#i like to imagine the burning rage still flickering in her intense eyes

[bitchesgate3]

Polyhedron #159; Rise of the Githyanki, pg 6

[aaeeart]

He's a bit upset

There's a fanfic hidden bellow.

Quick need to know, this a part of my Inquisitor Kanan AU, Kanan is among other things convinced that his crew is dead and when he does come across them he believes they're a force vision and a part of some form of elaborate torture made by the Inquisitors.

Now let's say at some point he got rescued...

Hera lingered in the doorway of Kanan's cabin, a place she had stood countless times since he was taken. Fearful of entering, she hesitated, her unease only amplified by the room now being occupied once again. Kanan sat huddled in a corner, on the frigid ground between his bed and meditation seat. He didn't meet her gaze, his form slouched, elbows resting on his knees, eyes tightly shut. He could have been sleeping.

"What?" His words sliced through the air, icy and detached. Hera swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, and stepped into the cabin.

"Kanan," she said softly. A flicker of surprise crossed her face as he opened his eyes and met her gaze, if only for a fleeting moment. Immense sadness shimmered within his yellow irises before he shuttered them once more.

"Leave me alone," he whispered, his head sinking low as he clenched his teeth. The urge to rush to him and offer solace tugged at Hera, but she heeded Ahsoka's counsel. They needed time for the Jedi to heal. Instead, she settled herself by the open door.

"Do you know where you are?"

Kanan snorted in response. "Good one."

"You're on the Ghost," Hera said, her brow furrowing. "You're home."

"I don't understand why you all think it's necessary," he muttered, raising his head to fix his gaze on the opposing wall.

"You're with your friends, with me," Hera pressed on. "You're safe."

"Stop it, will you?" Kanan growled, his fists clenching tightly.

"Stop what?" Hera asked, her confusion genuine.

"You can't deceive me again, and you know it," Kanan declared. "You've already made me do what you want, I'm not playing this game anymore."

"Kanan..." Abruptly, he turned, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto her green ones. A shiver coursed through Hera's spine. She never wanted him to regard her with such intensity, as if he yearned for nothing more than to tear her apart.

Hera could feel her heart wrench as Kanan dismissed her. She understood he had endured torment, likes of which she likely wouldn't be able to imagine, nor would she want to.

He spoke of them as if they were a trick of light, a speck of dust in his vision that would disappear if he so much as blinked and spoke to them as if they were someone he despised.

She couldn't bear to see him suffer alone. Not when she still felt responsible for it.

Hera met Kanan's gaze head-on. "Kanan, please, listen to me," she implored, her voice laced with urgency and sincerity and she hoped, kindness in the truth of her words. "I swear to you, you're safe. We're not your enemies. We're your family."

Kanan's brow furrowed, his eyes burning with anger. "You expect me to believe that?" His voice trembled with a mix of fear and frustration. But a sarcastic smirk curled on his lips as he continued. "What's the plan this time? You gonna make me shed a tear for the good old times? Maybe have a heart-to-heart with my padawan? Sorry, but I'm not biting."

Hera's determination hardened as she refused to back down. "I know it's difficult, Kanan. But look at us. Look at me. It's me." she said, her voice unwavering. She extended her arm. "You can tell, Kanan."

Kanan's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He was clearly torn between the lies of the Inquisitors and the longing to believe in the safety of his friends. An inner battle raged behind his eyes.

Hera longed to see the blue green color of the tormented gaze...

Kanan slowly reached out to her.

Hera smiled with relief.

Then she felt a tightening pressure wrapping itself around Hera's throat. She gasped for air, her eyes pleading with him.

"Enough!" he bellowed, his voice laced with bitterness and sorrow. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or someone. "Show yourself! You've done it! So end it!"

Alarmed by the loud outburst, the rest of the Ghost crew stormed into the cabin. "Hera!" Sabine exclaimed, watching their captain suspended in mid-air.

"Kanan, let her go!" Zeb shouted.

Hera dared a look at the broken jedi and saw him looking straight at her, his face tightened in a mixture of fear, sadness and uncertainty. She attempted to say his name, but all that came out was a choked gasp.

"Kanan!"

Kanan's grip faltered, the anger dissipating as a flicker of recognition ignited within his eyes when Ezra spoke. With backwards stumble, he released Hera, his hand falling to his side. His shoulders slumped, burdened by his inner turmoil.

The three sentients gathered around Hera, helping her sit up. Chopper however rolled towards Kanan and shoving into his leg, spitting out curses in binary. Kanan watched the droid with an empty bewilderment.

"Chopper, stop it!" Hera snapped at the astromech.

Kanan looked at the Twi'lek, wide eyed, tears lining his vision. Clearly fighting with himself, Kanan whispered her name in a very weak voice.

"It's us, mate," Zeb assured him.

Kanan gave him a distracted look, then glanced at Sabine, Ezra, and finally at Chopper, who returned to Hera's side. A tear slid down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, looking down, waiting for something.

Hera rose to her feet and took a step towards the jedi, ignoring the warning looks from the others.

She extended her hand towards him a second time.

This time she thought she saw flicker of teal in his eyes as their hands met.

TBC...

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust

Summary: Finding out the truth about the Darkling, Y/N recounts the way they met only to realize she must say goodbye.

Warnings: angst

Series Masterlist

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Loving him felt like the most exquisite form of self destruction. She should have known sooner that he would be the source of the greatest pain she had ever known. Perhaps that's the problem, she never loathed the darkest parts of her that felt drawn to him from the first moment he had gazed upon her.

She never trusted anyone, not even her best friend until years have passed. She barely trusted herself for that matter. Trust didn't come easy for her, neither did love, but Y/N trusted Aleksander from the start, she didn't even question him and that is why it hurt so much, why it tore into her and ripped her to shreds.

She looked at him through a tear-clouded blur, her chest aching as her heart constricted inside with the iron fist of betrayal squeezing it tightly.

"How could you have lied?" She pauses, placing a hand on her chest, "To me?"

His jaw clenches, his eyes widening ever so slightly, "Would you have stayed?"

His voice is even, a calm in her raging storm and she can't help but hate him for it. While she is falling apart, he seems perfectly fine.

Her bottom lip quivers as her hands form fists, but when she speaks, she does so through gritted teeth, "When have I ever given you cause to question that?"

Aleksander steps closer, but Y/N is quick to take one back. His lips part, the way she can't even stand his presence inflicted hurt he didn't realize he was still capable of feeling.

"Do you remember when we met?" She asks, unsure why she's reminiscing now.

Walking into a Grisha tent wasn't quite a bright idea on Y/N's behalf, but sometimes you realize there are people worth risking your life for, and for Y/N, her best friend Mal was that person.

She had accepted a wager that would guarantee no one would pick on Mal, all she had to do was retrieve some grapes from a Grisha tent and this particular one seemed to be the only one unguarded.

She looked around at the dark colors inside with a frown etched in her face. She couldn't understand who'd enjoy living in such darkness. Isn't the world dark enough as it is?

Shaking her head, she looks to the table and upon the table she find the grapes that meant Mal would be safer. Wasting no time, her hand clutched the bowl and yet as she took it in her hand, a voice had startled her.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Nodding, Aleksander pursed his lips. His eyes are dark, two pools of infinite darkness she had liked upon her before. She wasn't quite sure if she enjoyed his attention anymore.

"You were in my tent." He raised an eyebrow, "Uninvited.",

Gasping, Y/N turned around, her hands remaining behind her with the grapes safely hidden.

"I am sorry, I got lost." She came closer, her eyes meeting the intimidating black ones of the man much taller than her, much more powerful than she could ever be.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes trailing her from head to toe, studying her as she realized he didn't believe her.

"I was just transferred back after a mission, I didn't realize the tents have been moved around. Mine used to be here", she managed a nervous smile, walking around him and toward the exit in hope of him letting her go.

"And yet you didn't leave once you realized it was not yours anymore", he spoke, his gaze following every step she takes. He steps in her way, blocking her from leaving. He's close, close enough for her to feel the faint smell of alcohol on his breath.

Swallowing thickly, she keeps staring at him as if he had chained her eyes to his, as if he had enchanted her. She doesn't even feel as his right arm moves around her, not until his hand plucks a single grape from the bowl, bringing it to his lips.

"Don't they feed you over in the First army?"

A faint smile forms on Aleksander's lips, just enough for the corners of his mouth to move, to capture her attention.

"You were stealing from me", he notes and she holds her breath as her heart, as treacherous as it is, jumps at the nearly lighthearted chuckle escaping him.

"And you stopped me from leaving", she adds, a sigh passing her lips.

"I should go" , Y/N blurts out, passing by the unknown Grisha as swiftly as possible. Just as she's about to reach the exit, to see the light of the day, cold, long fingers wrap around her left wrist, effectively pulling her back to face the Grisha.

A gasp escapes her once her eyes meet the dark shadows around the Grisha, more so when a light explodes around them. A warmth like she had never felt before spreads inside her, beams around her and the Grisha whose eyes are wide in shock, awestruck just as much as she is. The light encases them, her body shaking with the magnitude of their reality, yet she cannot comprehend where the light is coming from.

Breaking away from his eyes, she looks to his hand wrapped around her wrist, securely holding onto her. The glow of her skin, a thousand suns emerging from every inch of her makes her breathless. Her knees buckle and still, instead of the fall, she feels an arm around her, pulling her up and closer, much closer to the Grisha she had just met.

The shock of his arm around her dims the light, the darkness blinding her temporarily.

Only then does she hear the excited murmuring and whispers around her, only then does she look back at the Grisha holding her, keeping her from falling to her knees.

"Wh-what just happened?" She breathes out, her eyes flickering from his relentless gaze to his lips as they form a smile.

"You are a Sun summoner."

Leaning back on the table, Aleksander crosses his arms. "I had no intention on hurting you when I did. Your light must have felt it or it wouldn't have responded to me."

Scoffing, Y/N averts her gaze, "It was naïve." Locking her eyes on him once more, she adds, "And so was I."

"If I had told you, would you not think I'm evil from the start? Would you not have hated me?" Aleksander's eyebrows furrow, a single strand of hair falling to his forehead and it took everything in Y/N not to laugh. His disheveled look, if she could call it that, is still a thousand times more perfect than any other man.

"You could have trusted me." Tucking her hair behind her right ear, Y/N sighs heavily. "I trusted you. Now we will never know."

Unnerved, Aleksander comes before her in just a few strides, his hands cupping her face as she holds her breath, afraid of letting him know she still cares for him. It's an advantage she refuses to hand him.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/N. You're all I have", his voice is quiet, almost vulnerable, something she had only sensed in him once before and that was when he spoke of the burdens of his legacy. That was a lie, so was this not a lie as well?

She placed her hands over his, letting them linger momentarily before pulling them down, away from her with all her strength.

"I am not yours to lose!" She walks past him, just as she had done on that fateful day they met, and his hand catches her wrist just the same, pulling her back into his chest.

She pushes against him, trying to get away but his hold on her is stronger, unmoving like a force of nature.

"You may not be mine, but I am yours. There is no one like us in this world, Y/N", Aleksander's voice is softer, more tender than his embrace feels.

Shaking her head, Y/N croaks, "Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt me?" His worry and pleas are replaced by arrogance, a smirk appearing on his lips. He could never imagine her to be powerful enough to harm him physically, but her leaving? That would break him.

Staying with him would undo her, Y/N knows that. She's tearing to pieces and not at the seams, it's much harder to heal when you break in an uneven patter where you can't stitch yourself up and move on. No...Aleksander Kirigan will be a gaping wound for a long time and then a nasty scar to serve as a reminded why she shouldn't trust easily, or anyone but herself.

"You once told me I would be your equal", she raised her chin defiantly, the smirk on her lips rivaling his. "You were right."

She raises her hand to his face swiftly, a light emerging from her palm in such bright intensity she could feel her skin burning with it.

It didn't last long, for her it felt like a few seconds, but his pained scream would remain in her head like an echo for a long time to come.

For Aleksander the pain was momentary, he healed rather fast. But when his vision cleared and she wasn't by his side, that pain would last a lifetime, fueling his darkness as he sets out to find her - the only light that can chase away the shadows he invited on the day the fold was created.

Y/N once believed he was worth loving, that he could be saved. Aleksander vowed to make sure she does again.

PART 2

[thestruidora]

Landslide

The Avengers (MCU) Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Shower Sex, Edging, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fluff, Oral Sex, thigh riding, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Dominance, Submission, Knotting, Scenting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Rutting, Rut Sickness

Category: F/M

Pairings: Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Summary: Steve was never quite sure if he truly was an alpha. Genetically he should be, coming from a long line of alpha males. But due to the several health conditions in his youth, his poorly functioning body never presented. But now, because of the serum reacting to his true designation, a terrible case of rut sickness takes hold of the super soldier, threatening his life. Being a beta, Natasha can’t offer him what he needs, and since omegas are rarer today then ever, she is forced to hire a foreign girl to tend to Steve during these desperate times.

Author’s notes: Did y'all miss me? Yeah, I'm sure you didn't.

If anyone is interested in getting to know the magical music genre called forró, I chose a couple of classics that I feel like definitively played on the reader's first and only June Party: O Xote das Meninas Xote Dos Milagres Cintura Fina Morena Tropicana

Shout outs: @captainchrisstan, @keenkiddeputynickel, @danidv011, @ballyhoobarnes, @pophbfdsxa, @crashbarbie, @readermia, @musicnowandforever661, @bianaguipa, @deezy-061 Thank you so much for your guy’s support!

For those who missed it: Chapter One >> Language Barrier Chapter Two >> Bilingual Chapter Three >> Miscommunication

Chapter Four

Gibberish

She can still remember the laughter. The giggling that came from the back of her throat as she threw her head back, a smile full of teeth spread through her lips. The exhilaration of being with her friends, dancing her heart out.

It was her favorite time of the year. The sounds of the June Party moving on her feet. The rhythmic vibrations of the music's beat coursing through her. The songs, the speaking, the dancing: all at once ringing in her ears. One of her very first alcoholic drinks running through her veins along with all the spinning making her dizzy.

She was the happiest she’s ever been.

