#i was prepared for worse so lets hope it remains tolerable

[chewbokachoi]

"You said you liked it so I brought it for you." bireenaaaaaa

Eyy looked who finally got to it--sorry for the delay! Ended up a lil longer than anticipated but I had fun regardless :D

Bi-Han felt out of his element.

He was standing, watching just out of sight, not sure if he should make himself known or just continue to observe. Most of him, the sensible part of him (or what remained of it) said he was being obtuse and a creep. But a small part of him, a small voice he ignored for years and thought left for dead, chimed in. What if she hates it? It whispered.

To let insecurity rule him after clawing his way back to life. Bi-Han shoved the voice back once more and slipped out of his hiding place. He snatched up the gift and decided to find Sareena rather than wait in the shadows, or worse, leave it unguarded.

He slipped the parcel into a satchel he had taken to wearing. The idea of being seen carrying around something so carefully wrapped yet so clumsy and unrefined would have been one too many humiliations to deal with. 

Watching Tomas wrap all of the gifts he had prepared for everyone had only done so much to help Bi-Han. He wasn't sure if Tomas appreciated the audience, or who the audience was, but he didn't say anything at least. It was a mix of comfort and further frustration for Bi-Han. While it was good Tomas didn't shun him, Bi-Han resented himself for not knowing how much Tomas truly tolerated him.

Of course it made sense somebody like Bi-Han didn't have as much skill as Tomas at gift wrapping; Tomas who had the time to pursue such a frivolous hobby. But it still gnawed at his pride that he couldn't make something for Sareena half as good. And to even consider asking Tomas to help wrap it for him? Absolutely not.

Bi-Han hoped Sareena would at least appreciate the colors. She always wore black and red. Finding red ribbons was easy enough–black wrapping paper, he found, was harder despite how popular goth fashion and other grim aesthetics had become. Of course part of him was eager to point out it was probably only difficult because he didn't dare ask anyone for help. And then the more delicate part of the gift…Bi-Han found his face warming at the thought of it. It was stupid. He could just leave it in his bag.

To his relief, Bi-Han found Sareena by herself. She was in Liu Kang's library and she had found a rather large, old book. Bi-Han wanted to know what it was, and he wanted to see if he could find out without having to ask. But the closer he got, he saw it wasn't in any language he knew. How much time had he lost out on? Clearly enough for her to have comfortably learned another language.

Despite how quiet Bi-Han was, she knew he was there. Covering his scent on a whim wasn't something he had figured out how to do. Still, he walked close enough to be polite but keep a respectful distance and waited for her to turn around.

Sareena set the book down and turned to face Bi-Han, her expression neutral despite her demonic features. They always made her look vaguely upset or annoyed. In a better mood, Bi-Han could see himself tolerating comments saying that he could relate. But when that mood would finally arrive, he couldn't say. So, instead, he kept his own neutral expression, waiting on Sareena to decide if she had the patience for him or not.

"You're done with training early," she said.

Bi-Han gave a small shrug. "I woke up earlier," he said. He had woken up early so he could get his training in and have time to wrap the gift and present it to her on time.

She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, the action always somehow ensnaring Bi-Han to her. "I thought you preferred reading one book at a time," she continued, uninterested in Bi-Han's reason for being done with training earlier than she expected. "And the book I last saw you with from here was sizable."

"You are correct," he said, not knowing what else to say. She was still paying attention to him and the thought alone made him want to disappear. He could still make an escape, but he'd have to at least give her her gift. Perhaps while she was distracted by unwrapping it–there was no way it would open neatly–he could disappear. "I came to find you," he said, reaching into the satchel.

Her irises widened like a curious cat's.

Bi-Han pulled out the first gift, his fingers brushing against the second half. For a second, he thought he broke it. But to his relief, it was fine. He pulled out the parcel and handed it to Sareena, barely able to keep his gaze on her.

"Who's this from? Did somebody ask you to deliver this to me?" Sareena asked, pausing her reach.

Bi-Han felt his face flush. "No," he said. And that was all he could manage.

Sareena's surprise gave way to realization. "Oh." She looked back down at the parcel and picked it up, her movements sharp and angular–more demonic than human. She back down on the stone bench, suddenly entranced by the little parcel. "Did you wrap this?" She asked, tugging at the ribbon, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"I may have," Bi-Han muttered, trying to keep his focus on how her hands moved, peeling at the tape and paper. But instead he was watching her face, seeing how happy and curious she was. It occurred to him that the odds of getting a gift from the Netherrealm were low, and they'd be tools more than anything–especially for a demon of her rank.

She pulled back the paper to reveal the gift: a metal, crocodile incense holder. Its mouth was open, meant for the stick to be inserted into the mouth. 

Bi-Han reached into the satchel before she could say anything and pulled out the incense packet. It was wrapped in blue paper with silver wrapping. He had noticed her preference for sour things, and so he hoped she would appreciate the variety of citrus incense sticks he had found. To his relief–and a boost to his pride–Bi-Han could see Sareena could smell what it was through the wrapping.

"Bi-Han," Sareena said, accepting it with her free hand. "Thank you." She looked up. "But…" she trailed off, not wanting to be rude.

Bi-Han couldn't find it in him to see the question as rude. Maybe a small part of it was because she was still a demon and her ways weren't ever going to fully align with the human world. But Bi-Han knew he couldn't judge anyone for any apprehension or hesitation around him. So, he gave her another shrug. "I heard you saying to Ashrah how much you liked it," he nodded to the holder. "So I bought it for you."

Sareena blinked, processing what he had said. Then she smiled. She carefully placed the still unopened bundle of incense sticks in the hand with the burner. Then she picked up the book. "Would you like to join me for some reading?" Sareena asked, moving to make space for Bi-Han.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he looked around, quickly looking for any book to avoid making it awkward. As he walked over to a shelf full of Chinese books and tales, he could hear Sareena unwrapping the other gift. When he returned to the bench, he saw her inserting a stick into the holder. Then she lit it with a light tap of her finger. She turned around and looked up at Bi-Han, the smile still on her face.

He sat down near her, but not next to her.

Sareena crossed her legs, her knee brushing his thigh.

Bi-Han remained where he was–Sareena had done that on purpose, but he couldn't deny he liked the casualness of her proximity to him. The smell of citrus mixing with the enchanted torches that lit the library was providing an odd and unexpected comfort. Bi-Han felt his shoulders relax and found himself hoping this was something he could enjoy again.

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 14: The Spoils

CHAPTER SUMMARY: We've been going hard for 13 chapters. Let's slow down and enjoy something a little gentler.

I just want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone reading this fic. I still can't believe even one person reads my stories 💜 Thank you for your comments, your messages on social media, and your time. I know reading fics is a choice and I feel so deeply grateful for each and every one of you 💜

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 14: THE SPOILS

Jyn managed a few good hours of rest before she was paged to one of the ship’s ready-rooms. There she met with General Draven and Mon Mothma, handing over the data tape she’d confiscated from the IT-O interrogator droid. The Intelligence chiefs debriefed her, wanting to know every detail of Rogue One’s rescue mission, the state in which they found Andor, and if there was any cross-reference intel connected to Princess Leia’s presence on the Death Star. Jyn told them everything she knew, which wasn’t much. After she’d been dismissed but before she reached the exit, Mon Motha stopped her. The senator gestured to the data tape Draven was handing to an aide. “I’m afraid to watch it,” she said, her voice tense.

Jyn didn’t know how to reply so she remained silent.

“What can you tell me? To prepare myself?” Mothma’s tone remained quiet, as though she didn’t want others to overhear.

“I can’t really say. I didn’t look at the tape.” Erso set her teeth. “All I know is what I saw in person when we entered the cell where they were holding Cassian. If that’s anything to go by, I hope you have a strong stomach.”

Mothma’s piercing gaze narrowed and became troubled. “The horrors are endless,” she whispered under her breath. She straightened her shoulders, quickly recovering her poise. “When next you see Commander Andor, please pass on my wishes for his quick recovery.”

Jyn fought to tamp down the frustrating feeling that her Alliance cohorts did too, little too late for Cassian.

She left the ready-room and realized she didn’t know where to go next. For the first time she had nowhere to be. Just as she settled on getting herself a cup of coffee, her name came over the intercom once again, this time paging her to the medical ward. Worry hastened her step, fearing that Cassian had taken a turn for the worse.

The same 2-1B medical droid that had forced her to leave the day before met her in the corridor just outside the quarter. “Lieutenant Erso, thank you for coming. Please follow me.”

