“Someone like you?” The words were gentle as they escaped your mouth; hopeful, sincere, begging. They surprised you, but their implications that you wanted him surprised you more. How could you imply that? You hadn’t even known each other for a year yet, and you were insinuating that he wanted a romantic relationship with you and you wanted one with him. What the fuck were you thinking?

How could you think such? You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He was just a friend and hardly even that. He’d only been down to your domain a handful of times.

But then again…

Each time had been more blissful and lovely than the last. Sitting with him in the garden… Strolling through Elysium… Picking flowers in the Meadow… Each time he visited drew you closer and closer to his light until you considered him close to your heart.

He turned to you, his astounding blue eyes looking at you with an ounce of surprise and, for a second, you feared you overstepped. But then his gaze turned kind and he smiled a smile so kind, so genuine, and so real that you lost your breath for a second. And he reached for your hands—both of them—and took them in his. His hands dwarfed yours, but they fit together perfectly. Holding one, he brought the other up to cup his face, to hold his cheek. He turned into you and pressed his lips against the palm of your hand.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your skin and it sent shivers down your spine in the best way.

And then his lips moved, and even the slightest twitch was enough to take over your senses. “If you’d have me,” he said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He turned away from your hand to gaze into your eyes. “I know I’m a young god—naive, stupid, innocent to the world—but I also know my feelings. And I do have feelings for you, (y/n). I know that we don’t know each other the best, but that’s the great thing about immortality, right? I have all of eternity to get to know you.”

You gaped at him, your mind on red alert as the meaning of his words kicked in. He wanted a relationship with you. Suddenly, your thoughts went on autopilot.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

He was less than half your age. He was a young god. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He doesn’t know what he wants.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

What were you thinking? You’d just met him. You couldn’t possibly be interested in pursuing a relationship. You would be insane. You couldn’t take advantage of him like this, no matter how badly your subconscious wanted him. And even then, he was the god of spring, of life, and you were the goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld. There was no way that those two things mixed. How could they? They were polar opposites.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is…

But what if it wasn’t? What if he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him? What if he wanted to know you like you wanted to know him? What if?

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Maybe there was a reason you felt safe and secure around him. Maybe there was a reason you called him instead of Brock when you had your nightmare. Maybe there was a reason he stayed in your mind, always lurking in the corners no matter the time of day.

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Your eyes traced his face and your heart hammered in your chest. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t mind trying to pursue something with him. He was kind, sweet, and genuinely wanted to know you. That was more than any other man had been in years.

But there were other factors than just what you and he wanted. What about the age gap? You more than doubled him in age. And then there was also the fact that you were practically ostracised by most of the gods and immortals on Olympus. Would he join you in exile from the others if he associated himself with you? And then what about his mother? She despised you with a passion, and there was no way that she would approve of you two dating. And what about…

Brock…

There were just so many fucking factors to it, way too many for you to work out in one day. You might’ve been a goddess, but that didn’t mean you weren’t without responsibilities that had to come before your love life.

You hung your head, removing your eyes from his body. “Bucky, I just… I don’t know…” you whispered, your voice cracking with strain. “How could we work? How could the world let us work? There’s just so much that needs to be accounted for and I… I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

“So long as we try, so long as we both want it… Anything is possible, really—even us being together.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “The Fates would not have had us meet if it wasn’t.”

You barked a bitter laugh. “The Fates could not be so cruel as to interweave our futures, Bucky,” you said in a shallow whisper. “It’s a curse to be stuck with me.”

“See, you view it as a curse, but I would see it as the greatest blessing they could give me. To be so lucky as to spend all of eternity with you who cares so much about people and who gives so much of herself so selflessly is all that I can ask for. You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, (y/n). Let me be there to remind you of your value.”

“But what about Brock?”

He sighed and tightened his grip on your hand. “You can let him go. You don’t need him. He’s abusing you, (y/n), I know you can see that too. Just let him go.”