Every year her older cousins would travel to the countryside of Bahia's state, where the June festivities were the most elaborate. Her mom, so controlling, so protective, would never let her go. But on the year of her 14th birthday, she begged a little more strongly, pleaded a little more fervently, and now there she was.

It was so much more than she could ever have imagined. Bigger, louder, an explosion of newness to her senses. A big contrast to her secluded life in the city, because everybody knows that being a woman is hard, but being an Omega is harder.

Her mom was mated only a few hours after presenting, a few hours into her first heat, to a man she barely knew and definitely did not love. But still, she was one of the lucky ones. She could have been robbed, kidnapped and trafficked. Because Omegas are rare and the demand is huge, so presenting as one was as good as a death sentence.

But she was still young, she still got time.

And now, finally outside of her mom's vigilant eyes, with her girlfriends dancing by her side and the pulse of the *forró guiding her body she could allow herself to be carefree.

“Rapaz, que secura!” Lana screamed, complaining about the heat.

“É, tá um calor desgraçado.” Gabriela agreed, fanning herself with her hands, droplets of sweat trickling down her forehead and into her exposed cleavage.

Y/N simply laughed at her friends, they were a couple years older than her, but not necessarily more mature. Of course it was hot, they’ve been dancing for a long time, and even in the open space with the night air hanging over them, the place was so crowded that they would barely move while trying to get to the open bar.

She watched as the girls got their beverages, gobbling them down as if they were the first drinks they had in ages. But suddenly, the permanent smile that had been plastered on her face throughout the night died, something curious shifting inside of her. It was a unique feeling, one she never experienced before. It had started as a tightness in her lower abdomen, but it was growing into a sharp pain.

“Você tá bem?” Lana asked if she was ok, noticing the grimace in her features.

She tried to shake her head yes, but it came out the exact opposite as she doubled down on herself, her hands pressing on her stomach as she frowned, the pain becoming unbearable. Were these cramps? Was she about to get her period in the middle of this party?

But no, it wasn’t that. Somehow in the back of her mind, she knew this was different. She had begun to sweat, but not from the crowd or the dancing, there was this intense hotness forming within her.

She noticed a couple of men standing on the edges of the party space, in the shadows, almost camouflaged. Their eyes were predatory, fixated on her, they shined with a sinister glow, reflecting the flickering red light of the bonfire. Her friends called to her, guiding her to walk across to one of the tables, helping her sit down. When she looked again, the men were gone. Was she going mad?

“A gente vai ver se encontra Ibuprofeno, fica aí.” Gabriela said this time, or was it Lana again? They left, said something about looking for painkillers, she wasn’t paying attention, the pain was too much and so were the smells. All of the sudden, she felt like she could smell every single thing and every single one in the whole place.

She could smell the perfume, and the liquor, the sweet and the savory foods, altogether but also individually, it was overwhelming. She could smell the people, not their body wash or their shampoo, but their true scents. Some were warm and some were cold, some too strong and others too bland. And then there were two that were getting closer, too close, and these stung in her nostrils. Her vision had gone blurry and she couldn’t tell much of what was happening around her at that point, but she knew she wasn’t alone.

Shaking from the pain, shivering even though she was burning up, she looked up just fast enough to get a look at the two men from before, standing right behind her. One of them covered her eyes with his hand and the other covered her mouth. A muffled scream and a couple of weak punches were all she could do before they pulled her up from her chair, completely immobilizing her.

She trashed and struggled about, but to no avail. They were big and strong and she was small and frail.

“Shhh, Omega.” One of them whispered in her ear, and as if under a spell, she did just what was asked of her, her free will hushed. Something about his voice, and their touch, turned the pang in between her legs into a tingle.

And that’s when she knew: she had presented and this was her first heat.

They dragged her pliable body into the woods of the rural countryside, the sway of the forró getting left behind, her mother’s voice playing on a loop inside her head, “Be careful”, she always said.

Everything went dark, she could only make out flashes of information. The roughness of their hands and the graveness of their voices as they spoke to each other, laughing to themselves about how much she was worth, the way they sniffed at her neck, exhaling with satisfaction.

At some point, the grass of the forest turned into asphalt underneath her feet, and she was blindfolded and tied up, her lips taped as she was thrown into the back of a car. She could only whimper, her heat burning inside of her.

Shifting in and out of conciseness, she couldn’t tell how long had passed, couldn’t differentiate hours from days anymore. From time to time she would feel the prick of a needle going into her arm, and then it was all darkness again. She remembered being cold, shivering about as more rough hands grabbed at her. Were these the same ones from before or no? Had Lana or Gabriela reported her missing? Was anyone coming for her?

Eventually, it all stopped.

There was a cushiony softness below her, a thin sheet of fabric above her. When Y/N carefully tried to open her eyes, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was greeted by light. Not the warm sunshine that often peeked through the windows of her bedroom in the mornings, but a cold, harsh light that came from a singular light bulb attached to the ceiling.

No longer tied or muzzled, she slowed sat up in the single bed, looking around. There was nothing covering her figure but the bedding, not even underwear. She found herself in a tiny room: four concrete white walls, a small barred window and a closed door.

Her heat was over, she could feel it, no more fire burning in her loins. She disentangled herself from the bed sheet, getting up too quickly, ignoring her nakedness and the dizziness, heading straight for the door. It was locked, of course.

Finally feeling sober enough to allow the rage to bubble up inside, she began to furiously bang on the door with clenched fists, kicking it, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Hey!” A male voice boomed just outside, appearing suddenly, as if he was already waiting right there. “Yapma!” He hit the metal of the door, hard, making it shake slightly.

She retreated, startled, analyzing the situation. She had no idea what he had said, but gathering from the brutality with which it was uttered, it couldn't have been good. She didn't even know where she'd been taken, but she had an idea why.

More male voices were spoken on the other side of the wall, in that language she did not know. Something electronic beeped, then it let out a subtle ping sound, and just like that the door was sprung open. Two men walked in, the first thing she noticed was the gun one of them was carrying, while the other came in with a paper file in his hands. She backed away into the corner of the room, trying to cover her exposed chest and genitals with her hands, their big Alpha bodies taking over the space, making her feel even more intimidated.

“Nasıl hissediyorsun?” The one with the file said to her, his words sounding like a reserved recording to her brain. He was older, maybe in his late forties, greying hair at the top of his head, a light blue suit framing his ample shoulders.

When she didn’t answer, simply stood there against the wall, trying to control her labored breathing and the sheer fear that had taken over her body, causing even her inner organs to shake, he gave her a once over, opening the file and scanning through whatever was written there.

“Brazil, huh?” He arched one of his brows. “Can you understand me now?” He asked her, deliberately enunciating every word.

Y/N swallowed the sigh that was trying to leave her lips, staring at the gun, wide-eyed.

“Dumb bitch.” The man in the suit murmured to himself, snapping a finger in her face, getting her attention. “You’ve been on sedatives for a long time, little one. How are you feeling?” He said it as slow as he could, as if speaking to an animal. “Do you got a tummy-ache or a headache?” He rubbed his belly while saying ‘tummy’ and touched his temples while saying ‘head’.

She only frowned at him, a crease forming in between her eyebrows. He scoffed, leaning forward, letting his light-colored eyes roam over the valley of her breasts.

“Or maybe you’re just cranky cause you didn’t get no Alpha dick inside that tight little pussy yet.” Before he could finish his words, she was already propelling the whole weight of her body into her closed fist as she punched him in the face, fear turning into fury.

“Oh!” He growled, covering his bleeding nose, quickly walking away from her, face contorted in pain. “Shoot her!” He yelled at the other man, who promptly pointed his gun at her.

“Não!” She shouted out, closing her eyes and attempting to protect her face with her hands. A blunt sound echoed in the room and she felt something sharp go into her leg. Before she had enough time to come to the conclusion that it was tranquilizer dart, her eyes rolled back into their sockets and blackness welcomed her once again.

*

Five years had passed with her locked in that place, slowly forgetting where her mom’s face wrinkled the most when she was angry, or the exact shade of her eyes, the particular timbre of her voice. Y/N was slowly going mad, losing all hope of ever being rescued by the hero that always came to her in her dreams.

She was fourteen when she was taken, highly prized for her young age and virginity. They tried to sell her to the highest bidder many times, but she fought like an Alpha. Biting, roaring at anyone that came too close. Some of the men even began to doubt she was a real Omega, but ever so often her heat came and it reminded them. Emir, the big boss of the operation, sometimes would come to her doorstep during those times, tap at door and use his Alpha voice, laughing when she had to bit her own lips to control the moans his presence was causing.

But in the end, she wasn’t genetically compatible with anyone, and even those that wanted her for her fierceness were disappointed to find that her DNA did not match with theirs. A part of her was happy she had never been sold and probably never would be, just for the simple satisfaction of knowing that her body wouldn’t give those men any profit.

So there she stayed, locked up, imprisoned, hearing the sounds of the other girls crying in their rooms while she got on her tiptoes, trying to catch glimpses of the outside world through her only window, waiting.

It had been a while since she last saw Emir when the door made it’s telltale beep and was opened by him, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

“Hello there, my Latin beauty.” He smiled an evil smile at her, but she didn’t pay it any mind, focused on the redhead woman that was beside him, looking at Y/N with sorrow in her eyes. “See, Widow? I told you my girls are gorgeous, look at her.”

The woman let a displeased noise at his words, coming closer to Y/N, who gave her a distrustful look.

“Hi, I’m Natasha. What’s your name?”

“It’s Y/N.” Emir answered for her.“Oh, and she doesn’t talk.”

“Excuse me, what do you mean?”Natasha turned to him, her short red locks moving with her.“She’s mute?”

“Nah, she just doesn’t know any English.”

“Oh.” She gave the girl one more pitiful stare, but Y/N felt like she was looking right through her.

*

Leaving the facility was like a dream and a nightmare all at the same time. While finally being free was wonderful, Y/N knew that such freedom would come at a cost. The woman, Natasha Romanoff, wasn’t the best at Portuguese, but knew enough of it in order for them to communicate.

Y/N didn’t say much when they gave her a suitcase full of brand-new clothes and guided her out of that God-forsaken place. She didn’t say a word when a dark-haired man tried to take the suitcase from her hands, Natasha said his name was James and that he was only trying to be chivalrous, something about the 1940’s that she didn’t quite understand.

She remained quiet as Natasha tried her best to explain to her that a man’s life was at stake, that Captain America was dying of a terrible rut sickness, and that he was compatible with her and her alone. That yes, she had been bought like cattle, but it was for noble reasons, because Steve Rogers was an honorable man, a hero and his destiny was in her hands.

She kept all of her thoughts to herself as Natasha pulled up a ‘Rut Companion’ contract, stipulating that once Y/N had served her purpose and Mr. Rogers was out of danger and well, she would receive a large sum of money and could walk away from all of this, go anywhere she wanted and do whatever she pleased. Even after signing it, she resigned herself to silence.

And of course, she didn’t say anything when they boarded a jet to the United States, not even a word about the fact that she was actually fluent in English.

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[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Impasse - A Vaderdala Oneshot

“You forget something, Lord Vader.”

Vader flinched, the voice as clear as a bell yet as foreign as the icy vacuum of space. He found himself frozen in place, the bulk of his hefty frame suddenly unbearable. Inside his chest, he felt the searing fingers of remorse and the scalding flames of rage warring for control. 

Against better judgment, he shifted to turn around. Against better judgment, he let down his guard and ignored unclipping his lightsaber. He knew the face he would find before he saw it, but he was still not prepared for the wave of emotion that spilled forth as he came face to face with his own ghosts. This one, he had expected long dead and buried.

“Padmé,” he gasped, but the voice that came out was blunt and deep and void of affection.

Still, the shock bled through. Padmé was as beautiful as the day he’d last seen her. Eyes fierce and determined, dark hair coming loose from her neatly tied bun. Her face was set in a scowl, blaster drawn and aiming straight for the chest panel on Vader’s chest as if it were a marked target meant for practice and precision fire. The air had shifted, the tension thick and heavy and oppressive as they stared each other down. No, more accurately Padmé’s intense, fiery glare was bearing down on Vader. Vader felt his anger dissipate the moment he met that stare; the ice cold regret and guilt crippling him inside out as it won the impasse.

“You said you had come to destroy the Rebellion. I am the last leader standing here. I alone. Will you destroy me now?” Padmé hissed through a clenched jaw, cheeks flushed but her hands steady.

Vader was familiar with the vow he had made, but now it seemed an impossible lie. Before his mind’s eye, he had envisioned old men and snot nosed kids. Politicians and traitors and cowards, incapable of accepting the Emperor’s grand design and his expert vision. The future was bright, the Sith had reclaimed their natural state in the circle of life - atop the ladder. Only fools and children would oppose such an evident supply of unlimited power. Yet, Padmé seemed to care for none of these things. Time had not slowed her down, it had not thawed the ice built in her heart - the ice Vader himself had put there.

“Well?” she pressed, voice tight, calm and collected.

The words escaped before Vader had any chance to rein himself in. Perhaps he never intended to.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated, as if mocking him but her expression revealed surprise and disbelief.

“Aren’t you here to execute your Rebel traitors?”

Vader said nothing, instead he reached for the saber strapped to his belt. He watched Padmé tense, watched her shoulder come up and the finger on the trigger twitch. In what might have been a gesture of surrender, he simply tossed his weapon between them. The gesture was barely a flick of his wrist, but it sent the hilt skidding across the smooth floors until it came to an premeditated gentle stop at Padmé’s feet. She glanced down to regard the token, an unreadable tinge of something somber gleaming in her eyes for a split second. When she looked back up, Vader had not moved. He stood with his hands at his sides, the bombardment outside the underground bunker shaking its hull; straining the already flickering lights.

“I will not fight you,” said Vader finally, as if that would be enough to soothe the woman’s stubborn spirits.

She furrowed her brow, the corner of her lips curling into a half sneer of disgust. It stung, and Vader might have recoiled from that alone had he not been the man he was. Changed, remolded and retooled. His heart had been ripped out once, and still Padmé’s presence willed its withered carcass to beat and blossom. At the same time, she tore it to shreds once more with the disdain her face held for him. He sensed it inside her, swirling and expanding into a palpable loathing. It cloaked her, surrounded her like a cloud. It reeked of pain, sorrow, and betrayal.