She had to hurry to keep up with the large machine as it rolled down the ward’s center aisle. They approached Cassian’s bed, which was surrounded by a heavy white curtain. The droid held it aside and allowed her to enter. Cassian was awake and looking brighter than he had the day before. He was surprised to see her. “Jyn, what are you doing here?”

She was a little taken aback by the situation. “I was paged.” Both rebels looked to the droid.

“I asked Lieutenant Erso here to assist with your treatment, Commander. I have observed your friendship and it is clear to me that you find her presence reassuring. I thought perhaps you would be more tolerant of the procedure with a friend to comfort you.”

Silence followed as the three of them looked back and forth, no one more confused than Jyn.

“Have I done wrong?” the droid finally ventured. “I realize now that perhaps Lieutenant Erso’s presence embarrasses you.”

Cassian’s gaze held Jyn’s for a long time before he softly replied, “I don’t feel embarrassed in front of Jyn.”

The corner of her mouth pulled up into a sheepish smile.

“Very good,” 2-1B said.

“What do you need me to do?” Jyn asked.

The droid spun to face her. “The Commander has a particularly trying wound on his left eye. Study of the laceration indicates it was made with a hot blade, is that correct, sir?”

Cassian swallowed thickly. “Yes.” His voice was hardly audible.

Jyn felt her blood grow cold. Every day she learned a new reason to hate the Empire.

“If the wound remains untreated, it may heal in a way that prevents the Commander’s eyelid from closing properly. The procedure is a fifteen to twenty minute acute bacta wash, but he finds the method unsettling. If you could simply be by his side, perhaps hold his hand or talk to him as a distraction, the time would pass more quickly. Can you do this?”

Jyn was surprised by the innocence of the request. “Of course.” She turned to Cassian and pointed to the bed. “Can I sit here?”

He shifted over, making room for her. “I’m sorry you had to be bothered with this.”

She pulled his hand into hers. “Don’t apologize to me.”

Once again, the droid lowered Cassian’s bed and began the procedure.

The man’s body instantly changed. When the bacta mist began he practically crippled Jyn’s hand and his chest visibly inflexed. She hadn’t known what to expect but she understood this was more serious than she originally thought. Pain wasn’t crushing Cassian; it was fear. Whatever Tarkin had done, the long-term injuries were more than skin deep. She placed her other hand in the center of his chest. “Breathe, Cassian,” she soothed. “Focus on my hand. Try and make it go up and down with your breath.” She saw his jaw muscles tighten as he tried to get himself under control. The veins in his neck began to show as all his muscles contracted. His reactions were intensifying, not reducing.

“2-1B?” Jyn asked softly. “Can you stop for a moment?”

“Of course.”

The mist ceased and she gently wiped the moisture from Cassian’s lashes with her thumb. “Look at me.” The blood had drained from his face; even his lips were pale. But he met her gaze. “You’re OK.” She waited for the panic to leave his eyes. “We’re almost done.” She laced her fingers between his and started massaging his palm. After a moment, she glanced down and suddenly froze, realizing his skin was covered in scars. “Does this hurt?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, it’s healed.”

She started up again. “I want you to put all your focus right here on where our fingers are touching.”

He nodded nervously before laying his head back and closing his eyes. With a look, Jyn told the droid to restart the treatment. Cassian’s grip tightened, but eventually he calmed down and loosened his hold. “That’s good,” Jyn encouraged. “Just keep your focus right here.” She continued massaging his fingers, palm, wrist, forearm. He began to ease into her touch. “Mon Mothma sends you well wishes,” she said casually.

Cassian snorted. “Oh really?”

“She hopes you have a ‘quick recovery.’”

“You have friends in high places now,” he teased, his voice betraying his tenseness. “General Syndula and Mon Mothma. You’re a regular VIP.”

“Yeah, you better watch out. Don’t cross me or I’ll have Mothma lecture you to death.”

Cassian actually smiled.

“We are done,” 2-1B interrupted. “Excellent work, both of you.”

The droid handed Jyn a towel that she used to dry Cassian’s eyes. As she wiped the bacta away she saw the gash had been reduced to a thin white line. “That’s remarkable,” she said in awe as she caressed the scar.

All Cassian could think about was how her thumb absentmindedly lingered over his lips.

“Yes, the wound will continue to heal over the next twenty-four hours. You’ll still have a mild scar, Commander, but at least now the burn will no longer tighten and disfigure your eyelid.”

“That’s wonderful news,” he replied darkly. Glancing at the droid he realized he had been rude. “Thank you for asking Jyn to help, 2-1B.” His tone was sincere. “It was a good idea.”

“You are most welcome. Now please get some rest. The doctors are planning to release you sometime very soon.”

“I suppose that means you want me to leave,” Jyn interjected.

“Yes, please, Lieutenant.”

Before she rose, she placed her hand on Cassian’s chest once more and gave him a reassuring pat.

He gripped her hand and held it in place, his expression serious. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She squeezed his fingers. “Happy to help.”

Then she got up and allowed the droid to lead her out.

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE INTERROGATION" - Cassian knew a debrief was a necessary evil.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 "The Spoils"

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[sleepymarmot]

Jaws of Hakkon side quests

Somehow almost every quest in the DLC, main or not, is relevant to my specific Inquisitor's interests.

The Loss of a Friend — My first instinct was to let the abomination remain in the Inquisition, since it seemed pretty civil. Everyone disapproved. According to the wiki, everyone disapproves, there's not a single companion who approves. Oops. Reloaded and killed the demon. I guess I've been in the fandom for too long and have forgotten how unacceptable any tolerance towards unambiguous demons is for the people in-universe.

In Exile — Also a difficult choice. A similar situation, only the person is possessed by a spirit instead of a demon, and in a controlled peaceful way.

This is one of the cases where the options as presented in the game don't properly convey what they actually mean; I had to look up the consequences online to make the choice.

"Stay with the Inquisition" could have meant "I'm giving you the chance to circumvent the suffocating tradition", like when you help Finn in A Father's Name. Instead, it actually was "Completely cut yourself off from your people and culture, give in to your shame and despair, and get displayed as a curiosity or a freak to Orlesian mages and scholars".

As you can guess, my Dalish mage Inquisitor would have had some feelings about that. So she sent the girl back to the augur to prepare to separate from her friend. Now that I think about it, this is also resonant with her role as the one who helps make peace with loss and departure.

Also, if the girl stayed together with the spirit for too long, and especially if she went into a bitter exile to the Inquisition and was trapped and humiliated there, her spirit friend would likely get sick (credit to the hold's augur for this apt expression) and become a demon, making her into a real abomination. This, of course, made me think of Anders again. <fandom wank>It's strange how some parts of the fandom ignore half of his storyline and/or act as if it was contextless attack on real-life social groups instead of one of the many parts of the worldbuilding theme spanning all games — how the single-minded spirits and demons act in the real world, when they bring good and when harm.</fandom wank>

Appropriately, during the same play session, this conversation played:

Cassandra: I have considered what you said about Lord Seeker Lambert, Cole. If it's true, then perhaps he deserved to die. Cassandra: Though it need not have been you who killed him. Cole: He would have hurt people. Cassandra: It is not that simple. Cole: Why not? He made templars see monsters instead of mages, made them push until it all fell down. Cassandra: We thought Lambert was assassinated. It made the rebellion worse, and many people were killed. Cole: But not by him. Cassandra: (Sighs.)

The spirit of compassion knows nothing of politics and consequences, and can't think farther "ease the pain" and "kill the bad guys". Yet. I made him a human in the hopes that he learns eventually.

Anyway, that was a digression. Back to the Frostback Basin:

A Father's Name and It Remains to be Seen concern Avvar funerary rites and views on death and rebirth, which is very interesting to my Falon'Din worshipper.

A Father's Name — Ghisharen is of course thrilled to learn about another insular mage-friendly culture's funerary traditions, let alone participate in them. She likes the idea of a sky burial. It is compatible with her ideas of cleanliness and spirituality, she likes birds. I think that she has affinity with the Lady of the Sky: they're associated with the same element (lightning), there's the sky-Fade-magic connection, and the Lady takes the shape of an elven woman in the saga of Tyrdda. (Could this be Mythal splintering herself into yet another goddess to be worshipped by humans? The Avvar can use and even make veilfire runes and know how shards work — how do they know of elven culture so much?)