“I… I just… I can’t let him go that easily, Buck.” You hung your head. “I think that, deep down, I know the words you speak are true, but I… He’s been there for me—with me—for hundreds of years; I can’t just let him go. I know I should, but I can’t…” It was toxic, what you had with him; you knew that, but he had planted his weeds so deep in your heart that you could not tear them out so easily.

“What if I helped you?” he asked, his voice lifting an octave as he thought aloud. “I can be there for you, occupying your time so that way you wouldn’t have to see him. I have no obligations or responsibilities other than bringing Spring to the Mortal World once a year, and so I could be down there for you. No one says that you have to cut him from your life all at once; you can do it little by little and I will be there to help you every step of the way.” He bit his lip as he let go of your hand and reached up to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes at his touch and leaned into him. His hands were worn and smooth and filled with warmth that filled you to your core.

“I can help you, (y/n), but you have to tell me you want this. I won’t make you decide one way or the other; this is your life, you’re in control. I am but a tool for you to use to help you along. You tell me what you want and I will help you make it happen. Okay?”

What you want…

You had virtually everything you could ever want: a kingdom, loving family, millions of subjects who respected you, power, wealth, good friends, the best dog ever, and security. But that wasn’t everything you wanted.

You wanted love. You’d never admitted it before, but you really wanted love. Not the stuff Brock gave you, but real love. If you remember correctly, the Greeks had given a name for the love you craved.

Pragma: long-lasting love.

You knew that you were never going to get that with Brock. You were chasing him down a one-way road that led to a dead end. There was no future of growth for you, no practicality whatsoever, only the same for years, decades, centuries to come. There was nothing more he could offer you, nothing he could give to you that you didn’t already have.

But with Bucky? Gods, there were so many options; he’d already proved to you time after time that he was invested in you and more than willing to stay with you. He’d risked getting flayed alive by his mother and his own safety just to get closer to you. With him, there was a chance that you could find what you wanted. No matter how minuscule the chance was, it was still there; a single thread hanging in the middle of the room that you were going to hold onto and climb until it either turned into rope or disappeared.

You had nothing to lose, so why not take a chance on him?

Next 11: She Takes a Stand

[bard-llama]

Would you ever write in epistolary format?

My creative writing teachers would be so sad that I had to google that, but for any people like me, this means written in a document format, such as letters.

And the answer is definitely yes! I actually have a WiP I started waaaaaaaay back for rorveth that is sorta this, although I was torn on if I wanted it to be just letters or letters interspersed with POV exposition. But I looooove letter fics. Like, one of my most memorable fics I've written was back in like 2010 and I named it after Joe Cocker's song "Oh My Baby, He Wrote Me A Letter". This was for the BBC Merlin fandom, so not sure that's interesting to anyone, but I really remember that one, for some reason. And letters are FUN to write!

Just 'cause, here's the beginning of the letters WiP I started for rorveth (appropriately titled 'letters' XD).

The first letter arrived in an unremarkable fashion, just one more piece of parchment on the already messy desk of Vernon Roche, the new Imperial Administrator of the Vassal State of Temeria. After everything he’d fought for, he’d certainly never expected to be stuck behind a desk. The one saving grace of the job was that Ves was still his right-hand-woman and when she got tired of the paperwork, no one told her to put the knife away.

Then again, it would take a very brave man to challenge Ves, and Roche had yet to see any do so successfully.

But the letter – it was entirely mundane, nothing noteworthy about it whatsoever. From the outside, anyway. Roche wasn’t even sure which aide had left it on his desk when. But when he picked up the letter and flipped it over to break the seal, he noticed that the wax had a flower pressed into it, some sort of blue blossom that he didn’t recognize. Roche’s brow furrowed. What an odd choice for a seal.

Things only got stranger when he cut through the wax and read the letter itself. It was only one word: Kingslayer.

Roche stiffened. If this was a threat, it was an effective one. Not that Radovid was the first king he’d killed, but King Henselt had long since passed into memory in the quickly-changing political landscape of the north.