“You don’t know me. If you won’t fight, I will,” she said, every word calculated and sincere.

“‘Aggressive negotiations’.”

It was merely a statement, but its meaning rang true. Padmé straightened up, eyes suddenly wide as a ghost of horrified recognition filtered past her defenses. it was gone in the blink of an eye, but the colour that had drained from her already pale face was harder to conceal.

“Who told you?” she snarled, shifting the aim of her blaster towards Vader’s heart - knowing it would do no harm, but the gesture hit him like a slap across the face either way.

She was questioning how he had learned about her and The Jedi. Anakin Skywalker, her husband. Perhaps she had her sneaking suspicions, she must. But her aura betrayed none of it, it remained outraged and unsettled and adamant in her quest.

“You did.”

Padmé opened her mouth to deliver another scathing retort, but she snapped it close again. A tremor passed her slight frame, and it did not go unnoticed. Her resolve was faltering and waning, the lie she had convinced herself to believe no less a stretch of the imagination than the mental gymnastics Vader himself had been performing for the past four years. Ever since Mustafar, ever since he lost everything. Now, that very everything lost stood before him. Now, she was once more within his reach.

“I’m sorry. I tried,” he heard himself say, a feeble apology not nearly sufficient to excuse the heinous acts he had committed.

The voice was still not his own, but the words were earnest. Padmé lowered her blaster in slow, jerky motions but her eyes were transfixed on his. At the very least, Vader felt their gaze burn straight into his soul; into the furnace of his heart that had frozen over a million times. 

“You’re safe.”

It was a ridiculous profession, Padmé’s very existence as part of the Rebellion was a death sentence. But she was alive, she was well and healthy and stable and here. She had not died. He had failed her, but she had lived. He took one step towards her, feeling just as wary and insecure as she looked. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head in a tiny micromovement. She mouthed something, but there was no sound accompanying the motion. Vader understood her fear, yet it pained him to no end. He was unrecognizable, locked within this jettblack prison of durasteel, cybernetics and synth flesh. There was so little left of his physical body, and even less of the man Padmé had once loved.

“It can’t be…” she whispered, hoarse as the tendons at the sides of her neck strained.

Vader felt the urge to cry, an urge so overpowering. An urge that had not found him since Mustafar, since the fall of the Jedi and the Republic. He had no tears to cry, no measure to shed tears by. His retinas, his tear ducts were long since eaten away by flames and embers. Still, his eyes stung. A warmth pressed behind them, a heaviness bearing down on his chest like a fist squeezing the air out of his lungs. Lungs he no longer had.

“Do what you must. I am not afraid to die.”

Padmé’s eyes widened, mouth falling open as realization dawned upon her. She understood. Vader expected her to back away, expected her to cry, to yell, to fire. Anything. Instead, she stood stone faced. As frail as porcelain, yet as sturdy as the brightest star in the Galaxy. Now, she took a step towards him. Then another. Closing the gap, inch by inch, foot by foot. She tipped her head back, never once drawing her eyes from the opaque crimson lenses of Vader’s eyes that substituted eyes. They served for the damaged, half blind eyes hidden behind.

“What have they done to you?” Padmé’s resolute voice murmured; full of compassion and love, emotions that seemed to have sprung out of the ether.

Yet, what she really meant was; what have you done to yourself?

Vader did not falter as she stopped but a breath away. Her trembling, slender fingers reached for his face plate. Her tiny hand brushed over the mouthpiece, running over the sharp angles and the netted grill. A breath was forced through it, with a loud hiss and the smell of sanitizer and bacta fluids followed it. Padmé’s eyes were round, warm, and mournful. They were glassy, her cheeks flushed but it was Vader who wished more than ever that he might shed a tear. If she were to strike him down, he deserved it. He would allow it. He would let her.

“Anakin.”

It was not a question. She knew, it was evident in the pitiful, feeble smile of shock and relief alike that grazed her lips. It was gone in an instant, but it had said enough. So used to denouncing his name, denouncing himself and all he was and had been - Vader found himself unable to deflect her. She was right. He had been wrong for so long, choosing to live in darkness and denial. No more.

“Yes.”

Anakin meant it.

****

Have a short Vaderdala AU.

[icedflames]

I’m getting too irritated with these people who say that Azriel is only lusting over Elain as if Cassian wasn’t only lusting over Nesta back in Acomaf, Wings and Ember proves that. The double standard when the woman your fave is simping over is the character that you can’t self-insert💀

I mean... it’s just silly to expect a romantic declaration in a chapter that a very small number of readers can get. It’s just as silly to say that Nesta and Cassian’s dynamic is so different from Elain and Azriel’s so therefore, Azriel doesn’t feel as deeply for Elain. If you read closely enough, Azriel’s feelings for Elain are quite clear in the bonus chapter and throughout ACOSF. I’ve compiled all the hints in the book here and here.

Nesta and Cassian are loud, rough, and passionate. Elain and Azriel are quiet, soft, and intimate. Nesta and Cassian circle each other like predators. Elain and Azriel do a quiet dance and slowly drift towards each other. 

Both couples are like night and day.

Given that, there are a lot of parallels and similar themes...

These may be totally out of order but... You get the jist. 

Wings and Embers

And in those blue-gray eyes, he could see the thoughts swirling in her as if they were smoke under glass. The cunning mind at work behind that face—the one he hadn’t been able to get out of his head these weeks.

Azriel’s POV

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Wings and Embers

Cassian leaned toward her, and Nesta found herself tipping her head back, exposing her neck, granting him utter access as he grazed his nose against her throat.

&&

So he’d just . . . moved.

And then Nesta had tipped up her chin, allowing him access to her throat.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  

Offer and permission.

Wings and Embers

“It’s easier, isn’t it,” Cassian breathed, crossing the distance again, not caring who saw them standing in the bay window. “To wield the words and the coldness as armor to keep everyone from seeing where and who you failed and how you did not care until it was too late.”

Only hatred gleamed in her eyes, no hint of that slumbering lust that had addled his senses.

“Well, I see it, Nesta Archeron. And all I see is a bored and spoiled girl—”

&&

Something must have shown on her face, in her scent.

Because his annoyance vanished—no, it shifted. Into something else, something . . . Rage.

That’s what stilled Cassian’s face. Pure, burning rage.

It robbed her of breath, of any sort of sense that she might indeed have the upper hand as he ground out, “Who.”

Azriel’s POV

Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed.

&&

Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

Wings and Embers

Soft—her skin was so soft; so fragile. He could scent the mortal blood rushing just beneath. Cassian breathed in the smell of her into his lungs, stirring his cock as it latched onto some intrinsic part of him and sank its talons deep.

Nesta Nesta Nesta

Her eyes drifted closed, and a small, breathless sound came out of her as Cassian brushed his lips over where his nose had touched.

Azriel’s POV

Letting scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. 

Wings and Embers

It hit him in the gut so hard he could barely focus, and it took five centuries of training to make himself meet her eyes rather than let his own roll back into his head.

&&

Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he’d find himself on his knees, begging her for a touch, for anything.

But he leaned in, and grazed the tip of his nose along the side of her neck.

Azriel’s POV

Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.

Wings and Embers

His knees nearly buckled as her slender hand dug into his fighting leathers. He tried not to think of what that hand would feel like on other parts of him. Gripping him; stroking him.

Azriel’s POV

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

&&

Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make.

Wings and Embers

“I’ll mail the letter tomorrow morning.” Nesta paused with her hand on the knob and looked over a shoulder. “You know nothing about who I am, and what I’ve done, and what I want. And while we’re on the subject . . . Send someone else next time. If I see you on my doorstep, I’ll scream loud enough for the servants to come running.

Azriel’s POV

“Snarl all you want." Rhys leaned back in his chair. "But if I see you panting after her again, I'll make you regret it.”

ACOMAF Chapter 39

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business.

ACOSF Chapter 59

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

Both chapters make it clear that there is some intense sexual attraction but also - Cassian can read Nesta and see through her. Azriel doesn’t need his shadows to read Elain. He knows her. 

Cassian clearly feels something for Nesta. As does Azriel. But they are two very different male leads who will express those feelings very differently. 

As a side note, SJM did not know if Nesta and Cassian would get their own book so I think she purposely made their chapter more overt in terms of romantic/sexual undertones. She found out that she would get to write their book after ACOMAF was published. 

SJM has also left enough breadcrumbs throughout ACOSF to assume that Azriel is most likely in love with Elain. He’s tormented, he’s upset, he can’t sleep, something is eating at him. I mean it’s right there. 

If he just had sexual feelings for Elain, he’d take Rhys’ suggestion and go to the pleasure house. Why risk all the trouble for a quick fuck? Why get so upset over that? It’s never stopped him before. 

Sorry for the soliloquy, I’ll stop talking now 😅

[hypnomicimagines]

20 with kuko please:D!(gn preferably)

Harai Kuko: 

You’d never seen Kuko look at you like this.

There was this burning rage behind them, completely unprompted by anything you had done. He couldn’t even give you a direct reason for the hatred spewing from his mouth, the anger he was directing at you over imagined scenarios. Kuko was an honest boyfriend, he would never start a fight just for the sake of it which left your mind reeling even more. How had you not seen this coming?

“Kuko…!” You reached out to touch his shoulder but are met with a heated glare, the monk slapping your hand away from him before you could make contact. You looked at him wide-eyed, thinking the momentary regret you see flash in his eyes as just an illusion, something you wanted to see. You held your hand to your chest as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could hurt him in the same way he had hurt you.

But he’d already said he didn’t care about you, about your feelings, that it was over.

There was nothing left for you to say to him.

You remember sobbing when you got home that night, hastily deleting the pictures you had of him in your phone, trying to wipe all memories you had of him. Kuko had been such a positive pillar in your life, you had grown alongside him for so long, you had thought you really knew him inside and out yet this hit you like a bullet. It happened so quick yet the pain of his words still lingered, you couldn’t help but think he wasn’t acting like his usual self. You no longer had the strength to question it though, too afraid of facing his wrath again; Kuko really was a scary person when you were on the other side of his anger.

It’s been years and yet you still think of him.

You tried to rationalize that it was just because he was your first love, of course you missed what you had with him because it had been intense. Being with him was unlike any romantic encounter you had, including the relationships you attempted to get into as a fresh-faced adult. You knew you were still young but there was the lingering fear that no one would ever make you feel the way he did, that you were missing an important detail and that blocking his number had been the wrong thing to do. But you had protected your heart in the only way you knew how, trying to look toward the future rather than back at what once was.

Kuko had been the one to give you that advice…

You were happy to be starting your new job at Amaguni Law Offices, having heard great things about your boss. You were hired as an aide to the secretary but you were hoping to directly assist with cases one day, not knowing if law was exactly the right career but wanting to see change in action. You were having a relatively good day, you found you were quite good at speaking to distressed clients and scheduling their appointments was a breeze once you understood how the computer system worked. The secretary seemed relieved to have you with her as she said work tended to be fast-paced and overwhelming with just her, it left you feeling good, like you had a real purpose.

Everything was good until you had to see his face again.

You’re hidden behind the computer and don’t look up at first until you hear the sounds of footsteps walking past you, having been expressly told to not let anyone interrupt the meeting your boss was having. You jumped as quick as you could, you had been making a good impression all day and you weren’t about to let some teenage punks ruin that for you. You reached out for the shorter one, hurriedly asking him if he had an appointment before you’re stopped in your tracks.

When Kuko’s eyes met yours it felt like the world had stopped, the same way it had when he had stomped on your heart. Your mouth went dry and the expression on his face was completely unreadable but you had at least gotten him to stop walking. The taller of the two, a boy you didn’t know as it certainly wasn’t Ichiro, looked at the two of you with confused eyes. Your heart was beating rapidly and it felt like no air was reaching your lungs, you knew you couldn’t stay in the same room as him much longer. Maybe if you had been prepared to see him you could’ve taken this but this was the most unwanted surprise you could ever have on the first day of work.

Hitoya walked out of his office to see why there were people lingering at his door, eyebrow raised when he sees the staring contest occurring between you and Kuko. He hadn’t looked away from you yet, it seemed he was still processing like you were but you bet he didn’t hurt like you did. He was the one who left you in the dust, after all.

“I have to go.” Your eyes flickered to Hitoya’s briefly before you made yourself scarce, gathering your belongings and leaving the law office as quickly as you could. You kept your head ducked down as you walked through the bustling city streets, hoping to get lost in the crowd, to just blend in among the people and disappear completely. You would have to give Hitoya a proper apology later and accept that potential firing at suddenly walking out on your job, but you couldn’t stay there a second longer.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

You’re exhausted and out of breath when you’re finally home, heading straight to your room without a second thought. Your head is spinning, heart still pounding, anxiety flaring up as you think about how you’ll have to grovel to Hitoya in hopes of keeping your job. But did you really want that if there was a chance of seeing Kuko again? You had avoided this problem for so long that when it came rearing it’s ugly head you were at a total loss of what to do, the pain unfortunately fresh.

‘He looked good,’ You thought miserably, ‘His hair looks better not slicked back. I bet he’s still causing problems for his dad… I wonder if he matured anymore.’

You wished you didn’t still have this odd fondness for Kuko, the lingering feelings of love. You couldn’t just hate him despite what he had said to you because there was still a part of your brain that felt total disbelief at the turn in behavior he showed. He had always been respectful, a teasing brat for sure but he knew what was too far and what your boundaries were. Your Kuko would never…

You couldn’t think about him like that anymore.

He wasn’t your Kuko.

He was just Kuko.

Your phone began to ring and you were reluctant to pick it up, but seeing as it was your boss calling…

“…Could you come back? I think we should all talk.” Hitoya paused to allow you a chance to process his request, “I’d like for you to continue working here with me, you show promise and you’re quick but I won’t put you in an uncomfortable situation. I can recommend you to other lawyers in the area who have openings.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, so quiet he almost didn’t hear you, but he lets out a relieved sigh. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

You feel just as awkward as you did when Kuko first walked into the office but with Hitoya and their other friend here, it felt considerably less awkward. It’s not to say you didn’t still feel like curling up into a ball but your former boyfriend wasn’t exactly being his normal loud self, something that left you both unsettled yet entirely grateful. You don’t know if you could take the usual Kuko energy right now but it seemed like your personal shields were getting ready to leave the room to give you both a chance to talk it out.