This was an interesting opportunity to both work with the tradition and circumvent it, something she does with her own culture. It's weird that the option to give the offering to Finn wasn't presented by the game until the very end, when it was voiced by one of the companions. Plus, half of the companions are pro-charity and half are pro-tradition; what happens if everyone in the party at the moment is pro-tradition, does the dialogue even trigger, how does the Inquisitor get this idea in-universe? It certainly never occurred to me as a player that giving the offering to Finn was an option until that popped up as a quest objective.

It Remains to be Seen — Avvar gods, who are spirits, can be reborn, same but different. This was the very last sidequest I did before the final assault on the Hakkonites, and that was very fortunate: it gave me a lore background on why the Avvar are totally fine with a lowlander killing one of their gods, just before the thane answered the same question with her own words. Also, this reminded Ghisharen of a similar transformation that happened to Solas's spirit friend; yet another of the many things that made her think of him in this DLC.

[katcadecascade]

If you believe the lies I tell (Snowjanus fic Chapter Eight)

Ao3

Tumblr Chapter Index

Chapter Eight: Trust

Word Count: 2,968

With Clemensia carrying half his weight, they manage to get out of the school. She flags down one of the remaining chauffeurs and they practically dive into the back seat. They shout out the Corso address and the engine gets the car going. 

No more audience, it’s just them. Spearmint clashes against lavenders in such a tight space. Clemensia lets a hand go to at least open a window. It’s claustrophobic here, Coriolanus slides away to his side of the car, trying to catch his breath. 

Clemensia states bluntly, “You’re in heat.”

Coriolanus loses his usual grace. 

“I know!”

“Have you ever-“

“No!” He grips his hair, “I have never had a heat before!”

“Yeah, I can tell from how you’re freaking out!”

“Of course I’m freaking out!”

She reaches over, this time not for scenting but to check the temperature from his forehead. He knows he is warm, the problem is that Coriolanus has no idea if any of this is natural. Coriolanus has learned the basic textbook knowledge and the little his family has talked about, but that’s theory. Heats are a hypothetical that he refused to apply to himself until this very moment. 

“This isn’t something to panic over, Coriolanus.”

“Oh like you would know,” he snaps.

He doesn’t mean to lash out, it’s mainly his paranoia of the unknown that is frustrating him. Thankfully, Clemensia doesn’t appear too offended. 

“Hey it could be worse, you could’ve gone into a mating frenzy or baby fever for Sejanus.”

Now that has Coriolanus yelling out, “Fuck no!”

Intention, something like that can only happen if mating or wanting a child was at the forefront of his mind. The need for shelter and comfort is the typical purpose of heats. Coriolanus is so damn relieved that nothing that extreme was ever in mind regarding Sejanus Plinth. 

He still hates that his emotions latched onto the alpha. Even before the heat, Coriolanus knows that some part of him is stuck onto Sejanus but also Clemensia. 

Her presence is immensely important to his senses. This ever-growing flame continues to ignite his body, to seek her aid and comfort but Coriolanus is a stubborn fool.   

“I helped Lysie with her heats, I know how to help you too. Especially if you don’t have a nest prepared.”

“Oh no.”

Coriolanus knows how horribly unprepared he is. Not only about the mental and emotional tax of it all but the state of his house, his bedroom. It’s not a protective or possessive urge to keep his territory away from an outsider's eyes, it’s dread and shame. 

“Coriolanus?”

“No, you can’t.” His scent is all wrong, too sharp and overwhelming. A heat intensifies it all, weaponizing his anxiety to break out of his perfect mask. “No no no-”

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s alright.” Clemensia pries one of his hands away from his disheveled hair. Smiling and linking their fingers together, she assures, “You still have time to build a nest before you’re in the thick of it. It’ll be alright.” 

She believes she’s saying the right words, and she is. It’s just that Coriolanus is the variable that makes everything wrong. 

“You can’t, Clemensia.” It’s a contrasting beg that can only be spilled by his lips, “I can’t let you help me.”

“What? No, Coriolanus, you shouldn’t spend your heat by yourself. It’s your first one, I won’t let you feel like you’re alone.”

“Clemensia,” the words are rough in his throat, declaring, “I’d rather be alone than let anyone in my home.”

Her concerned eyes look into his glaring, angry scowl. Coriolanus has always rejected her kindness, yet treated her as his friend. There was a tolerance, a barrier between his life at school and his home. Coriolanus continues to enforce that separation, even at the cost of Clemensia’s feelings. 

There’s something clicking behind her eyes. Clemensia is the smartest person Coriolanus knows. He hoped that she never analyzed him but she’s doing it now. 

Whatever conclusion she thought of has her surrendering, “...okay.”

On the logical side of things, everything is good. They’re enroute to the Snow’s penthouse, away from prying eyes and confusing scents. There may be enough time to swallow down scent blockers to aid his body, that is if the heat does not burn through the medications immediately. Also he could tamper down any nesting habits simply but not having any materials in the first place. 

Never before has Coriolanus been so happy at the thought of returning to his dilapidated home. 

The staircase leading up to the penthouse mocks him. 

“At least let me help you up.” 

Clemensia’s looking at the old double doors of a luxury he doesn’t have.  

“The elevator is broken.”

A weight of dread falls in his stomach as he watches the briefest expression of confusion to analyze to acceptance. 

“Alright, stairs it is.” 

They walk the twelve flights of stairs in silence, passing by abandoned rooms and decaying wallpaper. 

His home is a weakness, evidence of how the grand Snow name is falling. The worse case scenario was all of it getting exposed, of wolves and lions pouncing. 

Yet Clemensia keeps any comment to herself, reshaping the anxiety into a snake in the grass. 

When they’re at his door, Clemensia asks, “You have everything you need?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

From her frown alone, it’s clear that she knows he’s lying. 

Coriolanus wonders how many times Clemensia knows that he has lied straight to her face. 

Coriolanus slips past the door as fast as he could but he knows that Clemensia Dovecote has seen more than anyone else in the whole Captiol.

He thinks she said his name again behind the closed door. It could be his heart reaching for her, for more than he could ask for. 

His sweltering body lumbers to the kitchen cabinets. Without anyone, this needy ache demands to be soothed by the presence of those he trusts. Coriolanus knows that’s a fever dream. In practiced motions, Coriolanus reaches for the pill bottle and swallows down a bunch of scent blockers. 

Arachne’s bizarre claim of taking blockers like a hard drug is obtuse. Yes any medicine can be abused if someone tried hard enough but that’s just it. It’s an innate need for scents, no amount of blockers will make a person want to live in a scentless world. 

As less complicated as that world seems, it doesn’t tempt Coriolanus. He does see the good side of scenting.

Just maybe not in the throes of a heat he never thought to have. So Coriolaus tries to stall it with the pills. 

It’s only temporary, it won’t be enough. Coriolanus can tell from this heat still humming through his body. His scent is significantly less intense but it continues to fill the room. 

There’s still one major problem with this heat. It will consume his body of energy, a body that has not eaten a full meal in days. His bones are weighty, something his malnourished body cannot carry. 

He doesn’t have any food to survive this.

This is what he meant about heats being a waste of time and energy.

If Coriolanus doesn’t have enough energy or satisfy his nesting habits, he could potentially get fever heated. 

A true fever combined with heartache, all their stories told as tragedies. How poetic it is for this to be Coriolanus’ fate. 

“Coryo?” Grandma’am steps out of her room, steps light on the cold floor as she draws near. “What’s going on? You should be in school.”

Coriolanus gives an abbreviated summary of events on how his life was ruined in the mere moments before class began. A laugh almost slips at how pathetically fast it all fell apart. 

He expects her face to be shaped by horror or maybe disappointment, anything to match the uncomfortable feeling growing in his own skin. 

Instead she pats him on the back, rubbing big circles as she embraces him into a hug. 

“Oh, my boy, I didn’t prepare you for this did I?”

“Why would you?” Coriolanus shakes his head. “I don’t need any of this. I shouldn’t have entered a heat in the first place.”

“But you did, no changing that now. Come, walk me back to my room.” 

As her obedient grandson, he does. 

Grandma’am’s room is nearly as minimalistic as his except for a few framed photos, a songbook, and her clothes. It once overflowed the closet but now it barely takes up half of it. 

Her exquisite taste in gowns and overcoats had cost Grandma’am a lot of her most cherished memories but sold them nonetheless. Yet there were things that were deemed too precious to sell off. 

She gestures for him to grab something under her bed. Coriolanus tugs out a small, tightly wrapped bag. At Grandma’am insisting nod, he opens it. 

The air is knocked out of his chest when the scent of roses enters the dusty, cold air. 