Realistically, if someone knew about their plot against Radovid, there was little they could do with it. Roche had no doubt that Emperor Emhyr was already very aware of Roche’s actions – Nilfgaard’s spies were impressive, and that was about all he could say in support of the empire – and the fucker had made Roche head of Temeria anyway. It wouldn’t be great if the people of Temeria found out about it, but Radovid had never been a true ally. Besides, if word did get out and he was removed from office, he would finally be able to get back in the field.

Please? he absentmindedly sent the prayer to whatever deity might be paying attention. Nilfgaard had different gods than the Northern Kingdoms did, and Roche had seen so much of war that it was hard to believe there could be any higher being out there, but at some point, it had become habit to frame the thoughts he wasn’t supposed to have as prayers.

He flipped the letter over to look at the wax seal again. Who the fuck would send him a threat – was it a threat? – and seal it with a flower?

Actually, that was a stupid question. The real question was why would the elf reach out to him at all? Roche hadn’t had contact with the Scoia’tael since Loc Muinne, when Temeria’s future was essentially handed to Nilfgaard and suddenly all that mattered was protecting his homeland. He hadn’t – well, he hadn’t exactly told Iorveth that he was abandoning the fight against nonhumans to fight against Nilfgaard (for all the good that had done), but he had seen the elf only once since then. Iorveth had left the very clear impression that it would be the last time.

In retrospect, Roche could see how being told that “the only thing that matters is Temeria” might be insulting to someone who had been fighting for a free elven state for decades. Nonetheless, he couldn’t take the words back and from the way Iorveth’s face had gone cold and stony the moment the words had left Roche’s mouth, and the way Iorveth had turned and left without a word – well, Roche had honestly assumed that the elf was done with him.

He’d ignored the complicated way he felt about that for years, but now suddenly, Iorveth’s decision to reach out – is that what this was? – had his mind going back to that day. He’d been in so much pain at the time, the loss of his men and his own treasonous actions fresh in his thoughts and weighing down on him. Iorveth had found him packing up his camp on his way back to Vizima, catching Roche entirely by surprise.

If he’d been less off balance then, would things have gone differently? At the time, he hadn’t known the hole Iorveth’s absence would leave in his life, the aching sense of being adrift without a sense of purpose, without the thing whose opposition had defined him. He had always been Vernon Roche, Commander of the Blue Stripes, Authority on all Nonhuman Affairs. And even after he’d become Vernon Roche, Freedom Fighter, he’d never quite adjusted the definition of himself, never quite learned how to be Roche without Iorveth on the other side of his coin.

Maybe that was why Iorveth was reaching out. Maybe he felt the same, felt aimless and pointless now that Nilfgaard had taken over everything and nonhumans were given the same respect and rights as humans. Maybe Iorveth was also stuck behind some desk, fingers that were meant to hold a sword cramping around a too-delicate quill.

Roche shook his head and then rubbed his face. If he let his thoughts continue in that direction, he’d be too miserable to get anything done. What he needed was a quick break to splash some water on his face and then to get back to work. Because even if Roche was a remnant of a bygone age, Temeria was still everything, and he would serve his homeland however he was needed. Even if it slowly killed him inside.

When he returned to his desk, the letter still sat there innocently, words face-down because he wasn’t that careless. But that meant he was faced with the little blue flower pressed into white wax. It was actually rather pretty, though only an elf would do a ridiculous thing like seal a letter with one.

He should throw it away or burn it or otherwise dispose of the letter that named his crime, but instead, Roche found himself filing it in his desk, hidden under a stack of parchment. He could always get rid of it later.

––

The next letter arrived about a week later. As soon as Roche saw that little blue flower seal, his heart started to beat faster and he reached for it immediately. He broke the wax and unfolded the letter to find that this time, Iorveth hadn’t limited himself to one word. Instead, he’d filled the parchment with his oddly shaky handwriting and when Roche lifted it to his nose, he could catch the faint herbal scent of gin underneath the sweet floral smell. If Iorveth had been drinking while writing, it would certainly explain the bad handwriting. But why would Iorveth drunkenly write him, of all people?