“If you have a question then ask it.” Kuko’s gaze was steady as he looked you square in the eye, something that pissed you off just as much as the fact that he was the one to start this conversation. You had thought of countless things you wanted to say to him over the years, that you hated him too, that you didn’t deserve to be talked to or yelled at like he had, that you deserved an explanation, that you missed him.

“Why did you break up with me?” There’s hesitation in your voice, as if your brain didn’t think about the consequences of learning the answer to this question before you had posed it.

“I…don’t know.” Kuko still seemed calm but you could hear the hints of frustration in his voice, “I wanted to come see you. To talk about what happened but I couldn’t… I didn’t have an explanation for what happened. Everything I said to you…”

“You said you didn’t have feelings for me! You said you hated me and my face and that you never wanted to see me again!”

“I know what I said, damn it!” Kuko sighed, crossing his arms. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t mean it. I did in the moment but after… Whenever I think about it, it’s just a blur. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for my actions but I don’t think there is one.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I know it doesn’t! I didn’t want to bother you without being able to offer a proper apology which would require knowing why the hell I did what I did!”

“So why are you apologizing now?”

“…Because I saw you again. At any moment life can present you a crossroads, a chance to lead you closer to your personal truth or further away from it.”

“I’m glad you still talk in tongues but I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“I’m not the same person I was back then, and I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’ve never forgotten what I’ve said to you, I could see how much it hurt you and I wanted to stop but there was this feeling inside of me… this burning rage that wanted to be taken out on anyone close. You’re not the only person I lost that day.”  

He seemed sadder now, vision clouded by past regrets, but the look is quickly wiped from his face replaced by a more confident smirk. It was the old Kuko you knew and loved, the troublemaker who had a good heart even if he was a bit brash. You could see that he truly had grown over the years, likely having much more room to do so but as a monk there was always growth to be had. To truly help people he would have to experience as many things as he could, truly understand people, so you could see how what happened to him was especially annoying from his perspective.

“I don’t. I don’t forgive you but I’m really tired of being so mad at you. I know all about you and the rap thing and Mr. Amaguni being part of your team so I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Kuko didn’t want that, he didn’t want you to stay out of his way but he knew he had no right to request anything else. He simply nodded his head in agreement, wishing he was the type of man who could speak up for what he wants rather than watching the person he loved walk away from him once more.

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Corazon (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.2K Premise: When Ethan meets her mother and sister for the first time, they accidentally embarrass her by remembering the crush she used to have on him.

A/N: Happy birthday @aestheticartsx!

A/N 2: Spanish translations provided :)

Lilac tried her best to remain professional as she spoke to Marlene at the nurse's station. That was a nearly impossible feat, it turned out, when she felt the intensity of blue eyes admiring her from afar. As Marlene hurried off, Lilac's eyes met Ethan's, a fierce, hot blush raging on her cheeks. 

As if that roguish half smile, reserved only for her, wasn't enough, those lush lips she longed to kiss mouthed something. The words could have easily been I love you or I want you. Either way, her balance was compromised and her heart skipped a beat. 

If they were trying to keep their relationship quiet, they were doing an awful job. Lilac was certain anyone walking by could plainly see the desperate longing pulsing between them. 

“Doctora?” 

The words startled her from her thoughts. Lilac turned, expecting to see a patient who needed care in her native language, but instead, she was surprised to see the beautiful, smiling face of her mother. 

“Mom?” 

Lilac had no time to process anything else because she found herself in a tight embrace, her mother's perfume hitting her with a sense of comfort and nostalgia. 

“Long time no see, Doc,” another voice said when they broke apart. 

Her eldest sister, Laurel, stood a few paces behind her mother, grinning broadly at her. Lilac almost shrieked with delight before hugging her sister too. 

“What are you two doing here? Why didn't you tell me you arrived in Boston?” 

“We moved our trip up so we could surprise you. How have you been, corazón?” 

“I've been great,” she responded, her cheeks stinging from smiling so broadly. “Where's Dad?” 

“He's arriving with your brother in a few days as planned.” Her mother eyed her shrewdly with those eyes Lilac had inherited. The only difference was the lines decorating her mother's and the spectacles she wore. “You look tired, mi vida. Are you getting enough sleep?” 

Lilac waved her hand dismissively. “The usual.”

Her mother and sister exchanged an uneasy, panicked look. Laurel had the good sense to mask it mere seconds later, no doubt for Lilac's sake, but it was far from successful. Neither her mother nor her sister had forgotten the attack and how close Lilac had been to death, even if it had been six months ago. The way their faces drained of color was evidence enough. Even more proof was the mere fact that they had put their lives on pause to fly across the country to see her, as though hearing on the phone that she was fine over and over again was not enough. 

Lilac suppressed a sigh, her chest feeling heavy with guilt. She imagined the same worried exchange would happen between her dad and her brother when they did arrive. 

“So none?” her sister quipped, an obvious attempt to dispel the thick veil of tension between the three. 

It worked. Both Allende sisters laughed, which earned them a disapproving look from their mother. Before Lilac could get the usual lecture about getting more rest, Laurel interjected. “We're here to take you to lunch. Can you get away?” 

“Sure, let me just tell my boss I am stepping out.”

Lilac turned to where Ethan still stood, well within earshot. At first glance it appeared he wasn't listening, his attention on the chart in his hand, but Lilac knew better. Something in the way his eyes flickered away from the paper every so often and the way he tilted his body told her he was listening to them. After all, she had learned observation from the best. 

“That's your boss?” Laurel asked, following Lilac's line of sight and gaping. “Holy shit.”

The last time they were at Edenbrook they had been too worried about Lilac's wellbeing that no introductions were made. 

“Shut up,” Lilac muttered between gritted teeth. From where she stood, he could see the slight quirk of his lips. 

“Esta guapísimo, hija,” her mother added, also openly stating. He's so handsome, daughter. 

“Mom.” 

Mrs. Allende seemed to piece something together because she let out a small gasp. “He's the same one you've talked so much about, isn't he?” 

Laurel all but cackled as she realized the truth of her mother's statement. “The same one you had your little crush on when you started here?” 

“I didn't—” 

“Ah, yes. The grumpy, handsome one you spent hours talking to me about on the phone.”

They held the entirety of this conversation in Spanish, perhaps assuming the subject of their remarks would not understand even if he heard. 

“You were right, mi amor, he's extremely handsome and sexy.”

Lilac wanted to die on the spot. Even if they spoke in their native language, the word sexy was the same in both. Also, her boyfriend was fluid in many languages, Spanish included. Her only hope was that he hadn't heard. 

She braved a glance in his direction, only to see him approaching. Face burning, she forced herself to maintain eye contact but she was mortified to find poorly veiled amusement there. 

“Dr. Ramsey, I am stepping out for lunch,” she blurted before he could say anything. 

The easy, charming smile he responded with was too taunting for her liking. 

“Sounds good, Dr. Allende. Enjoy.” His eyes fell on her mother and sister, both gawking openly at him. 

Yes, Lilac wished the linoleum floor would swallow her whole. 

“Doctor, this is my mother, Margo Allende, and my sister, Laurel,” she murmured to Ethan. “Mom, Laurel, this is my attending, Dr. Ethan Ramsey.”

“Señora, es un placer,”* Ethan said with flawless intonation. He stepped forward to shake Mrs. Allende's hand. 

Lilac's mother blinked, recovered, and shook his hand fervently, not without casting an impressed look at her daughter. 

“El placer es mío, doctor,”** she returned. 

Ethan, charming as ever, exchanged pleasantries with her family entirely in Spanish. By the time Lilac reminded them about lunch, they almost seemed disappointed to part ways. 

They agreed to wait in the lobby while Lilac finished up in the office. When at last she was alone with Ethan, he laughed, no doubt at the violent flush of her cheeks. 

“So,” he started casually. 

“Don't.”

“You had a crush on me?” 

Lilac rolled her eyes, aware of how unconvincing the small gesture must be. “You're dreaming.” 

“You can tell me. We sleep together.” He whispered the last part against her ear, his chest now pressed against her back, arms encircling her.

“I knew you were eavesdropping.”

“You thought I was handsome and sexy,” he continued with a soft chuckle. 

“I didn't—” she returned defensively. Her body burned, partly from blushing but also because of his strong hands on her hips. “Do I look like I use the word 'sexy'?” 

“You used it the other morning to describe me bringing you breakfast in bed.” 

“Well, I take it back.”

Ethan laughed and spun her around. He placed a loving kiss to her nose. “It's cute when you're flustered,” he informed her. “Have fun at lunch with them.”

Lilac paused, turning to face him. “You should join us.”

He responded by casting her an uncertain look. 

“We can tell them. They already adore you.”

The adoring smile that broke across his face made her stomach flutter with butterflies. He kissed her forehead in his customary way. 

“Just,” she started, scrunching her face. “No more embarrassing conversations about my early infatuation with you.”

“No promises, Rookie.”

_________

Translation

* ”It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

** “The pleasure is all mine, doctor.”

________________________

A/N: Posting this for Preet’s birthday because it’s her favorite out of the pre-writes <3 Thank you for always putting up with me! You deserve the best day :)

Ethan speaks Spanish like that one hot af white guy on TikTok. Damn. 

Also, I’m thinking of a part two? But we’ll see! 

Thank you so much for reading!

_____________

Tags:

@openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @aestheticartsx |  @silverlitskies |  @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @trappedinfandoms​ | @togetherwearerapture​ | @nooruleman​ | @axwalker​ | @parkerattano​ | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ | @kaavyaethanramsey​ | @edith-eggs1​| @choices-lurker​ | @jens-diamondchoices​ | @tefigranger​ | @ethanrcmsey​ | @coffeebeandragon​ | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey| @binny1985​ | @mvalentine​ | @sanchita012​ |  @ramseysno1rookie​ | @takeharryandgo​ | @aworldoffandoms​ | @desmaranj​  | @oofchoices​ | @ethxnrxmsey​ | @octobereighth​  | @lilyvalentine​ | @honeyandsunfl0wers​ | @enmchoices​ | @colossalpainintheass​ | @rookie-ramsey​ | @humanpokemon​ | @apphia12​ | @kiara-36​ | @eramsey28​ |  @custaroonie​ | @helloblueeyedcat​ | @dr-ramseys-rookie​ | @thegreentwin​ | @decadentwinnerjudgedream​ | @jeerapp | @doilooklikeiknow​ | @dulceghernandez​ | @starrystarrytrouble​ | @angela8756​ | @maurine07​ | @blossomanarchy​ | @openheartthot​ | @rookieoh​ | @nerdydinosaursweets​ |  @canigetanawwjunk, @aarisa-frost @livelife-laughloud​, @interobanginyourmom​, @perriewinklenerdie​, @nikki-2406​, @cinnamonspongecake​ | @professorkingslay​

@lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite | @titaniaangel |

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Teenage Dirtbag (K.S.)

While I’m not exactly who you hoped would be writing these requests for you, I hope they are what you were looking for @nonchalantflower and anon 💛 I had so much fun writing for Kyle and would DEFINITELY be interested in writing more parts for this if you guys are interested! Enjoy, my thirsty friends 😘

(arguments, slight physical roughness, smut)

“Don’t forget your lime, sweets!”

You smiled and raised your cup in silent thanks to the girl pouring drinks behind the kitchen counter. It was far too loud to do much else. Music blared as people drunkenly sang karaoke in the living room and the rest were either singing along or trying to yell over the sound trying to hold conversation. You had not been much of a party-goer before Kyle, and you weren’t much of one after either. You sighed, looking into the cup for a moment before shooting back the contents. You briefly wondered why you were even there until a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N!!! Come dance with me pleeeeaaasseeeeee!” That’s right. You’d promised your best friend, Missy, that you’d escort her to this specific party to make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. You knew it was just a lame excuse to get you out of the house, but you figured it couldn’t hurt anything. You allowed her to pull you into the backyard where the band was going strong and hot bodies danced freely in the night air. There was something about it that made you relax a bit. Your body slowly succumbed to the alcohol and began to rock to the music along with everyone else in the crowd. “That’s my girl! Get it babe!” Missy cheered, dancing and laughing easily with you. You let yourself laugh too, feeling yourself untense for what felt like the first time in months. It felt good. The longer you danced, the more you lost track of your surroundings. You closed your eyes and slipped under the music and intoxication.

You were abruptly pulled from this euphoria, however, as the music came to a close and Missy began tugging you back toward the house. “There’s a group starting Seven Minutes in Heaven!” she squealed. You briefly realized this was exactly the trouble you were supposed to be keeping her out of, but she was so excited that you couldn’t find it in your mildly inebriated self to tell her no. You and her brushed past multiple couples making out and someone definitely revisiting their dinner in the bathroom to find a large circle of people gathered in the library upstairs. A tall, blonde jock walked around collecting bits and bobs from each individual in his sweaty hat. You watched Missy pull her earring from her ear excitedly, ready to add it to his collection.

“God, this is so bad,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I ask.” She elbowed you sharply in the ribs before placing the earring in.

“You gonna play, toots?” the blonde asked, eyeing you up and down.

You shivered in mild disgust, quickly shaking your head. You were about to make a snide remark when Missy pulled the clip holding your hair up from your head. “Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re playing, and that’s final,” she said, adding your clip to the hat. You huffed, submitting easily. You definitely couldn’t deny that you needed some action.

“Alright, gents! Who’s up first?” the blonde called over the group.

“This guy over here! Total closet monster!” A group of guys started cheering and shouting from the corner of the room. You couldn’t quite see who was the object of their jeering quite yet. “Everyone knows bassists get HELLA pussy! Let’s goooo!!”

That was the first in a series of events that quickly filled your stomach with dread. No. Fucking. Chance. Suddenly, the unfortunate boy was pushed out from the group of shouting teens, confirming your worst fears. You swallowed, looking down and praying he didn’t see you.