Coriolanus whispers, “What is this?” 

“It’s your mother’s. Blankets she used for her nests back when… back when she needed them.”

It was preserved as best as it could be, wrapped with plastic. A total of three, all faintly emitting the scent of roses. The rose powder in the compact mirror is an artificial cosmetic, something that would add onto her scent. This precious cloth in her son’s trembling hands, it truly is her last remnant. 

There’s one blanket much, much smaller than the rest.

A baby blanket.

His baby blanket. 

Coriolanus cannot fathom how tiny he once was. How that small creature began to shape and be shaped by the world. There was no urge to control or perform, back then it was all about simply being in the space provided.

A sick feeling enters his stomach at the realization that this baby blanket would’ve been passed to his younger sibling.

Helena Snow and her stillborn daughter never got that chance. 

Their passing was truly the start of this family’s ruin. 

Wordlessly, Coriolanus gathers it into his arms. He doesn’t care that his scent flares out, burning through the blockers he had swallowed down. What matters is saving every piece of his scattered heart for a heat that he has never allowed before. 

“Your mother rejected every scent of your father. She only needed you.” 

“But why do I-” He bites his tongue before he could finish that question. Coriolanus holds the blankets close. “Thank you Grandma’am.” 

Whatever look he has on his face, it doesn’t convince his grandmother. Aside from Tigris, this woman also raised him. If Tigris encouraged kindness, Grandma’am encouraged gaining power. 

“Coryo, you can control every aspect of your life, of your body.” It’s the reassurement that he desperately needed, that this is within his control. But then she adds, “A heat amplifies what’s already inside.” 

His grandmother hands over one of her pillows. Scenting fades with age but it’s still there, the scent of honeysuckles. 

Coriolanus accepts it but argues, “Am I supposed to trust them? They were people I had to deceive, to make them believe I’m as powerful and wealthy as the rest. I never once trusted anyone I could call a friend.” He gestures to the decaying walls around, “Look at our home Grandma’am. It’s so pitifully easy to ruin me, to destroy us!” 

It’s rare for him to be angry with his Grandma’am. Manner’s aside, he doesn’t want to yell at her but it highlights his desperation. The true fear of having a weakness is being unable to protect it. 

Grandma’am has all the wisdom in the world to know that her grandson is hurting and scared. 

“I of all people know what betrayal feels like.” A haunted look tugs on her wrinkles, briefly lost in a memory. Her eyes return to his, the sadness remains, “I’ve taught you to expect it at every corner of the world. I’m sorry, Coryo. I gave you dreams of total control.” She quickly assures,  “And that is still possible. You just need to trust your instincts when faced against the unknown.” 

As nice as a prose that is, Coriolanus knows what his instincts demand.

It’s something he struggles to ask for. 

“I can’t accept their help. It would mean that… It would mean too many things about me.”

A vulnerable side of Coriolanus Snow was revealed today. Even before the heat hit, Coriolanus gave his scent to Clemensia. It soothed a part of him and later on, Sejanus was an emotional anchor. 

All of this means that Coriolanus is capable of trusting others. 

It could be so easy to just accept that as fact. 

But survival is worth more than truth. 

This calculating impulse kicks in when Grandma’am says offhandedly, “I’ll call Tigris.”

“No, don’t take her away from work.” She needs her job and any money that can come from it. An assistant’s paycheck rather than Tigris selling off her scent. “That’s more important.”

Grandma’am frowns, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “Nothing's more important than you.”

Coriolanus leans away, hoping his authority doesn’t sound like pleading, “Don’t call her. I’ll get something from her closet.”

Before he leaves her bedroom, Grandma’am imparts more words of wisdom.

“Heats clarify who you trust.” 

It’s a revelation that he doesn’t want to have. Yet once his consciousness learns it, it stays rooted in his skull. It flows into muscles as he grabs Tigris’ handmade, comfy robe and marches into his room. 

Coriolanus feels stupid doing all of this. Building a nest on his small bed. It’s so thin, nothing as lavish as what Arachne would brag about. She made a show of receiving tokens from her friends. 

All Coriolanus has are a few blankets and two pillows. He has the urge to tear it all apart but he could never do that to his family’s gifts. 

He tugs his uniform off, sweat uncomfortably clinging to the buttoned shirt. The thought of adding it to his nest never crosses his mind. Coriolanus does not seek comfort in his own scent. Donning a fraying sweater and loose pants, he feels more unnatural in his own body than ever before. 

Coriolanus knows how pale he is but one glance in his mother’s compact mirror reveals he looks as bad as he feels. 

Sweaty, too warm, a gut wrenching loneliness that is eating his stomach. The air is cold, smells like a pine forest in the dead of winter. Spearmint has always reminded Coriolanus of a blizzard. Polar opposite, not just the scent and the fever but also his needs and wants. 

Coriolanus has always relied on his fears, more accurately his assumptions that everyone in his life will go against his wishes. It stemmed from his need for control, to maintain the glamor that fools others. His need to be the top student, to claim the wealth his family so desperately needs. 

As for what he wants? 

Wants are another reason to have fears. 

It may be alarming how fast his brain connects those two things, believing it two sides of the same coin. Yet this is the paranoia that Coriolanus lives with. The most well fed thing in Coriolanus’ world. 

There’s a knock at the door.

It’s not Tigris, is his first thought. 

Coriolanus’ fears are confirmed when he opens the door to see a determined Clemensia Dovecote and a nervous Sejanus Plinth. 

His voice is dead flat, “Why?” 

“You know why,” she answers. 

Coriolanus almost forgets that the scent blockers are entirely out of his system because he can’t smell lavenders or nutmeg. They’re both containing their scents, letting only their words and pathetic frowns influence him. 

It won’t work, is what he believes. 

He glares at them, refusing to be trapped. 

All he needs to do is shut the door. That’s all it takes and they will give up on him. 

There are so many chances where Clemensia could stop reaching out to him. Sejanus alone has plenty of reasons to despise them all, Coriolanus’ constant brittle nature would give anyone whiplash. 

Yet they left school, climbed the creaking staircase, and are at his doorstep. 

It could be in their nature to want to help, a need to feel helpful. 

“I said I won’t let you spend your heat alone.”

Coriolanus points accusingly, “So you brought him?”

“Yes!” There’s anger in that exclamation, surprising Coriolanus. Clemensia glares at the boys, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two but I won’t let you get a fever heated.”

There’s a lie on the tip of his tongue, Coriolanus’s not sure what the words are but it’s definitely a denial. It dies when he meets Sejanus’ gaze. 

Just like back when it was them alone in the classroom, Coriolanus feels seen. Sejanus knows Coriolanus, not just the little insight of his starvation for food but his cravings for victory. The alpha proudly encouraged Coriolanus to be at the top. 

Yet this time it’s obvious that Sejanus doesn’t like what he sees. 

This brings a dreadful burn in Coriolanus’ gut. 

“Please,” Sejanus begs. “You don’t look well, Coriolanus.” 

Any fight response inside of Coriolanus continues to diminish in the warmth of those brown eyes. 

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing.” The words are croaked out, more broken than soft. It’s his voice but Coriolanus barely believes it. “I don’t know anything about this.”

Sejanus pleads again, “Then let us help.” 

Maybe life would be easier if Coriolanus made them give up on him, to leave him alone. 

Yet that’s just it, Coriolanus has always isolated himself from his peers. He knows what loneliness is, how starved he is of things that cannot be eaten.

Clemensia and Sejanus have fed him time, conversations that felt real, and the chance to stop acting like everything in his life is perfect. 

Coriolanus Snow lets them in.

-

Thanks for reading!

[tannithvibes]

first thoughts on glat so far is: i still love gaige so much my little baby heart hurts

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol 

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest 

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

-- 

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly. 

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow. 

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way. 

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted. 

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever. 

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.” 

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.” 

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?” 

He can never know. “Obviously.” 

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.” 

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way? 

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.” 

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.” 

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this. 

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.” 

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.” 

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?” 

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.” 

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way. 

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat. 

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.” 

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.” 

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.” 

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?” 

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.” 

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again. 

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier. 

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

 Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me. 

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve. 

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?” 

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that’s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?” 

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.” 

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?” 

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.” 

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm. 

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning. 

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?” 

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively. 

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?” 

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent. 

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.” 

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame. 

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one. 

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.” 

Understanding? “What is there to understand?” 

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable. 

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea. 

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.” 

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected. 

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.” 

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.” 

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?” 