He bit his lip and wondered where Iorveth was now. Even if he knew and tried to respond, he wouldn’t know what to say to Iorveth after all this time. He couldn’t regret the decisions he’d made, as fruitless as they may have ended up being. Being Temerian was such a core part of his identity that Roche could never have done anything else.

Still, he almost feared what Iorveth may have written in his inebriated state. It wasn’t as if the elf hadn’t insulted him extensively to his face. Why should he care if the same words made their way onto this parchment?

But he did care. Their last meeting had broken something deep inside him, something he wasn’t ready to examine yet. He would rather be faced with the memory of Iorveth turning away from him, face blank, and never saying a word as he left for the very last time, than to know that even now, Iorveth’s hatred for Roche sustained him.

Roche himself was just too tired for hate anymore. Maybe that was the point of this ridiculous administrative role – to make him so exhausted and docile that he was no longer a threat. Roche wouldn’t put it past Emhyr to plan such a thing.

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and read the letter.

I wonder if it still brings you pride, to know that you’ve won. The Scoia’tael are no more. My men are gradually being reintroduced into society – Nilfgaardian society, of course. The same Nilfgaard that declared us traitors and tried to assassinate us after the Peace of Cintra. It makes me sick to bear the Golden Sun on my armor, and yet, my men are finally free or as close as we will ever get. I should be happy – the Scoia’tael are no more because there is no longer a need for us.

So why do I wish we were still in the forests outside Flotsam, fighting a never ending bloody battle?

It ended like that, abruptly, though from the link blots below the last words, Roche suspected Iorveth had debated saying more.

What was he supposed to do with this? What good was the knowledge that Iorveth was just as miserable as he was, just as desperate for a return to when things made sense and the lines between this side and that one were clear?

[xmalereader]

Kylo Ren x Male reader

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|| Masterlist ||

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Request: pretty please Kylo x reader, where Kylo watches as the reader slowly rises from nothing and climbs the ranks of the F.O. At first he’s just a prisoner of war, but he betrays his planet for freedom and a chance to join the infantry. Then from soldier to commander, commander to captain, captain to general etc, until eventually the Reader commands all of the First Order forces (instead of Hux) and has to work alongside Kylo. Reader tries to introduce himself but Kylo says “I know who you are.”

Warnings: Slight angst, slow burn, Kylo being protective, slight innocent reader, fluff.

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@cozyghosty

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Y/n and Hux have both gone to the same academy, going through the same programs and training. The two were very close childhood friends that once they joined the first order the two were forced to avoid each other becuase of the different positions that they have gained, giving them less time to bond with each other. Hux has made it to higher ranking, leaving y/n behind in a lower ranking, it upset him at first but he already saw this coming. He knew that he would struggle through this and would have to find a way to get to a higher ranking like his childhood friend. He didn’t want to be general he wanted to be something more. Making him a very important person that people would actually rely on.

So, he works his ass off.

He becomes an engineer first, making plans with Hux on how they were going to create the New Death Star together, giving them some time to at least bond with each other but y/n knows that it wasn’t enough for Hux to treat him as a friend once again, since he’s become a general he’s sorta become an asshole to everyone, including him.

Their are time when the two would argue on which plans were better but of course Hux always won the argument. Leaving y/n to groan in frustration and head towards the training room where he could blow off some steam, he used one of his new inventions, creating holograms of random facelsss people. Using the holograms to train with them, each time he strikes a person the image would disappear and the system would keep record of his training. It was easy and simple and he was the only one who knew how to use it, he created it himself.

So as he’s training he doesn’t notice the stranger dressed in black watching him train from the doorway. He was to busy fighting off the holograms that when he notices the man, losing focus he’s knocked down by one of the holograms, causing him to grunt and fall on his back. The stranger straightens hismelf, getting ready to jump in and help y/n but the other shouts a command. “Stop training sequence!”