“Shit,” Missy whispered in shock, turning to look at you. You grimaced, suddenly feeling a bit ill.

Chants of “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” rose from the whole room as the lanky boy you knew every inch of rolled his eyes and reached into the hat. You shivered, praying silently that fate could not possibly be cruel enough to lock you in a closet with your

ex-boyfriend for seven minutes of pure hell.

Fate laughed darkly in your face.

The minute he pulled the clip out, his intoxicated smile fell from his face slightly. He recognized it. Even now.

“That’s the little miss right over there!” The jock pointed to you and his exclamation was followed by a series of cheers and “oh shit”s from people who recognized the situation. You suddenly found yourself pushed to the middle of the room next to him, Missy shouting your name behind you as strangers' hands forced you forward.

“That’s his ex!” someone shouted, making you visibly cringe. The group collectively fell to hushed whispers and quiet laughter.

“Shit.” You finally forced yourself to raise your head, looking over at the boy who’d uttered the syllable and that you were once convinced you were in love with. He was still looking at the clip in his hands, but quickly felt your eyes on him and looked up. He was smirking softly.

Rage ran through you from head to toe in half a second. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Well, lovers, the closet awaits! No one denies the destiny of the hat!” The more times this blonde opened his mouth, the more you wanted to punch him in the throat.

“The destiny of the hat,” Kyle repeated, clearly amused by the unevolved thought processes of the people around him. Pretentious asshole. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to the closet, seemingly unaffected. You watched in shock and anger, unable to understand how he could possibly think you were going to go through with this. He simply stood inside the doors, looking at you expectantly along with everyone else in the room.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you muttered, stomping after him. The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers of crude things you’d hate to imagine your mother hearing. Wearing that damned smirk, he pulled the closet doors closed behind you and sealed you both in darkness.

“Seven minutes starting now. Remember kids: make love not war!”

You scoffed, your arms over your chest. “Okay. What the actual fuck are you

trying to prove?”

Kyle shook his head, looking at you in earnest. “What is it, Y/N? Don’t believe in the destiny of the hat?”

“You are a child,” you spat, fury bubbling in your veins. The blissful feeling of the alcohol in your system was long gone, replaced with anxiety and frustration. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Now he scoffed. “You never knew who I was, Y/N. You just saw what you wanted to see and were disappointed. Join my little anti-fan club!” He threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

“You’re so full of shit! You’re so busy hating the world and everything in it that you refuse to let people into your life.”

“Yeah, life really dealt me such a stellar hand, don’t you think?”

You fell quiet, so frustrated you couldn’t find words. Tears burned in your eyes and your fists clenched at your sides. You stepped forward, pressing a finger into his chest. “You had me, you asshole. But you pushed me out when you felt yourself start to need someone.”

He exhaled sharply, making you realize how close you had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice suddenly lower and quieter, but still sharper than a double-edged blade. “It’s my fault I needed space to grieve my dying father- my apologies.” His breath hit your face as he over-punctuated every consonant, his hand finding itself holding your chin.

Your eyes went wide as he laid his hands on you, your breath caught in your throat. He noticed instantly, his predatory eyes glancing down at your mouth for a flicker of a moment. You both knew it was all over.

He pushed you roughly back to the other side of the tight closet, his mouth on yours with ravenous intensity. You gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him away. Your wild eyes met his, searching for something to make this make sense. Unable to find it, you tugged him back down to your lips. He growled lowly, his hands sliding under your shirt and firmly holding onto your sides while your hands tangled into his mop of dark curls; old habits die hard. His insatiable lips traveled down your neck to the spot he knew made your knees weak.

“Fuck, Kyle,’ you squeaked, hating how easily you’d given into him. But he had kissed you first. Perhaps the shoe was finally on the other foot. You were pulled from the moment by the sounds of cheering coming from outside the thin closet doors. You’d nearly forgotten you were being listened to by a room full of horny teenagers.

“Plebeians,” Kyle muttered hotly against your skin, unhindered by their antics. His hands slipped in opposite directions, one approaching the waistband of your jeans and the other reaching for the underside of your breast. Your hand quickly grasped his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyes flashed, meeting yours. Despite the darkness, you could see the lust in them. “What is it, princess? Forget what it’s like to be touched by a creature with an IQ higher than 6?”

You locked your jaw, glaring at him while you fought to catch your breath.

“There’s my stubborn girl,” he breathed hotly against your ear as you slowly released your grip on his wrist.

“I’m not your girl,’ you gasped, feeling his cold hand slip into your panties.

“Maybe not. But no one gets you wet like this.” He groaned softly, feeling your slick coat his fingers as he drug his fingertips through your folds. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Mm, and I’m sure you aren’t turned on at all, right?” you jabbed breathlessly, you hand slipping up his shirt to rest against his hot skin.

He visibly shuddered, leaning forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Tease.” His long fingers made slow, tortuous circles on your clit, making you let out a soft cry into the dark closet. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

His filth made you tremble, fisting his hair and tugging just hard enough to get him to let out a grunt of pleasure. His fingers quickened their pace, the forearm of his opposite side pressed against the wall next to your head as he pressed your bodies together. You reached down to feel his lust pressing adamantly against his fly and could confirm that he wasn’t lying. “Goddamnit.. I’m close,” you confessed, feeling your body betray you. You so desperately didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but his fingers were too persistent and he knew your tells far too well.

A harsh knock on the door struck like a cold splash of water. Kyle quickly pulled his hand from your pants,his damp fingers splayed against your bare stomach. “Alright, kids. Couples counseling is up in 30 seconds. Put on your clothes and get decent… or don’t.” Fucking idiot.

Kyle stepped back, seeming to suddenly come back to himself. Still breathless, you straightened and grabbed hold of his angled jaw. “You are going to finish what you started, or, so help me-“

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the still-very-present bulge in his jeans. The muscles of his jaw contracted beneath your fingers. “Trust me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

The door flew open and you quickly pulled your hand from his. Applause greeted you along with momentary blindness from the brightness of the room. Kyle’s hand was around your wrist and pulling you out of the room before you could even fully regain your bearings.

(To be continued?)

[lorelylantana]

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 6; Heritage

First -Previous -Next

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

Noodle turned out to be quite the escape artist, if the flickering of a forked tongue against her chin was any indication. Zelda’s giggle swiftly turned into a yawn. Noodle wriggled into her hair until Zelda lifted her head so the serpent could take her usual space coiled around her neck.

“Good morning, Dove,” Link cooed softly, kissing her shoulder as she sat up. 

“Good morning,” she said with a stretch. She leaned on Link’s shoulder to look down at the slate in his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just looking through some of the messages that piled up over our honeymoon,” he said, tapping out a reply to his latest missive. Zelda’s brow wrinkled.

“Don’t you do that in your office?”

“I could do it in our office,” he admitted, and Zelda felt him smile against her cheek, “but that would mean leaving you here to wake up alone, and that wouldn’t be very hospitable, would it?”

She grinned and shook her head.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, booping Noodle’s nose. Link clicked out of his messages and brought up a schedule. 

“I don’t have many appointments today, so I thought I’d give you a tour.”

Walking through her new home felt like walking through a dream. Her breath steamed in front of her, even though Zelda fel perfectly comfortable, if not warm. Her bare feet walked across frozen stone floors as Link led her through chambers carved into the mountain. It was a surreal feeling, walking next to walls of solid ice, light filtering through in tendrils onto the floor. On her other side was a line of doors. Curious, she opened one, and was surprised to find a bedroom.

“For guests?” she asked, though she couldn’t imagine that many would willingly stay in a frozen abode such as theirs. Link shook his head.

“Children,” he clarified, then caught himself, “Not that we need them! I mean-” he sighed, “I didn’t marry you to pump out heirs. That’s not how we do things.”

“It’s how my family does things,” Zelda said. She wouldn’t say that she was a natural born mother, but there was this vengeful feeling that had grown over the years that was determined to continue her line, even if it was just to prove she could. Zelda ran her eyes down her husband’s figure. At the very least she had a strong set of genes to work with.

“In any case, It’s the one thing I can do to honor my family, making sure the weakest link doesn’t break the chain.”

Link paused then, turning to look her in the eyes. There was a tragic look in his eyes that would make Zelda bristle were it not for the rage burning quietly behind the melancholy.

“Is that how you see yourself?”

Zelda looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

“It’s how my people see me.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

She looked up at him, a question on her lips, before he cleared his throat. “I think breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go eat.”

An moment later, Zelda was seated at the table for breakfast, which gave Link an opportunity to help her settle into her new home and give her a brief explanation of what would be expected of her as a Warden’s wife. As a Mother of the Zonai she would be expected to handle domestic affairs. This included holding audiences and coordinating joint efforts between regions among other housekeeping tasks, handling the finances and presiding over festivals and rituals and whatnot. The Dragonlands were the political center of the Zonai, and marrying its Warden meant that she had an additional responsibility of leading an organization based on the Temple Mesa.

“Wait a moment,” Zelda held up a hand, “You mean to tell me the Hands of Hylia is a Zonai organization?”

The Hands of Hylia was a renowned charity that gathered resources from across Hyrule to redistribute them when needed. Their quick response to epidemics, famines, and other such disasters quickly earned them the reputation of the kingdom’s greatest first responders. Her uncle had poured a generous amount of money to the administration, if only to claim a portion of the glory and saving the castle embarrassment for it’s slow response time. 

“I don’t understand. What’s the point in helping a nation that looks down on you so?”

Link leaned back, considering before putting his thoughts to words.

“You know the Sheikah once served the Hyrulean royal family,”

“I did,” Zelda nodded, “Because of Hylia’s blood.”

“Yes, but that’s not all. The Sheikah value knowledge, and so they served Hylia’s daughters, paragons of wisdom before they were usurped by their fathers.”

“What does this have to do with the Zonai?”

“Because the Zonai follow the Hero. At least, we follow his example.”

“I’m sorry, what ‘Hero’?”

Link gave her a quizzical look, “The Hero, the one in all of the stories.”

Zelda shook her head, drawing a blank.

“You really don’t know? No one told you? What about the history books?”

“My uncle had all the history books burned shortly after he took the throne,” Zelda said, in a trance, “Anything that referenced Hyrule’s matrilineal line was disposed of.”

Link cursed before getting up and taking her hand, pulling Zelda as he walked to the same alcove they materialized in the night before. He pressed a button, and they were gone in a flash of light,

Zelda expected her feet to form on top of the sandy beach, not the stone worn smooth by eons pressing against her skin like a well trodden path. Her gasp echoed over towering walls etched with a procession of men and women making their way towards the biggest statue of Hylia she had ever seen.

Zelda felt all at once so small yet nostalgic in a way that drove her forward, paying no thought to her bare feet and the casual slip hanging from her shoulders. 

She had a place here, and she felt secure in this undeniable, instinctive sense of unity that swelled in her chest and seeped into her bones.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“They call the Temple of Time the birthplace of Hyrule, but this,” Link gestured to the massive statue “Is where your bloodline began, when the Goddess Hylia came down to earth and brought her light to the land.”

Zelda walked with him as he led her over the uneven stone, wrapping her arms around his right. After years of precious little physical touch, going to be with her husband had been the release of a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and found herself gravitating towards Link, who seemed more than receptive to her advances, holding her hand tightly in his while they walked upon the stone. They walked in revered silence until they finally reached the statue. Link took her hand and pressed it against the smooth folds of the Goddess’ robe. 

A gasp fell from her lips, there was a hum that resonated in her chest, causing her heart to flutter. Link’s skin burned against hers, and she felt this surge of affection for him that felt much older than their marriage. 

“Hylia’s line has survived for thousands, if not millions of years, surviving famine, disease, and several wars. Do you really think it can be extinguished so easily?”

Zelda shook her head.

“No.”

“Then we agreed,” he said, hooking an arm around her and bringing his slate around, “Now let’s go home.

Zelda had been sitting at her new desk when her translator began to chime. She glanced at her slate to see who it was.

Owlan (Resting Father of the Dragonlands)

“Owlan?” she said when the call connected. Was there anyone in Hyrule that wasn’t a Zonai in disguise?

“Hello Mother Zelda. I thought I’d see how you were settling in, and I wanted to say that you can call me anytime if you need some pointers for your new position. I was in your shoes quite some time ago.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” she said, before clearing her throat, “How are things in the castle?”

“As you likely expected, Prince Nohansen wasted no time in commanding your old room to be refurbished for his occupancy.”

“What was wrong with his old one?” she asked. Owlan chuckled.

“It wasn’t yours, of course,” was his snide reply, “You should know the Commissioner returned from his sabbatical, he kicked up quite a fuss when he heard of your nuptials.”

“Really?” there was no love lost between Zelda and the Commissioner. Her uncle’s right hand man was adamant that she spend her days in the castle’s shadow rather than lend her talents to worthier pursuits. “You’d think he’d be glad to get rid of me.”

Owlan hummed thoughtfully, “I’m concerned he may know more about the Zonai than he’s letting on.”

“I could say the same of you,” Zelda quipped, she got a chuckle for her efforts.

“Fair enough. How are you adjusting to your new position?”

“I’m still a bit overwhelmed, but well enough considering the Zonai’s true nature,” she admitted, dragging her finger over her desk’s surface. A list of ingredients she’d ordered scrolled at her touch. Zelda had made her order hours ago, but still fiddled with the giant screen. The novelty of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet. “I must admit, the bath was divine. I’ve never seen such a lovely room.”

“I wouldn’t know, so I’ll take your word for it.”

That gave Zelda pause.

“But weren’t you Father of the Dragonlands?”

“The requirement for being a Zonai Caretaker is a family tie with the region’s Warden, what kind doesn’t really matter. It could be a parent and child, cousins, even best friends, if they sign an oath to one another. I’ve never had much interest in romantic relationships myself, but I was more than willing to support my sister as she watched over the land. In fact, I think you’re actually the first Mother who married in for quite some time.”

“Is that right?” Zelda asked. It seemed the older her marriage grew, the stranger it became. And then, before her eyes, strings of light condensed in front of her. 