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?” 

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words. 

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure. 

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?” 

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly. 

“What kind of punishment?” 

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?” 

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.” 

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?” 

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.” 

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip. 

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.” 

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it. 

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down. 

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--” 

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.” 

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin. 

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical. 

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn. 

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.” 

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion. 

“Kirigan.” 

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his. 

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity. 

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off. 

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am. 

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.” 

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.” 

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines. 

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips. 

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?” 

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want. 

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential. 

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.” 

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly. 

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat. 

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more. 

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible. 

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.” 

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.” 

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it.  My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out. 

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.” 

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking. 

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.” 

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together. 

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs. 

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?” 

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back. 

--

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy 

@i-padfootblack-things

 @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @benbarnes-supremacy

@we-love-our-bandz @fire-in-her-veinz @weirdowithnobeardo @bvudzsoo @kaque @ponyboys-sunsets @coldlilheart @granillx @dreamohlittledreamofme @sanna2020 @zaynzierulez 

@ive-died-everday-waiting-for-you @xxaerynxx @ralesera @tea-effect 

@tranquillitymoon

[goldenkirstein]

i've been on fire, dreaming of you

or alternatively, when both you and jean thought you lost each other

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anonymous requested: hello there! I love your stuff. if requests are open, may I request a canonverse post-rumbling jean x fem reader where y/n is wounded + passed out from exhaution after the rumbling and wakes up warm and safe, with jean tending to her wounds. Y/n is shocked bc she remembers how she almost lost Jean (she didn't get turned into a titan, maybe she isn't Eldian?) and she just shoots straight up to embrace Jean without realizing the intensity of her wounds. Jean gets extra worried so he has to gently guide her back to lying down on the bed because she has a fever and her injuries aren't all better yet 🥺👉👈 maybe they cuddle afterwards until she falls asleep or smth aaaaaa 🥺 pairing: jean x fem! reader wc: 2.7k+ tags: angst to fluff, cursing, female reader, mentions of death, blood and violence, hints of blasphemy (?), mentions of injuries, aot manga spoilers.

a/n: sorry this took so long, (i was shadowbanned) i changed up the request a teensy bit but otherwise i hope you enjoy !!

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Hot, burning, searing pain is the last thing you remembered before your vision went black.

That and the sight of the man you loved transforming into the one thing you feared the most.

Whether it was the heartache or the open wounds on your body that made you lose consciousness, you don’t know.

Truthfully, you were angry at Jean.

It was a whispered confession on the Azumabito airship. You and Jean sat in the corner, Captain Levi and Pieck in front of you, eyes cast away. The rest sat in silence, reeling from the situation that had played out on the ground below, quietly preparing themselves for the hell that awaited them at Fort Slava.

Jean’s hands were trembling; you would expect that after years of seeing your comrades die at the hands of humans and titans alike, you would get used to the death.

This wasn’t that, though; this was a different fear and anxiousness. Jean’s hands were clammy and his face pale; you could gauge that from one look at the man next to you, whatever worries were bubbling inside him were the accumulation of all the events from the past couple of days.

Jean was a collected man most times; as commanding officer, he didn’t have a choice but to be stoic and calm in the face of danger. But when that facade began to crumble, you would be there to ground him, remind him of why he was fighting. You knew that if you locked eyes at that moment, Jean would be able to see right through the front you were putting up, see the fear etched into your irises as you all were hurtling towards your deaths. So instead, you made the executive decision to swallow that panic and be that rock he needed, offering him your hand.

You took hold of his hand, staring ahead, and squeezed it three times, a reminder for both him and you that at least you still had each other. You could feel his eyes on you after you performed the simple gesture, but you continued to look ahead, focusing on the clouds, knowing that a couple of meters below, havoc was being wreaked by those mindless titan drones.

He said it so faintly, so lightly that you barely heard it past the sounds of the engine reverberating around the metal cabin.

“I’ll love you now and forever, even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.”

It’s like he knew. It was his way of saying goodbye to you. And you ignored him.

You clenched your jaw and pretended that you didn’t hear, pushed it to the back of your mind because this was no place for hushed confessions of love and, even more so, goodbyes. You were sure as hell were not letting Jean say goodbye to you. There would be no reason to, not if you had it your way. The both of you were bound together, and goodbyes were never to be uttered between the both of you.

Even when I’m a pile of burnt bones.

Is that what remains of him now? The muscle, sinew, and skin that pieced Jean together all reduced to ash and soot? The body that you had spent hours tracing, memorizing every detail of scattered in the wind. You would never feel the weight of his body on yours again, be able to graze your fingers over the scars littered on his torso, feel the way his heart would beat against your hands.

Jean Kirstein would only exist in your mind from now on.

He had left you alone with nothing but his memory, but even then, it was plagued by the image of a senseless titan taking the shape of Jean.

You wished to go back and tell him to shut up, never to utter those words again. Tell him to get those foolish notions out of his head, slap your hands over his mouth, silencing him, so that you could continue to live in your deluded reality that both of you would make it out alive. Tell him that he was selfish, of leaving you here to endure this torment by yourself.

Would that stop the scathing agony you were feeling?

Maybe this was hell you were in, you thought. That you were being punished for ignoring him, that you were the foolish one. Perhaps you should’ve held him tight to you, found a way to fold himself into you, so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone. Were you angry at Jean, or was that resentment directed at yourself?

The pain spread from your chest to your arms, down your legs, coursing through your veins.

You should have looked at him, told him that you were just as scared; maybe that could have changed his fate. If only you repeated those words back to him. He would still be here now.

I’ll love you now and forever.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

Bring him back to me.

The silent prayer came from the depths of your heart; whether God or who knows what would hear it, you didn’t know, but the thought of having to live with this ache was enough for you to continue repeating the mantra in your head.

--

Jean looked at your unconscious form that laid next to his seat. If it wasn’t for the gentle rising and falling of your chest, he could have sworn you were dead.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Jean had made peace with the fact that he would die when he transformed into a titan. Seeing you, like this, however, barely grasping onto your own life, made his body ache; he was okay with dying, but the thought of having to live without you was a fate worse than death.

He reached over to grab your hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of your palm before grasping it and squeezing it three times. He let go of it, placing it back gently over the top of your torso.

It was time to change your bandages and clean your wounds. Jean was a strong man; he had seen firsthand what a titan could do to one’s body, but his hands quivered as they unwrapped the bloodied bandages from your thigh. One singular thought overcame his mind.

Was he the reason that you were injured this badly? Did he hurt you?

Jean had spent many nights tending to your injuries, his hands careful when it came to you. However, the cuts and gashes he would tenderly patch up would always be inflicted by other humans or titans. Never did he think that his hands would be capable of hurting you. Jean was disgusted with himself as he stared straight ahead at his hands, now covered in blood.

The worst part of this, Jean thought, was that he couldn’t even remember if he was responsible for this, or maybe, that was a blessing. Recalling the situation would drive him into madness. The man winced at the thought of his arms tearing up your body.

He reached over to the tiny side table holding the medical supplies, grabbing the antiseptic solution. Dabbing it on a cloth, he attentively cleaned the wound, instinctively checking for your reaction. You would always make a fuss when he would apply it, but Jean averted his eyes once he realized that there was no reaction from your comatose form.

Usually, he would scold you when you would pull back from his hands when he tended to your wounds, but now any response would be better than having to tolerate the silence in the tiny room.

Jean got up to clean his hands in the basin, warm water turning red once he dipped his hands in. This was his punishment; he would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. The both of you were alive; Jean knew that he should be grateful, get on his hands and knees and thank the gods above. However, why should he be thankful? It was cruel. The both of you were not alive by the grace of God; this wasn’t mercifulness or benevolence.

What good is living if you have to sit and watch the one you love the most deteriorate in front of your eyes.

“You need to sleep; this isn’t healthy.” Connie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. Although he was speaking to Jean, his eyes were transfixed on you.

Jean didn’t need to look at himself to know how terrible he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face pale and gaunt. He spent his days and nights in your room, never wanting to miss the moment when you would wake up.

If. If you woke up, not when. Even that was not guaranteed.

“I’m not leaving her side, Connie.” Jean dried his hands on the cloth next to the basin. He turned his head to look at his friend, whose eyes were now staring back into his.

Connie understood the situation; he wanted you to wake up as well, but it pained him to see Jean suffer like this, “Spending your days sitting next to her waiting for her to wake up won’t help her, Jean.”