The holograms froze and slowly disappeared as he groans and slowly Stands up, gripping his fighting stick as he glanced over at the stranger. “can I help you?” He asks softly, panting from all of the fighting. The stranger eyes him and makes his way over, he was taller than him which may or may not have frightened him a little bit. “I’ve never seen a trooper train this way before.” He says as y/n raised a brow and tilts his head. “Sorry but I’m not a trooper, I’m actually an engineer here.”

“Then what’s an engineer like you doing inside a training room?”

Y/n fidgets nervously. “Just testing out my new stuff—but if you need the training room then you can have it I’m done for the day.” He insists and makes his way over to the control area, taking his own device as he pockets it and glanced over his shoulder to see the taller one still staring at him.

“Um...—“

“You’re training is impressive, including your inventions.” He says.

Y/n smiles shyly at him and chuckles. “Thanks, not many people seem to appreciate my work.” He mumbles out and grips the fighting stick in his hand. The other notices this and raises a brow. “Ever thought about training troopers?”

“What? Pfft, no way I can barley train myself.” He laughs out but quickly stops as he noticed the other giving him a cold stare. “No, never thought of that.” He simply says.

The other hums at him. “What training sequence were you on?”

Y/n loooks down and twirls the stick around. “Sequence 40.”

“Thats a pretty high level for an engineer, impressive.”

“Thanks...?” He bends down to grab his coat and slip it on, putting his gloves back on as he slicks his hair back. The other could eye him up and down before making his wya out of the room. “Not bad.” He hears him say as he exits the room.

“Wait!” Y/n chases after him, making it outside the training room he spots the stranger once again. “You never told me your name!” He shouts out as the other glances over his shoulder, giving him a grin like smile as he answers him. “Ben, call me Ben.”

The two didn’t see each other again; Y/n had hoped that he worked as an engineer as well but once he looked him up not a single thing about the man came up so he gave up on his ear he and continued on with his tasks. Working on the new Death Star with Hux but of course the council had to call him in, saying that they wanted to speak to him.

The first thing that he felt was fear, thinking that he messed something up and was going to get into some sort of trouble.

Arriving to the council room he is met up with different commanders and generals and at the end of that table sat their number one commander.

Kylo Ren.

Y/n didn’t know much about him but was warned to not anger the man since it’ll come with consequences if he were to get upset. So, y/n made sure to stay clear from him.

“Y/n.” He hears one of the generals say as his gaze snaps away from ren and towards the new voice. “Do you know why we called you here?” He asks as y/n bites his lip and answers honesty. “No, sir.” He makes sure to keep his arms behind his back, standing tall as to show them that he wans’t afraid.

“We got a report from one of our colleagues saying that they’ve seen you training in one of our troopers fighting area.”

“Sir—“

The commander raises a hand to silence him as y/n shuts his mouth and looks down a little as he waits for what’s to come. “They say that your technics are smart and faster, they also mentioned that your tech helped you train faster, is that true?”

Y/n nods in response. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well.”

Everyone that sat on the long table turned their gazes towards Ren, waiting for his instructions as y/n fidgets around nervously as he glanced over to ren. The masked man sits up straight as he speaks out. “We have decided to promote you as commander to our troopers, working alongside with phasma.” His eyes widen at the sudden realization.

“Thank you sir, I am honored but our plans to create a new Death Star aren’t finished yet and I would like to finish those plans before I am removed from my engineering postion.” He says calmly as Ren tilts his head towards Hux who sat a few seats down. “Commander Hux will finish the plans for you.”

Of course he will.

Y/n groans deep down, these were his plans and hux was going to take all of the credit. Sighing deeply he nods at him, “Of course sir.” He says out softly. “Then it is decided, you are to become commander of our troopers, train them well.” And with that y/n was sent away to start his new postion.

His first day was a struggle. Phasma had tried to force him to wear a suit but he refused telling her that he didn’t want to hide behind a mask and that he was only training them, he wasn’t meant to go to the field or to order them around, he is to make sure that they know how to defend themselves.