“What is it?” Owlan asked when he heard her gasp. Zelda shook her head.

“Just more Zonai wonders I have to get used to.”

Owlan blew out a laugh, “I can imagine. I’ll let you get back to the intricacies of Zonai culture. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m at your service, Mother of the Dragonlands.”

The call disconnected. Zelda shook her head ruefully, looking at the piles of fruit and herbs within her reach. With a swipe of her hand, the recipe for the Zonai body paint was on screen. She reached for the nearest Armoranth. 

It was time she got to work.

[latinasmoak]

the sweetest life (and the loving is easy when you’re with me)

tumblr version:

rating: mature

tags: no warnings, mutual pining, lol slow burn? what slow burn?, I don’t know her, not actually unrequited love

Chapter Three: Strawberry Crème Brûlée p. 2

He had been hesitant to try it. Her strawberry creme brulee.

His appetite had yet to make an appearance and the truth was he was dreading her news, dreading to be told what he already knew to be true, that she was taken, and completely out of his reach.

Yet he couldn’t bear to disappoint her, not when she looked at him so eagerly, so expectantly. So he cracked the rose gold crust, the sound a crystal clear snap of sugar that whetted the appetite and reluctantly dipped his spoon in.

That first spoonful was ambrosia on his tongue. His reluctance to eat was never because he was fearful that it would be anything less than perfection, but even now he feels a fool for resisting something as delicious as this. The strawberry creme melted in the mouth, soft as velvet and sublime. The caramelized crust added a slight burnt bitterness needed to temper all the sweetness. One spoonful wasn't enough and Colin soon found himself devouring the entirety of his creme brulee.

He couldn’t explain it, but something about Penelope’s food comforted him. The way he felt when he ate something she created, it was a warmth that reached his very soul. Before, Colin would have brushed the thought away. He would have gone so far as to claim that eating anything delicious would elicit the same feeling. Now he knew the truth, it was Penelope. She infused so much of herself, of her joy, of her love, that her food was enough to make a person feel cherished and taken care of. With every spoonful of the strawberry creme, he was reminded that she made this for him and he felt so lucky.

Then she went and moaned, and Colin felt a punch of lust hit him fast and without mercy. Penelope’s sweet and innocent appreciation of her own creation had set his whole body aflame. He couldn’t help but imagine her making that sound again, only this time with him being the sole reason for the moan. Her breathy sigh as she finished her spoonful of the creme brulee had Colin hardening so fast, he felt dizzy with want. He glared at the dessert, nothing should elicit those sounds from her except for him. He should be on his knees, worshiping her as he drowned himself at the apex of her thighs. It should be him.

But it won't be.

She was already taken. He was too late, and it was agony. Everything he just imagined would be done by someone else. That fucking bastard would be the one on his knees, and his name would be the one she would shout out. The mere thought doused the fire within him faster than ice water. His fury had him gripping onto the counter. His rage directed at the man who had the audacity to come and grab his girl while he was gone. Yet however much he wanted to pummel him, the majority of his rage was inward. He was so wrong, to assume that nothing would change, that she would always be there waiting for him to come home. It wasn’t as if she was his wife, with a ring as proof that he would always come home to her. Of course she would live her life. Of course she would seek her happiness, for companionship, for love.

He was such a fool.

And now he was paying for it.

It wasn’t long before Penelope noticed that something was wrong and Colin thanked heaven and earth that she wasn’t privy to the mess going inside his head. She looked at him so sweetly, with so much concern in her eyes he felt himself go weak. His eyes closed in contentment with the mere brush of her hand on his forehead.

Why did he have to lose her? Why did he have to be so blind?

She questioned him, wanting the answers he didn’t even know how to share, but he didn't hesitate.

Something in him took over and all that came out is the most important question that would guide him in regards to how he should treat Penelope Featherington.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice ragged with intensity. Colin’s eyes burned with the need to know exactly how she felt.

Whatever Penelope was expecting, it was obvious from her reaction that this was not it. “What?!”

Colin closed his eyes briefly, gritting his teeth as he gathered the bravery necessary for this inquisition. He opened them and this time he used her grip on his hands to his advantage, bringing them up to rest against his chest. He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating for her.

“Are you happy? With him? ”

The snarl that escaped him would have been embarrassing under normal circumstances but Colin was past caring about pretenses. This might be his one and only chance. Surely however long they'd been seeing each other wasn’t enough to build any foundation... right? And could a month or maybe two, really compare with years?

“Colin? You aren’t making any sense! Who are you talking about?”

Penelope gripped his hands tighter and his brow furrowed at the confusion swirling around in her vibrant blue eyes.

“I saw you with him, yesterday. I just wanted to surprise you, Pen.” Colin huffed as he thought about how that turned out.

“It wasn’t my intention to interrupt any moment, and I left pretty quickly…” seeing the hug had been hard enough, Colin didn’t want to imagine how he would have felt if he had stuck around and seen them kiss.  “I just want to make sure that you’re happy Penelope. You deserve everything your heart desires.”  

Colin was deathly afraid of her answer. Afraid to have to come to grips with the reality that he really had missed his chance. Yet for Penelope he would learn to deal with it. Her happiness mattered more to him than his.

-

It didn’t take long for Penelope to connect the dots, he obviously had come to the very wrong conclusion that Phillip was her boyfriend. Seeing as he was the only man to have entered her flat in the past few days, present company excluded. Phillip Crane as her boyfriend. A laughable concept, as if anyone could compare to Colin Bridgerton. He was it for her. He’d had a hold on her heart for so long she couldn't even remember the days when he didn't. Even when she had tried to date in the past, it had never gone past the first few dates. Every date had become a game of comparison. Not tall enough, not funny enough, too rude and too arrogant, the list was never ending and it was never fair. It wasn’t fair to the strangers who’s only real flaw was not being the man she was already in love with and it wasn’t fair to her to attempt to date when she hadn’t given up. She hadn’t allowed herself to kill the hope still flickering in her heart.

So she connected the dots, but it absolutely terrified her, to even attempt to understand why the knowledge of her having a boyfriend wrecked him so. Did she dare to infer that he was jealous? And if he was, was it because he felt he could lose a friend? Or something more? She didn’t know what to think, but she couldn’t let him go thinking for another second that she was dating another man. Not even to tease or torment him. Her heart rejected the thought of being tied to somebody else, even if it was only in his mind.

“Colin, there is no him. Not like that. He’s a friend, and I was letting him taste the sweets I was making for his girlfriend.”

Penelope figured it was a matter of time before he would find out the significance of who the girlfriend was, but Penelope was not about to break her vow of secrecy now.

Penelope gripped his hand tighter. She was scared-- so scared that this was about to blow up in her face but he had given her an opening and she was going to take it. Something inside of her urged her to be bold. He’d just said she deserved everything her heart desired and there had never been a greater desire in her heart than him.

Penelope took a deep breath and looked up at him, she tried to feel comfort in the knowledge that she could feel his heart thrumming in his chest. Surely that wasn’t insignificant. Be daring, be bold.

Oh Colin, please don’t break my heart.

“I couldn’t be bothered with a boyfriend…if it wasn’t you Colin.”

A watery chuckle escaped her. Her eyes threatened to well up with tears. There, I said it. There’s no going back now. Her whole body was strung up tight, the words just floating out there and it felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from her chest, now that she no longer had her longest secret hidden. Her anxiety had her spitting out more words to fill the silence.

“It’s always been you, and I’m sorry if this ruins our friendship but I-”

Colin’s lips were on hers before she could even finish her confession and everything else suddenly ceased to matter except for this moment.

Colin Bridgerton was kissing her.

Colin Bridgerton.

Was kissing.

Her.

His hands cupped her face so gently, leaving Penelope dazed. She felt warm, starting in the pit of her belly and spreading, as if his lips on hers were the switch to turning her body alive . She gasped when he nipped at her bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue and she moaned when he took that gasp as an invitation to taste her. She allowed herself to taste him back.

It was hard to believe it was real. That moment; it was everything Penelope had ever dreamed of, only better. Because even her imagination wasn’t good enough to imagine the feel of Colin’s slightly chapped lips against hers. She never knew that he would taste faintly of strawberries mixed with something that was uniquely him. She never imagined that he would move his hands from her face down, down, down to her waist. Slowly spreading a trail of fire wherever his fingertips touched. Penelope’s daydreaming was never this vivid, and never this maddening and when he finally moved his mouth to kiss her cheek, before finding the pulse at her throat, Penelope was already a bundle of nerves ready to explode. Her panting breaths the only sign that she was still breathing. Was she dreaming? Colin sucked at her pulse and Penelope’s knees went weak. Not that it mattered, Colin was there to hold her up.

This was better than anything Penelope had ever dreamed of, because it was real.

This was real.

-

Colin, there is no him.

I couldn’t be bothered with a boyfriend…if it wasn’t you.

It’s always been you.

Each sentence she’d uttered was a bomb bursting into the agonizing fantasy he had begun to build from the moment he walked in on that embrace, and shredding it to pieces. His heart lifted with every second that passed by, the dread that had clung so strongly to his very being, chased away by her declarations. Because that's exactly what they were, Colin wouldn’t pretend otherwise, for some unknown reason, the gods were smiling down at him, despite all his flaws and mistakes, they somehow deemed him worthy enough to be on the receiving end of Penelope Featherington’s love.

He would not waste it. This opportunity, handed to him on a silver platter.

If Penelope deemed him worthy enough to be the champion to carry her heart, he wasn’t going to be the one to let her down.

It was only when she began to mention nonsense about ruining friendships that Colin foolishly realized he had yet to say anything. Words were simply not enough. He had to have her, had to claim her as his.

He couldn’t let her finish, he couldn’t wait a second more. In fact it was rather remarkable that he’d waited this long. He had to taste her now.

So when he held her face in the palms of his hands, and he leaned down to reach her lips, he felt a sense of rightness so strong, he had to smile. His thumbs stroked her cheeks while he teased and licked her soft lips, finally getting the chance to bite at her lower lip the way he had imagined before. She gasped so beautifully and he finally got what he wanted. A taste. She was so sweet, the flavor of strawberry creme she had eaten not that long ago still present. If strawberries weren’t his favorite flavor before, they were now. She was perfect and he felt overwhelmed at the contentment spreading through his entire being. It was at this very moment that he realized that everything he thought he knew about kissing was a lie.What had always been a fun activity, a stepping stone to the next pleasurable act was never so compelling that it felt as if his soul was being branded as hers. He could kiss her forever, and he would still be completely captivated by every little move and sound Penelope made. Every gasp, every moan. It would never be enough, he would always want more.

When the pesky little thing called oxygen was needed for the both of them, Colin was reluctant to stop kissing her, so he moved from her lips to her cheek, a quick brush of his lips before he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He smiled to himself, pleased at how out of breath she was, at how closely pressed her body was to his. He missed hearing her little moans so he went back to sucking at her pulse point, holding onto her tighter as she tilted her head making it more accessible for him to continue. He didn’t know when Penelope had gotten her hands into his hair but all of a sudden he felt a small tug and his head snapped up from the hickey he was leaving behind. His eyes quickly connected with her piercingly blue ones, dilated with pure want.

A dopey smile spread across Colin’s face at the sight.

He’d done that. He had put that look upon her face. He was the reason her lips were swollen, he was the reason she was flushed and panting. Him.

“You are so fucking beautiful Pen.”

Colin leaned his head down so that his forehead could press against hers, simply breathing her in, letting them both calm down.

“You are so beautiful, and you are mine.”

He lifted his head and grabbed her chin with right hand, tilting her head up so that he could stare into her eyes again. He didn’t want a single misunderstanding to occur.

He wouldn’t lie to her, and tell her that he always knew it would be her. He didn’t. A few days ago, this very moment wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but that was then and this was now.

He was different.

Awake.

Aware.

No pretty lies were needed.

“You, Penelope Featherington, are mine.”

Colin brushed his thumb against her still-swollen lips and grinned, pleased to be making his current declaration..

“And I am yours. All yours.”

Maybe it wasn’t love, but Colin already knew he was falling.

It was terrifying, it was exhilarating and best of all, it was real.  

Penelope’s hopeful smile grew and grew, and she laughed, as tears of joy started running down her face.

It was real. It was all real.

 || AO3 ||

[mrfeenysmustache]

Banner by @cakeit0n

SessKag Discord Drabble Night Prompts

All word counts: 100

Prompt 1: Stagger

She staggered under the weight of him draped across her shoulder, the alcohol in his system rendering him a deadweight as she dragged him back to the room the village had lent them to stay in.

“Sheesh, of anyone Sesshomaru is the last one I’d expect to get drunk.” But apparently even fierce demons liked to cut loose every now and then. The rest of their group still partied, so it was up to her to tuck him in.

She squeaked in embarrassment when he tugged her into his arms, licked a doggish kiss across her cheek, and fell asleep.

—————————-

Prompt 2: Barrier

Kagome tried desperately to keep her eyes on the flickering fire as a stark naked Sesshomaru lounged casually on the other side.

The sudden onset of a terrible thunderstorm while delivering something to him for Rin had forced them into an abandoned hut to dry off and keep warm.

Embarrassed, Sesshomaru had allowed her to use Moko-moko to hide her nudity, but he had no such reservations about his own bare form. The fire was the only barrier she had to keep her from ogling the perfection always hidden under layers of silk.

She never imagined his stripes went there.

———————

Prompt 3: Taunt

Did she know he found her smell intoxicating? Her laugh enchanting? Her form irresistible?

No. But still she teased him with her smiles, her brief touches, the sultry way she said his name, so much more familiarly than he’d ever allowed before.

The fool from HR asking her out was out of his depth, and he breathed a sigh of relief when she gently rejected him.

Her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed when she saw him, and it ignited his hope.

In a matter of time, she would be his.

——————

Prompt 4: Frenzy

Their friendship was odd, that much she couldn’t deny.

He would come to the village to visit his ward and after Rin would run off he would find her while she gathered herbs or weeded Kaede’s veggie garden. He’d ask questions and listen intently as she spoke, the softest look on his face.

It would be a lie to say his attention didn’t mean a lot, but she feared getting too attached again.