“You don’t think I fucking know that?” Jean slammed his hand down on the basin, hair falling in front of his face. Connie’s eyes widened at his friend’s action; to say that Jean was frustrated would be an understatement.

“You got your mom back, Annie got to see her dad, even those damn kids found each other. I got her back, but it’s my fault she’s like this.” Jean gritted his teeth, lip quivering.

Connie’s heart sank; he had seen Jean at his worst, but this was almost unbearable to witness. He made his way over to the hunched-over man and squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault Jean. This is difficult, believe me, I know, but you can’t be blaming yourself.” Connie’s eyes flickered your form, and he clenched his jaw.

Jean shifted his head, sullen eyes peering at your face through strands of hair; the man shook his head as a sob escaped his lips, “I need her to wake up Connie. I can’t live without her; I don’t know how to.”

--

You felt a gentle breeze on your face and an odd pressure around your ribs. Laying still for a moment, you waited for the pressure to subside, but instead, it made its way down to your thigh. You tried to open your eyes, but it was as if they were glued shut; there was no strength left in your body.

How many days had it been? Where were you?

Questions circled amidst your clouded mind as you lay immobile. You realized that the pressure you were feeling on your body was the weight of someone’s hands. How badly were you injured?

Memories flooded into your mind as you became aware of the situation you were in currently. Someone had rescued you at Fort Slava, and you were being treated at a medical facility by nurses. No, not nurses; the hands felt oddly familiar. They were careful and precise in their movements but carried tenderness as well.

You tried to take a deep breath in, to gather strength to move any one of your limbs, but paused immediately as the pain in your ribs was far too great. Shallow breaths would suffice for the time being. You began to focus on moving your fingers, channelling whatever energy you had left to at least get them to move.

The sheets underneath your fingers were soft as you gently moved your digits along the fabric. The hands on your thigh briefly paused before continuing their movements. You waited a minute before moving again, this time lifting your hand.

You couldn’t feel the hands on your body anymore.

Whoever had been treating your wounds whispered your name. It was a man, but you weren’t able to recognize their voice as everything was still groggy.

The man sharply inhaled, his voice shaking as he said your name once again.

You mustered the strength to open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy and hard to fight to keep open. The room was blurry and far too bright for your liking, but you continued to blink, and soon, the details surrounding you came into focus. The figure was still, waiting for your next move; you lolled your head to the side to get a better look at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He slowly came into focus; he was holding your hand between his and planting kisses on the back of your palm.

Why was he apologizing? Who was he?

Your heartbeat quickened as his voice became more apparent; this had to be some sick nightmare. You slowly sat up and reached out to him to cement the fact that this couldn’t be real. Your hand made contact with his knee; he was warm, he was alive.

Tears were running down your cheeks as your eyes scanned up his frame until landing on his face. Jean stared back at you, eyes wide, your hand still held in his.

Your face contorted as you took in the sight in front of you; you were so sure you had lost him, and yet here he was. Sitting up fully, you used your free hand to grip on to his white button-down and pull him into you with whatever remaining strength you had. Jean dropped your hand, and you swiftly wrapped both of your arms around him, eyes fluttering shut to take in his presence.

A pile of burnt bones.

It wasn’t a dream; you could feel his heartbeat against your body, feel his hair against your cheek. You sobbed into the crook of his neck, ignoring the immense pain you were feeling, scared that if you let him go, he would scatter in the wind.

“Jean, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you-” Your voice was scratchy and hoarse, still weak from the slumber which had woken from a few minutes ago.

He brought a hand up to rest against your head, “I’m the one who’s sorry; why are you apologizing?” Jean pulled away from you, causing you to wince.

You furrowed your brows in confusion; he gently laid you back down on the bed before continuing, “I hurt you when I transformed into a titan; I’m the one who’s responsible-” Jean paused, his eyes landing on the gauze on your upper leg.

He wasn’t making any sense to you; shaking your head, you frowned at him, “What do you mean? I saw you transform before I passed out; I got injured by the rubble falling from the fort.”

“I should be apologizing, not you. When we were in the airship, you told me you loved me, and I ignored you, Jean, and then I thought you died and lost you. I’m terrible-” You looked up at him through teary eyes; Jean wiped your tears before kissing your cheeks.

“All this time, I was scared that I had almost killed you, and here you thought that I was dead.” He whispered, hands caressing your cheek.

“You’re not dead right; if I close my eyes, you’ll still be here?” You brought your hand up to hold his, letting out a shaky breath.

“No, my love, I’m not dead, and I’m not going anywhere.” Jean pressed a light kiss to your forehead. You cautiously sat up before moving over slightly to make room for him on the small bed.

“Can you lie here with me? Don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He nodded his head before getting up from his seat to lie next to you.

You placed your head on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Your hand traced the buttons on his shirt, slowly getting lulled to sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Jean’s fingers skimmed your side; overwhelming happiness filled his chest; he was relieved that you were alright and that he hadn’t been the one at fault for your current state. He felt you press a kiss where his heart was, and his lips curled into a smile.

“You know why I said what I said on the airship?”

“Hmm, why?” Your ears piqued in interest.

“Because I knew that even if I died, I’d find you again, somehow somewhere.”

You let out a sigh, silently thanking whoever it was that answered your prayers.

I love him and you brought him back to me.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this !! any feedback is appreciated !! i tried something a little different than how i usually write, so please don't be shy to tell me if you liked it or not and what could be improved !!

also i apologize for not being active these past couple of days, my tumblr went haywire and i was shadowbanned, its all fixed now but again super sorry !!

taglist: @c0urtn3y, @depressedbisexual, @dai-tsukki-desu, @clean-soap, @nevcrmxre, @conniesspringersgf, @glittrkink

click here to join my taglist

As always, please leave a like/reblog if you enjoyed this, I appreciate it lots <33

[thefanficmonster]

Rumors

Corpse Husband x Bimbo!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of Slut Shaming, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Tiniest bit of Angst, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When some rumors start floating around, every content creator does their best to either ignore them or defuse the situation. However, sometimes, the fans attempt to do the defusing themselves which only leads to a worse disaster. That’s the case for Corpse whose fans were quick to jump to his protection of some ‘false’ rumors.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, it was a joy to write. I’m sorry for how long it has taken me to complete and post the fic but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy reading it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it! Love, Vy ❤

Corpse cracks his knuckles, then his shoulders, then his collarbone, then the his neck. He clenches his jaw as he breathes steadily and rhythmically, trying to control an overwhelming wave of anger that he has never felt before. This is a situation he’s never had to deal with nor did he ever think he’d have to deal with and address on a fucking livestream on top of all, but here he is now, doing his best to count to ten and not go on a Twitter responding spree, calling people out on their bullshit. He wanted to do so, he still wants to, but he was stopped in his intentions and brought to a calm mindset where he was swayed into dealing with this the civil way and not by roasting the fuck out of any and every foul-mouthed person he’s seen on his Twitter timeline.

He can’t really guarantee and civility during the stream either, he’s aware his tolerance is as thin as a stretched out, old rubber band and is a slight tug away from snapping and allowing him to unleash hell on these people because of who he’s been seeing red these past few days. 

Let’s not risk a misunderstanding here - Corpse absolutely loves and adores his fans, but seeing this behavior from them is quite upsetting and disappointing. When he uses the terms like ‘assholes’, ‘jerks’ and ‘rude motherfuckers’ he isn’t referring to them. He knows they are good people, but are using the completely wrong tactic of defending him, not to mention he doesn’t even need defending. Even if he did, he’s more than capable of doing it on his own and not getting other people involved.

“Hello everyone, hope you’re doing well.“ He finally settles on saying, officially kicking off the stream. If there’s any indicator of the serious nature of this stream, it’s probably the lack of lo-fi and the lack of even attempted playfulness and cheeriness in his voice. That’s how you know shit isn’t to be messed around about. “I just realized I didn’t specify what I’ll be doing in the Tweet, but I’ll tell you now, so those who aren’t interested in the subject or want to steer clear of the drama can leave. However, I wouldn’t advise clicking off considering this will be an overall, how do I say this, rant, of sorts? It’s meant to knock some sense in the people who have been spreading hate for a specific person on all social media platforms she’s active on.“

The majority of the viewers are already familiar with the subject, some even guilty of spreading the hate Corpse mentioned, but there are a few that are completely clueless - the ones actually not interested in online drama, not just saying they ‘hate drama’. With those people in mind, Corpse takes to addressing the issue from its very beginning.