Using his skills as a technician he created new weapons for the troopers, teaching them how to properly use them and how to learn hand to hand combat when they don’t have a weapon on them. He expected himself to not last a week with the troopers but letting his anger out when training had helped him improve a little, he was so used to being ordered around that now he was the one doing the ordering, fighting his own soldiers as the train them harder.

“If you don’t learn how to use it then you won’t survive.” He hisses at the trooper who was lying on the ground, panting heavily as y/n points the end of his weapon towards the trooper. The weapon contained all electric shock that can knock out any person in less than a few seconds if used properly.

Pulling away his weapon he offers his hand to the trooper who accepts it, helping him up as he shoves him towards the crowd. “Tomorrow morning you are to be sent out on the field, searching for a very important item that our leader is in desperate need for it.” He began to say as he places the weapon into his holster and puts his hands behind his back as he paces around the room, eyeing the troopers.

“What ever you do, don’t hesitate.” He reminds them as he turns to look at phasma who leans off the wall. “Before everyone leaves I have some news.” She says as y/n raises a brow in confusion. “Is it bad?” He asks out of curiosity.

“No need to panic, my little genius.”

Y/n blushes at the nickname and chuckles a little.

“Ive received orders from Kylo ren; he wants you on the field wiht everyone else.”

“Me? But I’m not ever a trooper.”

“No, but you are their commander.”

Y/n bites his lip nervously as he thinks about this, “I—okay.” He finally sighs out as phasma smiles under her helmet and pat his shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me.” She whispers and leaves the room, slowly little by little the troopers began to exit the training room. Leaving y/n all on his own as he thought about this, he was so used to being inside. Doing the inside work as the others did the dirty work, but this was different now. He wasn’t an engineering anymore, he was commander and he was going to be out there.

He was standing inside one of their ships, heading towards Jakku. It was dark and the moons were shining down on the desert planet. Y/n was standing in the back of the ship with Phasma and Ren, he was wearing his own mask since he refused to wheat any of the troopers armor, saying that he’ll make his own outfit that’ll help him move faster during a fight or a raid.

He was wearing all black, having a thin cloth cover his face as he wore dark goggles that covered his eyes. He could still see through them and the suit wasnt as hard to move in.

His staff was strapped around over his shoulder as he fixed his black gloves on.

“Preparing to land...”

Letting out a small sigh he feels the ship shake as it lands onto the ground, the ramp lowering down as the troopers exit the ship and began to raid the village. Y/n steps out and looks around, its been a few years since he’s last been on a planet, he’s been stuck indoors and in outerspace, making plans for the future of the first order that he has totally forgotten what it felt like to be on land again.

“Search the place, burn it down if you have too.” He hears Phasma say as y/n glances at her. “Find me that map.” Said Ren as y/n nods at the command and heads towards the village, he makes sure that all of the troopers have raided the place, pulling out different people and tossing them out of their houses as y/n walks around calmly, already used to this kind of scene.

“Is that everyone?” He asks one of the troopers.

“Yes, sir. No one else was located in the area.”

“Good, go and wait with the others.” The trooper heads off towards the others troopers as y/n gives the place one last glance but before he could leave he sees a hint of movement behind one of the tents, causing him to raise a brow.

He reaches up to click the side of his mask which caused his vision to Change into heat vision, smirking under his mask he spots a figure crouching under the tent as he held a blaster.

Y/n clears his vision and it goes back to normal as he stalks over to the tent, unclipping his staff as he grips it into his hand. Making his way around he sees the man shift in his spot, getting ready to make a run for it. ”Hey.”

The man turns around in panic as y/n swings the end of his staff against the man’s face, knocking him down as he groans in pain. He makes sure to kick away the blaster as he used his foot to roll the man over onto his back. Y/n’s breath hitches as he gets a closer look, “Poe?” He whispers out as the man continues to groan, without hesitation he swings his staff again. Hitting him upside the head as he grabs him by the legs nad drags him back towards their ship.