He stood to leave, but this time he caught her unawares with a soft, gentle kiss, and her heart fluttered a frenzied tempo.

“Until next time, Kagome.”

———————

Prompt 5: Recoil

“Why do you cry priestess?”

‘Why indeed?’ She thought bitterly. She’d known staying in the past even after losing her hopes for a life with Inuyasha would be awkward. Falling for his brother was not her smartest move but she thought she’d been hiding it. Her soul still recoiled at Inuyasha’s words upon figuring her out. She was “stupid” and “dumber than rocks” apparently.

“Just foolish mortal stuff. Don’t worry about it Sesshomaru-sama.”

His eyes searched her face, and then his hand gently cradled her cheek so tenderly it stole her breath.

“Inuyasha is the fool.”

She dared to hope.

—————-

Prompt 6: Lash

Rin and Shippo chased each other around the clearing while Sesshomaru reclined under the shade of large tree. His golden eyes slanted her way and she gulped. He made her nervous; he was focused and intense, and it was overwhelming being the center of that focus.

But Kaede wanted him updated on Rin’s studies.

“Hello Sesshomaru-sama, I’ve come about- oh! You’ve got on eyelash on your cheek.”

“Then you should remove it.”

She blinked, and then slowly reached out until her fingertips brushed across his cheek. His gaze never left hers, and when he smirked, she felt her heart falter.

—————-

Prompt 7: Surge

Rated M

Kagome’s fingers sank into the silver tresses of the head currently kissing its way down her neck and across her shoulder while his hands pushed the hem of her shirt up. She gasped as his claws sliced through her bra, and then she pushed frantically at his suit jacket until it slipped down his arms.

Power outages across the city had trapped her in this elevator at work and at first she’d been dismayed. But as the beautiful stranger named Sesshomaru pressed her into the metal wall and surged forward, she curled her toes and said a prayer of thanks.

—————

Prompt 8: Fend

“What are you doing?”

Kagome gasped, spinning around to illuminate the source of her fright with her flashlight.

“Oh, Sesshomaru, you startled me! I lost my phone earlier. I’m trying to find it.”

He glanced back toward his house where the party his brother hosted still raged.

“All alone?”

“I can fend for myself!” She replied with a sniff, but didn’t stop him when he used his phone to help her find her own.

Scooping it up, she turned to him with a grin.

“How can I repay you?”

He smirked and her cheeks flushed.

“Stay out here with me.”

————————

Prompt 9: Thrust

If Kagome imagined a list of all the terrible ideas she’d had in her life, this one might just be #1.

Sword lessons from Sesshomaru had seemed an innocent request, but she could not have been more wrong.

Sesshomaru prowled around her with no shirts to gauge her form, sweat and sun glowing off his sculpted chest. She was so distracted. She wanted to touch, she wanted to taste, she wanted to-

“Thrust.”

“P-pardon?!” She stuttered.

“The sword.”

“Oh! Right.”

“Unless there’s something else you’d like to thrust.”

She choked, her cheeks burned, and tenseiga slipped to the grass below.

—————————

Prompt 10: Guarded/Exposed

With Sesshomaru patrolling camp, Kagome had felt safe enough slipping away while the others slept to have a late night soak.

She hadn’t thought any demon was dumb enough to come for the shards with a demon like Sesshomaru so close.

But she’d been wrong, and now she stood naked and exposed, body burning as her rescuer’s golden gaze swept slowly down her form.

She should cover herself, but the smoldering look in eyes usually so guarded and closed intrigued and ensnared her.

He took one step forward, then looked away.

In the absence of his stare she felt cold.

[athrialuxegna]

Stronger than she thinks Part 2

Triggers warning: mental and physical abuse, violence, swearing

Part 1 | Part 3

Fanfiction | Archiveofourown | Wattpad

It was 6 a.m when I walked out of the cafeteria and nearly choked on my saliva when I saw Eric and Brent. They were laughing at some joke. I couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge in my stomach. If only Eric knew what monster Brent was. Who was I kidding! Eric would not give a shit about this. They stopped in their tracks when they notice me. My face contorted with disgust at the sight of Brent’s horny eyes looking up and down my body. A cold shiver ran down my spine.

“Christine, long time no see.” Brent’s smirk was full of himself.

He had me cornered. Eric was staring at our exchange. It was really bad. If I backed away it would give too much information and the same if I retorted. Ugh, one week of more or less peace wasn’t enough. I became a real ninja since my encounter with Eric. I have succeeded to avoid both men, but my luck was wearing off today.

“My life was brighter without the sight of you. Such a shame you just ruined it.” My sarcastic tone enraged him, his ears turned red and his eyes shot fire. Good. Then he smirked. Oh, crap.

“You know you miss me, Chrissy.” His voice was hushed and seductive.

All color was drained from my face. My nails were digging in my palms, blood slowly spilling from the crescent wounds. This nickname rang a bell. He had called me that when he was all over me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood in my mouth. Motherfucker!

“I have something better to do than talking to a prick like you.” I hissed back, turning on my heels.

“You’re so hot when you’re angry Chrissy.” He called after me.

A wave of entangled emotions was bubbling inside of me. It won’t be long before I break down. I began to run when I turn the corner. I went straight to the roof. The rain was pouring hard. Thick drops fell on my face and soaked my clothes. I screamed at the top of my lungs to the raging sky. I couldn’t take his attitude, his face nor his fucking nickname. I took out all my pent up anger and desperation onto the wall beside me. My knuckles hit the wall harder and harder until my knees gave out.  I imagined his face, as bloody as my hands, as shattered as my soul. I wish I could just disappear or forget what happened. Hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. Okay, maybe I was not drained yet.

“Why did you do this to me?” I asked to the raging sky, defeated.

“Why who did what to you?”

Eric’s deep voice startled me. He was standing right at the door, the only escape from the roof. Wonderful. I sighed deeply. I am so fucked, I thought. I felt like I was ready to jump from a cliff without a safety net awaiting me at the bottom. Everything was crashing down around me. I had nothing to lose now. Still, a part of me refused to admit what happened. My bruised ego wasn’t willing to let go. I closed my eyes a second before answering, my back still facing him.

“It’s none of your concern Eric,” I replied dryly.

The tears had stopped as soon as I heard his voice. I appeared weak enough right now to not turn around crying my eyes off. Eric came in front of me, crouching down to be near my level. His eyes more intense than usual as if he was trying to read my thoughts. I wished I wasn’t in the cafeteria earlier. I wished Eric would just ignore me.

“I know this is related to Brent.” I hold my breath at the name. “Tell me, Christine, what did he do to you?” His cold voice chilled me to the bone.

I shivered but held his gaze nonetheless. I shook my head in complete denial. Eric was the last person I wanted to confess to. Eyebrows furrowed and teeth clenched, I held my ground.

“Nothing.” My voice was surprisingly strong.

Eric huffed then closed the gap between us. His breath fanned my face, our noses nearly touching. My breath quickened at the sudden intrusion into my personal space. Tears brimmed in my eyes and I cursed my body for trembling like a leaf. Eric’s eyebrow quirked up, his piercings glistening at the movement. His icy blue eyes tore into my soul, curiosity burning inside them. However, his face was void of any emotion.

“Now, tell me why are you in such a state? You can’t fool me, Christine.” His low voice reached a deeper octave.

Seconds passed, I couldn’t bring myself to tare my eyes away from him. Even though I hated him to follow me up here. Didn’t he have better things to do? I closed my eyes and whispered finally.

“Brent raped me.”

My surrender cost me a lot. It was the final straw, the confirmation that my life became a living hell. Silence followed my confession. I found the courage to open my eyes. Eric was fuming, his gaze fixated on the ground. A hole would appear any second in the concrete at this point. His clenched jaw and fists told me that he was on the verge of losing his self-control. I didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing. Was he angry at Brent for doing this? Or was he angry because Brent might lose his job as his consultant? So many questions swirled in my mind when his sharp voice cut the dreadful silence.

“When?”

“Monday night,” I replied curtly, not trusting my voice further.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered under his breath. “We have to report to Max. Brent has to respond to his crime.”

His words held a finality that scared me. Will he report with or without my consent? His entire demeanor screamed that he was ready to bolt for Max’s office any second. I shot him a wary look and shook my head. It can’t be happening so fast. I hadn’t processed the whole thing yet.

I needed some time to prepare myself for the incoming battle. Should I say the truth or should I lie? An investigation won’t do anything without my word. Brent set up the whole thing, there was no proof. Unless… I went to the infirmary to be examined. No way, no one would ever touch me again or see my lady parts.

“Max won’t know anything. Brent can’t be judged for his crime because of the circumstances.” I retorted with annoyance.

“What circumstances? Rape is rape for fuck’s sake.” Growled Eric.

“You wouldn’t understand because I can’t even figure it out myself,” I admitted bitterly. “Cowardice is my crime.”

“What do you mean?” Something flickered in his eyes.

“While he was…” I trailed off. “I couldn’t move a muscle, my body won’t cooperate. I was helpless, an empty shell. I could just watch and... feel.”

The words ran out of my mouth before my brain could register. I wished I could disappear or that Eric would magically teleport somewhere else. I felt my cheeks burn from embarrassment and shame. I lowered my gaze onto the floor, I couldn’t look at him after saying this.

“It is pretty common during a traumatic experience. Your brain shuts down to protect you, it’s a defensive response.” He explained with a rather know-it-all voice.

A surge of unknown anger bubbled inside of me. His nose side triggered something deep. I huffed and threw my arms around to avoid punching him. His psychological bullshit wouldn’t help me to get rid of my guilt.

“I was a coward nonetheless and I’ll remain as long as I can’t forgive myself. Where’s the Eric I know, the ruthless leader? He would just say to suck it up and get on with my life or I would end up Factionless. Why do you care anyway? Just throw me over the roof already to end my misery!” I yelled.

Eric stood still, unfazed by my sudden outburst. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and waited until I calmed a little bit. His eyes boring holes into my skull.

“Enjoy, this is the only chance you’ve got to shout at me.” He smirked briefly. “No matter what you think of me Chris, this is part of my job to ensure the security of all Dauntless members. The only way to protect you and other women is to send him to justice.”

I growled inwardly. He was right. Brent should be stopped as soon as possible. He could do worse in the meantime. I sighed deeply and bowed my head. I was conflicted. Part of me wasn’t willing to give in. My intimacy had already been violated. I didn’t need a nurse looking down there now. I was selfish, I knew, but it was easier to ignore it than to face it. Tell me about being Dauntless, huh.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready to report this,” I muttered.

Eric’s lips twitched up at the corners in an almost genuine smile. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, his face always tight and closed was a bit relaxed. Bewitched Eric returned. His changing demeanor was unnerving, I didn’t know what to expect next.

“We should go back inside to take care of your knuckles. Unless you want to catch the flu.”

He turned on his heels and stalked away. He didn’t seem bothered by the rain drenching his clothes and hair. I followed him down in the compound. The cold hallways made me shiver. My soaked clothes clang awkwardly to my body. I certainly looked like a penguin with a stick shoved up his ass or a pathetic excuse of a cowboy, walking after hours of riding a horse. We didn’t say a word until he took a turn I hadn’t expected. He was leading me down the leaders’ quarter. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Why do you bring me here?” I questioned warily.

“You prefer Marlene’s questioning?” He retorted coolly.

I began to walk again. Marlene was the head of the infirmary, a curious young woman who couldn’t hold her tongue. Eric’s smirk returned to his lips. He was himself again. Good. We entered his apartment. It was huge, tidy, and neat as if no one lived here. There was classical furniture, a black leather couch, a table, a full bookshelf. Three closed doors faced us, which lead to the kitchen, the washroom, and the bedroom, I presumed. Eric went into one of the rooms to get me spare clothes.

“You can use the bathroom to take a shower and change. We’ll take care of your knuckles after.” He pointed to the door closest to me.

I nodded and took the clothes from his hands. He disappeared quickly through the same door. I guessed he had a bathroom connected to his bedroom. Perks of being a leader. The hot water hit me and washed my emotions. Reality dawned on me. Eric knew. He was the only one other than Brent. How will it go between both men? They were working together, how was this supposed to go well?

I hoped that Eric would not do anything impulsive. It would only worsen the situation I was in. I didn’t even know what was the law regarding rape. Did it even exist? I wasn’t sure. Rape was a rare occurrence in Dauntless, exceptional trials that I’ve never seen in my twenty-five years here.

I tried to escape from my thoughts while drying myself. I get changed. Eric gave me one of his shirts, a large hoodie, and jogging. It smelt like him, his scent surrounded me. A mix of mint and leather. A strange sense of security settled in me. A knock on the door resonated.

“Are you finished?” Eric asked through the door.

“Yes, you can come in,” I responded, slightly surprised by his thoughtfulness. He could have barged into the room with no care in the world. We were in his apartment after all.

The door opened and Eric walked in. He changed into a similar outfit to mine. I couldn’t recall the last time I’ve seen him in anything other than his leaders’ attire. His tight shirt outlined his toned chest and his jogging hang low on his hips, I could catch a glimpse of his smooth skin. I adverted my eyes elsewhere, disturbed by my wandering mind. I was raped a week ago and I drooled over him. Something was definitely wrong with me. Did Brent hit me too hard?

I’d lie if I said that he wasn’t handsome, but Eric was Eric. He was untouchable, a leader, and most importantly the bearer of my secret. I needed to suppress the reminiscence of my crush on him. It wasn’t the time nor the best circumstances and, let’s be real, Eric could have any other Dauntless girl. So why bother with me?

Eric opened a drawer and took a first-aid kit without glancing at me. I had washed all the dry blood from my hands. The cuts were visible now. I let him take care of them. His rough hands were gentle and he kept space between us. I appreciated the gesture even though his changing behavior unsettled me. He bandaged my hands then cleaned all the supplies.

“If you want to fight find a real opponent. Next time the wall will win. Your bones are not that tough.” He remarked, his eyes resting on me.

“I wish I could kill him with my bare hands but it would do me no good.” I huffed while rolling my eyes.

“You could call me next time.” His voice light as a feather.