“So, for a month now, me and this streamer, who’s also a TikTok star, by the name of Y/N have been interacting a lot on social media. She’s an incredibly sweet girl that a lot of people have prejudice towards. She’s very misjudged and misunderstood because people see he solely as her content, if that makes sense. They only know she’s that streamer who wears revealing clothes on her streams and posts risqué pictures on her Instagram. Like, no.“ Corpse cannot even fully believe he has to address this and that slut-shaming people is still a thing in the twenty-first century. He closes his eyes for a moment, fist tightening and his knuckles turning white, “I don’t understand how so many people can be so shallow and just plain jerks towards her in general, but then again - this is especially for my fans, the members of my fandom - I don’t understand the need you guys feel to put Y/N down to defend me from some ridiculous rumors as if it’s the first time I’ve had to deal with people talking shit for attention or to get someone canceled.“ He sighs, reminding himself to slow his roll as to not confuse any viewers who still don’t know the full story, “Anyway, back to the timeline of events. So, considering we’ve never interacted before, all the replying to comments, retweeting, liking posts and whatever sparked some dating rumors. Isn’t that just fucking hilarious - you see two people interacting on social media and the first thing that comes to mind is that they’re in a romantic relationship. Where did the friendship go? Does no one value or consider friendships to be a valid type of human relation anymore?“ He runs a hand through his hair, making another pause to clear his mind and prevent his frustration from overflowing. He promised he wouldn’t lose his cool and would remain calm and collected, but the more he talks about it the tighter he clenches his fist and the faster his heartrate is. His neck and ears are red from the tension he feels all over, almost like he’s physically restraining a raging wild animal and not just his own thoughts and emotions.

There’s layers to his anger, the lower ones - aka the ones he’s yet to get to - will be a nightmarish test of his self-control, he already knows it. Judging by how much of a toll this rant has already taken on him, his patience and control growing thinner and thinner, he’s not sure how he’ll power through the last layers without his voice raising awfully high in volume and his fists searching for some object to punch. To an ignorant eye, his reaction would seem exaggerated and overboard, but little does that ignorant eye know...

“When some of my fans saw those rumors, they reacted very badly. It was quite disappointing to see. Guys, I appreciate you standing up for me even though you shouldn’t do that - I can defend myself, not that this was a matter I needed defending from to begin with. But just the way some of you went about it was horrifically wrong and quite upsetting, to me but especially to Y/N herself.“ He can feel it, the aggravation growing, bubbling up in his chest, “What I saw disgusted me, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. The things some of you were saying...I couldn’t believe you are in fact the same people who are my fans, my lovely fans who I’ve always thought so highly of. Never did I think you could be able of slut-shaming so vulgarly and grossly, I couldn’t believe what I was reading.“

He has every right to be upset - the things being said about Y/N were truly awful and a lot of things being said were meant to defend Corpse and defuse the rumors, doing so while stomping all over Y/N and her content. Rightfully so, many of her fans were outraged and quick to jump to her defense but were unfortunately outnumbered, leading Corpse to believe not many of her fans are actually real or as dedicated as his which only fueled his fury further.

Anyway, let’s take a look at Y/N’s point of view. Being a content creator for as long as she has, refusing to change her style no matter how many people disagreed and insulted her about it, she’s grown quite used to people spitting insults at her on every social media possible. It’s sad how throughout the majority of her content creating career she’s only had haters, creeps and fake fans watching her videos and streams. Rare are those in her fandom who’d actually stick up for her and defend her in ‘scandals’ such as this one. However, no amount of experience with dealing with hate could have prepared her for this outpour of some of the meanest shit she’s ever heard and been called in her life.

Y/N likes the content she makes, she’s comfortable in her skin and loves her body. She loves showing it off too and nor she nor anyone who wants that deserves to be shamed for who they are and what they do, especially when they aren’t hurting anyone and their content is still appropriate. People have always bashed her for all elements of who she is: her appearance, her clothing style, her streams, her gaming skills, her voice on occasion. She can count the instances when she’s received positive feedback on the fingers of her hands which would depress anyone else but not her. She’s always created content for her own amusement and entertainment so people’s opinions never really bothered her. Until now, until this very drama that has hit a specific nerve, an insecurity of hers she’s never talked about. The comments such as:

(Vy Speaking: Comments containing slut-shaming ahead, go to ### if you want to skip)

“Corpse would never date a slut like her“

“Corpse dating this thot? Please internet stop being ridiculous“

“Corpse ain’t a pimp, y’all need to chill“

“Even if they datin they gon break up soon - whore stays a whore“

###

bothered her far more than she’d like to admit. She has no one to open up about it either, she knows what she’ll get in response if she does - she’ll be told it’s her fault. Her fault because of the way she dresses, the way she talks and acts, because she chose this career to begin with. All her fault. The only person she can turn to she refuses to because she doesn’t want to be a bother - not after so many people confirmed her worries that she’s not good enough for him already anyway, the least she can do is avoid bothering him the best she can.

And that is exactly why this has upset Corpse so much.

“Here’s a little message specifically meant for those who claimed I’d never date someone like Y/N or specifically Y/N. You better listen carefully: Don’t you ever, and I mean EVER slut-shame my girlfriend or any other person ever. I cannot believe I have to explicitly remind you that your behavior isn’t ok. You should fucking know that your behavior isn’t right and that you’re a massive piece of shit for saying those awful things about others you judge solely on appearance and clothing. Does it surprise you that I am, in fact, dating Y/N? If you say yes for the reason you think she’s not good enough for me or that I deserve better, please get the fuck out of my fandom. No one disrespects my girl and gets away with it. That’s final!“

Though still under the influence of a flurry of negative emotions, overhearing Corpse literally telling people to exclude themselves from his fandom for being mean to her, Y/N’s taking a step towards emotional recovery knowing her boyfriend will always have her back. He’ll always be there to prove people wrong, defend her and stand by her. He’ll be there to catch her when the hate knocks her off her feet.

But most importantly: he’ll never ask her to change. Not her style, not her clothes, not her personality, nothing. He fell for her the way she is and for who she is, and he will never allow anyone to try to change her either. For someone who’s never had much support all her life, a single speck of support overpowers all the hate within the blink of an eye. Corpse will always be her knight in shining armor, the knight who defeated all the hateful demons by just entering her life. And though she’s still struggling with the ‘Am I good enough for someone so wonderful?’ and ‘He deserves better, doesn’t he?’ questions, with his hand holding hers, she’ll never let those doubts and insecurities overpower her.

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[silkenstarlight]

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position. 

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.” 

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.” 

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped. 

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy. 

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

[piratesgiftexchange]

A Piece of Cake (A Cup of Tea)

for @hearti, by @bestie-enthusiast

PROMPT: “Lord Beckett doing something that isn’t work related” WORD COUNT: 824

Notes: I hope I have done justice to what you wanted! It’s pretty angsty but I’m proud of it! Hope you enjoy :)

He was craving tea. It was well beyond the hours that Lord Cutler Beckett should be awake, and he wanted tea. It wasn’t his fault, not really, he had gotten caught up in his work and had asked no one to disturb him. But now it was very late, or very early depending on how you looked at it, and he wanted tea.

Normally, he would not hesitate to ring one of his servants and demand they make him a cup, however he was hosting a party the next day (or later that day) and he would not tolerate any mistakes. This meant he would prefer not to have to wake someone up and have them screw up something the next day. He would have to prepare it himself.

Standing up from his desk, he let out a soft moan as his spine cracked. He rolled his shoulders and straightened up, even in the dead of night he would not be caught vulnerable. As he made his way to the kitchen, he pondered how long it had been since he made his own tea. Even before he had acquired enough fortune to purchase his own servants, he had been respected by his superiors and had been treated to meetings over tea time and lunches sent to his office.

He decidedly did not think about preparing tea for his father, under the watchful eyes (and hands) of his older brothers. Nor did he think about harsh words and hits when he managed to mess something up (he always did).

Blinking as he cleared away the thoughts he did not think, he entered the kitchen. He clenched and unclenched his fists, he was perfectly fine. He rarely visited his own kitchen, and so he allowed himself a moment to stare; he had spared no expense for his entire estate, and the room was no exception. Clean and expensive, it was most certainly fit for a Lord. He did, however, have no idea how it was organized.

He purged his mind of any thoughts as he began methodically searching the room for the necessary items; a kettle, a pot, a cup, a saucer, the tea. He slowly collected the items, mind pleasantly blank as he went through the repetitive motion of searching. Open the drawer or cabinet, look inside, close it, move on.