As he returned he noticed how the place was going into flames as Ren stood by the ship, he immediately spots y/n and began to make his way towards him. Y/n drops Poe in front of Ren and clips his staff back into place, “I’m guessing this is the guy you are looking for?” He pushes Poe onto his knees and grips his shoulder.

Poe groans in pain as he looks up to glare at Ren.

“Where’s the map?”

“I’m not saying anything.” Poe spits out as Ren glares in return.

Y/n could feel the anger radiating off of Ren, he noticed him reaching for his saber but y/n is quick to step in. “Sir, its best to bring him aboard and to inturigate him. He’s no use to us dead.” He reminds him as Ren tilts his helmet upwards to stare at y/n. “Very well then, bring him aboard and make sure that he’s cuffed.”

“Yes, sir.” Y/n grabs Poe by the arm and drags him towards the ship, making sure to cuff him as he gives the man a glance. The two are silent as the troopers come aboard, “I know you.” Poe finally says as y/n froze in place. “You don’t know me.” He mumbles out and moves away form their prisoner, making his way over to phasma to Ren. “Our prisoner is cuffed, ill make sure that he doesn’t cause us any trouble and if he does then I won’t hesitate to use him for one of my experiments.” He grins as Kylo Stood next to phasma, eyeing y/n up and down since he was shorter than Ren.

“You’ve been training the trooper well and your commanding is coming in handy, never seen the troopers fight better than usual.” He smiles at Kylo’s complainant. “Thank you, sir. I don’t go easy on them so I’m sorry if I’m a little too hard.”

“The harder the better.”

Y/n smiles a little under his mask and walks over to stand next to Phasma.

“Phasma has actually told me the changes that you’ve been doing.” He froze in spot as he glances over to Ren. “You seem to know your way around a problem, someone like you will be useful on the bridge.”

“What—?” He breaths out in shock as he grips his arm.

“How does General Y/n, sound to you?”

Y/n gaped at him, not knowing what to say. “But sir, isn’t Hux general?” He questions as Kylo gives him a small nod. “Yes, but I’ve been having second thoughts about his leading and I think its best to keep him as commander again than general.”

Hux was being demoted becuase of him. He was taking Hux’s spot as General, he was going ot be leading his own army and commanding his own people, he didn’t know how to feel about this. All his life he dreamed of becoming a general but never thought of it as anything else, and now here he is. Getting promoted as General.

“It would be an honor.” He replies back as the crew flies back to base where he could get started on his new position as General.

“Beautiful isn’t it.”

Y/n is startled by the sudden clear voice.

Glancing over his shoulder he spots the Same man that he has meet a couple of years back, his eyes widening in realization. “Ben..” he breaths out as he turns to face Y/n. “Thats not my name.” He whispers out as y/n raises a brow, opening his mouth to ask what he meant but before he could question him he gives him a quick scan and realized that he was holding his helmet in one hand and his saber in the other.

“Ren.” He whispers as Kylo chuckles with a grin. “Took you awhile, General.”

Y/n’s face goes red and turns back to face the large window, watching as their cruisers traveled through lightspeed, tracking down the rebellion.

“Why did you give me a fake name, instead of being honest?” He asks as the two stood side by side. “You’re smart General, figured you would notice but I didn’t think it would take this long.” Kylo smirks at him as he gribs his helmet and slips it back on.

“Then maybe we should properly introduce ourselves—“ he turns to face Face Kylo. “I’m—“

“I know who you are.” Kylo cuts him off before he could say anything else.

“You’re Y/n L/n, a former student at the Acadamy that you and Hux both attend as children. You’ve always wanted to be a part of the First Order, but you became a technician instead, but you didn’t complain about it since it was one of your passions, to create new things.” He began to say. “Hux was quickly to take your spot as General but you worked yourself hard, starting from the very bottom and making your way to the top.”

Kylo steps forward, their faces only a few inches away as Y/n stays calm and standing. “I admire someone who can prove people wrong, I’d like to continue seeing that as we work together.” He whispers to him.

Y/n takes in a small deep breath. “Yes, sir.”