“What? You’ll do worse than the wall, Eric.” I responded, crossing my arms over my chest.

His laugh filled the bathroom. I’ve never heard it before. I was stunned for a second, processing what I was witnessing. I must’ve looked at him like he had grown two heads because he composed himself and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” The ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” I said without thinking.

His serious expression returned as well as his cold blue eyes. The Eric I knew was finally back.

“Now get out of here. I have work to do.” He dismissed.

I was about to leave when I look at him with worried eyes. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Come on, I won’t do anything about your secret without your consent.” He practically growled.

“Thanks, Eric.” I nodded slightly then walked out of the apartment.

Once alone dread fell onto me. I went to the tattoo parlor, my safe haven. Tori was cleaning her stuff when I walked in. She smiled at me and beckoned me to come with her to one of the tattoo stalls. I joined her and sit on the tattoo chair as if I belonged in here.

“Hey, Chris you want something today?” She asked, taking a sit by the chair I sat on.

“Yop Tori. I think I’ve got an idea.”

I explained to her what I wanted. She drew the design, it was better than what I have expected. The buzzing of the machine soothed me. It was a tough pleasure to get tattooed. The needles were in and out of my skin, the dull ache growing in my back. Tori hadn’t talked since the beginning.

“Now, would you tell me why you’re wearing man’s clothes and have your knuckles bandaged?” She asked out of nowhere.

I tensed slightly then relaxed not to mess up the tattoo.

“I ended up getting caught in the storm outside. Someone get me spare clothes. ” I answered carefully.

Tori hummed in response. Silence fell upon us once again. I must have fallen asleep because Tori woke me up by shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see a large smile on her face.

“Good nap, sleeping beauty?” She mocked.

“Sorry, I won’t do it again,” I replied, stretching my sore muscles.

“Don’t do promises you can’t keep, Chris.” She laughed.

Every time Tori tattooed me I fell asleep in no time. I smiled and get up to see my back in the mirror. The beautiful Phoenix, wings spread, was looking back at me. It was stunning, the fine details made it seem real. A masterpiece that took my entire back. Satisfied and happy, I turned to Tori.

“This is wonderful. Thanks, Tori.”

She nodded and was called by another customer. I waved goodbye and took my leave. I didn’t know what to do on my days off. Even more so now that I didn’t have any friends to spend time with. I missed hanging around with Jenna and Kate. I have encounter neither of them since their visit in my apartment. A dull ache crushed my ribcage, I was alone. Brent took everything from me. He took more than my innocence, he destroyed my life. I couldn’t trust anyone, not fully at least. There will still be a doubt, a “what if” that will ruin my relationships. I wandered in the Pit like a lost soul. It was becoming full. I sat on a rock and watched Dauntless members passing by.

A hand fell on my shoulder. I jerked away and turned around to face Four. My eyebrows furrowed as my heart calmed his frantic beats. He looked tired, working in the control room took its toll on him. He seemed more dynamic when he was training the initiates. He arbored a somber expression, his eyes boring into mine.

“Chris we have to talk about something. In private.” He muttered.

I gulped, it wasn’t something good. Four had to know something to appear out of nowhere to talk. He had seen something. Cameras were all over the compound. Brent couldn’t avoid all of them. I didn’t want anyone to see what happened. If they were a trial, it would be watched by so many people. My body shivered and I get up to follow Four in an empty hallway. We stood a few feet apart, staring at each other, choosing our words carefully.

“Chris, I saw what happened Monday night. Eric and I were talking about the next initiation when the screens showed you and Brent.”

Eric knew before I confessed. I felt betrayed that he didn’t tell me. I swallowed thickly and shook my head. The situation was getting out of my hands. I needed to get out of here. The pitiful gaze Four cast on me made me sick. I couldn’t take his soft eyes. I turned around and ran as if I was chased by a werewolf.

I turned the corner and crashed into a strong body. My eyes settled on Brent. He had his arms wrapped around my waist to keep me from falling. His intense brown orbs plunged into my emerald irises. My body stiffened and I wriggled in his grasp to get free. It only made him tighten his grip.

“Oh Chrissy, I knew you would run after me.” His low voice rang in my ears.

I tried to pry him away from me to no use, he was way too strong. His lips graced my neck, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

“Brent get off me. I don’t want you.” I growled.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Brent let me go and I bolt out of here. Eric was right. Brent had to be brought to justice or he will continue. I went into my apartment and closed myself for the rest of the day. I didn’t eat this evening. I was feeling sick at the idea of explaining what happened to Max and the other leaders. My night had been restless, haunted by horrible nightmares.

[muertawrites]

Hey! I absolutely loved your Zuko x reader one host you wrote, and I was wondering if you could do one where Zuko and the reader barely talk, but she’s part of Azula’s friend group. At the beach some stuff happens, and Zuko finds out she’s not as crazy as he thought she was. Kind of angst. I totally understand if you can’t, or don’t feel like it! I hope you’re safe and healthy, and everything is going well. Thank you!

From Eden (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,776 (FUHREEDOM MOTHERFUCKERS 🎆🦅🦅🦅 🎆 )

Author’s Note: Ok this request is P E R F E C T. I don’t think I need to tell anyone I love the psychology of this show, but I love the psychology of this show - especially with Zuko and his relationship with himself and others. And this episode??? Ohhhhhh I have some THINGS. TO. SAY. about this episode. I have been in this boy’s place and I feel 👏🏻 for 👏🏻 him 👏🏻 he 👏🏻 deserves 👏🏻 better 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻. I went in a sliiiiiiightly different direction, but I didn’t drastically change it (it turned out cute I think). Also, I named this “From Eden” because as I was writing it reminded me of the Hozier song. I’m such a sucker for a Broken Babe™, especially when the babe in question has a lot of personal growth and learns to love because of it. Thank you so much for this, anon, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I hope you’re keeping safe and healthy as well ❤ 

~ Muerta 

(Also, if you’d like to request something, I have a list of prompts tagged! Feel free to ask for anything from fics to headcanons to imagines - I’m also open to new character suggestions!) 

“Hey.”

Zuko sat on the porch of his family’s old vacation home, his mind miles away. Your greeting made him snap his head towards you, glowering down at where you stood at the base of the front steps. You crossed your arms, responding to his gaze with a defiant glare. 

“What do you want?” he growled. 

“To have normal friends,” you spat in reply. “Seems I’m stuck with you instead.” 

A few hours ago, Zuko almost made a crater in the beach from the campfire you, his sister Azula, and your friends Mai and Ty Lee had started a screaming match around. Insults were flung, tears were shed, and skeletons were evicted from closets, all resulting in your realization that maybe political survival wasn’t worth the dysfunction of constantly being surrounded by a sociopath and her cronies. Pretending to have a super fun sleepover with them back at the guest house was proving to be too much for your fragile sense of self-containment, and you weren’t quite friendly enough with your newfound death wish to tell Azula how you really felt about her, so you went where you knew it would be quiet. You didn’t expect to find Zuko and his anger issues there a second time, but he honestly didn’t scare you - you’d take his obvious rage over Azula’s subtle calculations any day. 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Zuko jeered. “You’re just as emotionally fucked as the rest of them.” 

“Ty Lee’s got herself pretty much under control, despite her gullibility,” you answered cooly. “Also, if you really wanna talk about emotionally fucked, I’m not the one who almost roasted my ex-girlfriend alive earlier.” 

Zuko furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward as if to challenge you. You stayed exactly as you were, regarding him with a hard, unimpressed expression that revealed just how little he intimidated you. You couldn’t bend and weren’t a trained fighter - you knew he knew this, and that he wouldn’t actually attack you, despite how convincing he tried to make his empty threat appear. After a long, intense moment of wrinkled foreheads and competitive frowning, he backed off with a sigh, leaning back against the pillar behind him. 

“So, what, you want to come and make peace? Talk it out or something?” 

You shook your head, climbing the steps and lowering yourself onto the second highest; just below him, with a few feet between you as a courtesy. 

“The last thing I want to do is talk about that dumpster fire on the beach,” you told him. “I just needed some time alone. But, since I found you, I guess it’s a good time to ask if you’re okay.”  

Zuko looked you up and down, a confused and partially concerned look on his face. You half expected him to raise the back of his hand to your forehead to check for fever. 

“What do you care if I’m okay or not?” he asked bitterly. “We’re not friends.” 

“Zuko, I’ve known you since I was a toddler,” you said. “I’d say we’re friends. It’s not like anyone else really is.” 

“Mai is my girlfriend,” Zuko snapped at you. “She’s the best friend I have!” 

“Mai dumped you for being a possessive asshole,” you deadpanned, “then she let her best friend convince you to commit arson. Friends don’t let their friends’ sisters manipulate them into felonies.” 

Zuko huffed, slumping back defeatedly. 

“You can’t act like Azula’s never made you do anything you didn’t want to,” he grumbled. 

“I don’t,” you replied shortly. “I’ve just stopped caring about making her like me, since she really doesn’t like anyone. She doesn't get under my skin like she used to when we were kids.” 

You noticed Zuko’s lips curl upwards into the ghost of a smile. You mirrored him, leaning your arms atop your upright knees. 

“What?” you asked. 

Zuko chuckled faintly, shaking his head. 

“Nothing,” he responded. “You just… Do you remember when you were eight, and Azula teased Ty Lee about being too slow climbing the trees in our courtyard?” 

Your eyes widened in realization, your mouth parting into a wide smile as you let out a gasp of hysterical laughter. 

“Oh, that was awful!” you cried, though the memory only brought more fits of giggles to your gut. “I was such a little brat!” 

Zuko was laughing with you too now, arms wrapped over his stomach as he tried to speak between breaths. 

“It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed. “Watching her fall out of the tree like that, the shock on her face, and then I caught you with the knife and saw where you cut the branch... She deserved it. You should give her a taste of her own medicine like that more often.” 

You blushed, looking away from him as your laughter died down. 

“Now she could kill me if she wanted,” you said. “I try not to say or do anything around her if I can help it.” 

“... Is that why you’ve been so quiet since then?” 

You nodded. 

“She beat me up when she found out what I did,” you explained. 

You stood, pulling down the waist of your sarong to reveal the burn scar on your right hip. Zuko’s eyes burst with shock at first, wondering exactly why you’d be disrobing in front of him, his expression softening when he saw the mark Azula left. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Most brothers feel like they should protect their little sisters. I always felt like I should’ve protected all of you from her.” 

“You did,” you assured him. You sat back down beside him, closer this time, so that your hips almost touched. “I remember you jumped in front of her once when she threatened us. And that time…” 

Your voice faded, the memory almost bringing tears to your eyes. You couldn’t figure out why. 

“You hid from her,” Zuko finished your thought. 

You nodded. 

“You let me hide in your room,” you recalled. “Remember? Azula punched me. I ran to the first quiet place I could find and accidentally went to your room.” 

Zuko hummed. 

“You were crying,” he added, “and your eye was all red and swollen.” 

“You held me.” 

Zuko’s eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, though he remembered; you burst through his half open door, sniffling, tears and spittle running down your cheeks and chin. It was the first time Azula had actually, physically hurt you, and you were terrified and confused. He asked if you were okay, and you shook your head. Being so young, the only thing he could think to do was hug you, since that’s what his mother did to make him feel better, and you clung to him, sobbing into his shirt and using his much bigger body for protection. After that day, he let you use his bedroom as a hiding place whenever Azula got to be too much - until she found out about it and started teasing you about wedding dresses and baby names. 

“We were friends,” you breathed. “I wish we still were.” 

There was a long silence in which the two of you stared out at the horizon, down the steep hill leading to the vacation house and into the ocean. The moon hung in a small sliver, barely flickering across the calm waters that rocked below; you could hear the gentle rush of waves as they crawled over the sand and shrunk back into themselves, creating a calming din that echoed up to where you sat. 

“... I still remember your favorite game to play with me,” Zuko said into the warm air between you. “Those times you hid in my room. You used to pretend to be a Kyoshi warrior. My mom gave you one of her old fans and we’d jump on and off my bed, trying to catch each other.” 

You grinned. 

“I would wrap myself around your legs to keep you from walking,” you recalled. 

Zuko laughed. 

“I loved that,” he admitted. “It used to make me laugh so hard when we were kids.” 

He looked over to you, and you turned to face him as well. The anger in his eyes was gone completely, in its place a warm, steady sadness that made you ache. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. 

You reached cautiously for his hand, relieved when he slid his fingers between yours and gripped your palm tightly. 

“I miss you, too,” you replied. “I’m sorry I let Azula drive me away from you.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tender embrace. Your hands latched together on either side of his back, gripping into his shirt a little bit as you buried your face in his shoulder. He felt and smelled the same as he did when you were little; hard like the walls of a sturdy house and sweet like the last embers in a fireplace.

You didn’t know how long you held each other, but when you broke apart, you sat together for ages, existing in silence on the steps of his childhood house and beside one another. You felt small again, but in the best way - you felt like the girl who was brave enough to cut through the branches of a maple tree so your tormenter would fall out of them. 

“I want to run away,” you blurted. “I could be someone totally different if I weren’t stuck here.” 

“If you do, I’ll go with you,” Zuko said. “We can be different people together.” 

You grinned, leaning your shoulder against his. 

“We could move to Kyoshi Island,” you suggested. “I’m too old to start warrior training now, but we could start a business. Open an inn or something.” 

Zuko chuckled at the thought. 

“I’ll call myself Lee,” he mused, “and you can go by Izumi.” 

“Maybe we could be married. And we could adopt orphan children and cats.” 

“Just cats. You can’t emotionally destroy a cat like you can with a kid.” 

You glanced over at him, noticing the hard gleam in his eye. You wrapped your arms around his bicep, holding him close to you. 

“You’re not your father, Zuko,” you whispered. “You don’t want to be.” 

Zuko nodded. He reached for one of your hands, curling his own around it. 

“... I feel like I am going to leave,” he said, “at some point. When I do… will you stay? So that I have at least one friendly face to come home to someday?” 

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I will,” you promised. “And when you do, I’ll give you Azula’s severed head as a homecoming present.” 

Zuko laughed at that. 

{ epilogue }