Eventually, he had gathered up the necessary items, and began boiling the water. He filled the kettle from the tap, humming under his breath as he did so. It was an old tune, one his mother had hummed to him when he was young. It was a sad little tune, but there was pleasantness in it, a certain pride that came from someone who had nothing else to lose. Once he had filled the kettle, he lit the stove top and gently set it on the heating surface.

He had to wait now, waiting was always the worst part. He could recall, for all he tried not to, when the water took a spectacularly long time to boil as a child. He could remember the feeling of his brothers shoving him down, of them yelling at him. He was always doing something wrong.

He was broken out of the memory by a familiar whistle. The water had finished boiling. He pulled it off the stove top and extinguished the fire. He set it aside momentarily as he approached the tea pot. He gently deposited a teaspoon of English Tea into the pot, greedily breathing in the aroma of the tea leaves. What a nostalgic pleasant smell.

Turning back to the boiled water, he carefully poured it into the waiting pot, hissing as a droplet managed to hit his finger. He gently sucked on the offending appendage as he closed the pot, content to let it steep. He poured the remaining water into his waiting cup, delicately balancing the boiled water with one hand as the other was injured.

Now came the waiting again. Seconds passed like minutes as he desperately pushed down the thoughts. It was far too quiet, and dark. Nostalgia is an interesting phenomenon is it not? That one could yearn for a past that was far worse than their present just for memories sake was a horrible notion. It was cruel to make people feel that way.

The tea should be steeped by now, should it not? Yes, it should. He blinked again, pouring the water in the tea cup back into the kettle. He took a deep breath and poured himself a cup of tea, the smell made him want to gag. He took a sip, not caring that it burnt his tongue. It tasted of blood and dirt. He swallowed.

He set the cup down and returned to his study. He had work to do, he had no time to be spending time in the kitchen making his own tea.

He would just wake someone else up next time.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of changes

Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

CW: Dissociation, mentions of rape, violence, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power.

Sometimes you find yourself asking what ifs. What if the Event never happened and you never received the vision? What if Ajax never developed his obsession with you? What if you treated him a little bit warmer? Would he be more tolerable? There are thousands of possible scenarios buzzing in your head, sometimes diverging just by words left unsaid or an outstretched hand being shaked. You know it’s a futile thing, thinking about the future and the present that you will never have, but you can’t stop, thoughts spiraling further and further.

This morning starts with the similar what if. What if I agreed to start again? The brief conversation from yesterday is still on your mind - you dread it’s another of the turning points in your relationship, just like the rejected handshake or the hospitalized recruit were. A moment after which there’ll be changes, changes that you won’t have time to prepare for. Speaking from the experience alone, Childe, like the rotten bastard he is, will act even worse from now on. It all started from teen Ajax following you and offering his friendship at every turn and somehow ended in him personally asking Tsaritsa to assign you to him, reducing you from a highly respectable Fatui agent skilled both in stealth and subterfuge to a glorified escort and a secretary.

One day he’ll just get tired from all of this and will forcefully bend me over in some dark murky corner, you darkly conclude, the remnants of the sleep leaving your body entirely at the grim thought. Or maybe he will break his promise not to cheat and will order me to do it.

Unwilling to think about the Ninth Wave of your unwanted relationships, you quickly stand up from the bed and start preparing for the day. Dressing and freshening up from the sleep you still mentally return to the darker place, cautious of what Tartaglia will pull out this time. Finally, you exit the door fully ready and lock the room, hiding the key under the clothes after, and make way to the fourth floor of the bank.

Here lies Childe’s working space and personal quarters , and if the former can be easily seen and entered just by walking up the stairs, the latter is hidden from view by the wall and massive door. There is a wide work desk and two armchairs placed too close for your comfort. You peek into the interior window, only to find it veiled by a thick curtain from the other side, so you decide to broaden the space between the chairs.

Satisfied with distance now, you sit at your place, taking a sheet out of the pile of documents, mostly consisting of reports of credits approved and money returned, unusually mundane yet highly classified information. Aside from accompanying Childe when he needs to beat and threaten the debts out of deadbeats, you also have to track the transactions the bank makes, a routine job consuming most of your daytime.

At the sixth or seventh fiscal account, you hear door opening and mentally brace for Ajax’s presence. Harbinger doesn’t smile, looking serious instead. You hope it has nothing to do with you, as it’s too early in the day for you to already deal with his usual mess.

“[First]”, you look up, staring at the bizarrely humorless Ajax looming over your sitting form. He clears his throat, as if he feels awkward right now, “Are you sure you won’t have one of your episodes?”

Your mind blanks for a second and then there’s a mix of shame and anger flooding your being and making you see red. Over the last months you spent working with him, he was the sole trigger of your affliction and now there are considerable gaps in your memory, in which you have absolutely no clue what happened to you. You had an inkling that Childe is aware that you are not always completely here, but a slap in the face with such casual mention is enough to render you wordless for a good minute.

“I... It happens only under certain circumstances”, you find your voice wavering and his face darkens, as he quickly catches unsaid ‘because of you’. Fortunately, he decides not to press it.

“There’s a problem at hands, one that needs your skills". These words make you do a double take - Ajax doesn't look like he's lying, speech lacking usual grandiose and bravado, yet you still can't believe he lets you return to your former work. You make a quick guess.

“Qixing?”

“Qixing” he nods,"their spies must have learned something about the sigils. It's a minor issue now, but if Tianquan or Yuheng will learn about it…"

"A diplomatic disaster and a permanent loss of Geo Archon's gnosis" you continue for him, “Fatui would be banned or seriously limited in Liyue and most of trade routes will be cut off, Ningguang can easily press sanctions against most of Snezhnayan import”. You frown at the thought, no matter what Fatui would do in such situations there's too much to lose and almost nothing to gain, even if you start destroying the investigation and replication of sigils right now, it will be a waste of possible weapons against Rex Lapis.

Then, there's one painless exit from the complicated mess: destruction of all meager material evidence and clues they somehow scraped together. Despite finally having a glimpse of a freedom, you don’t feel any excitement, but doubt instead - just a year ago, such operation would be another routine task for you, but now, having wasted months because of Childe's possessiveness, you can't help but feel incompetent.

You contemplate, glancing at him: on one hand, Tartaglia can easily send any other agents, but on the other hand, none of said agents possess a vision, a vision that you specifically molded to be a perfect tool for stealth and assassinations. He tilts his head, a hand impatiently drumming against the desk, waiting for your answer - you can infer his inner monologue - Tartaglia, just like you, is torn between his loyalty to Tsaritsa and his own feelings on the matter and this is what finally cements your decision.

You can almost see how much he itches to forbid you from taking the mission, but stops himself out of his sense of duty to Snezhnaya, and this knowledge fills you with darker type of satisfaction to the very brim: You lean back, pretending to still ponder over his words, enjoying the view of apprehensive Childe for once.

“I think, I can’t...” you start, your voice deliberately small and hesitant, watching how Ajax smiles again, convinced that you no longer have any confidence in your abilities, “let Snezhnaya be compromised in any way”.

He doesn’t let any of the anger and frustration show on his face, yet the drumming ceases, leaving you two in the silence, save for the sounds of the street coming out of the window.

You know you’re poking at the sleeping tiger, letting a childish impulses to guide your words, but the opportunity to upset Harbinger are much harder to come by these days: he took away your job, your delusion and your freedom, the least he can do to compensate is suffer in return.

“Alright”, he finally says and fails to hold back disappointed sigh “agent [Last]. Your delusion is in Ekaterina’s possession, just as the rest of the equipment. You will start tonight, information is in the upper left drawer. You have no right to fail, if you do I will write a complaint to Tsaritsa against you and personally oversee that you will be discharged”.

It’s a gambling game then, and terribly unfair at that - even if you win it won’t set you free or relocate under someone easier to handle and Tartaglia loses virtually nothing by allowing you to roam out of his sight for one night only, and by failing you will literally had your life into Childe’s eager hands.

You won’t let the bastard triumph.

***

After getting your gear and delusion back, you spend the rest of the day reading the data and mentally preparing for what is about to come. The qixing base you're to infiltrate is located awfully near the current place of sigil research, as if Ningguang or whoever planted it here already suspected Fatui from the start. The base itself is disguised as an ancient Liyuen ruin with a couple of deactivated ruin hunters placed nearby to scare off the adventurers who no doubt will try to explore it.

You are almost panting when you finally reach it - turns out that despite being easily visible from afar, the base is surrounded by the tall and steep cliffs from all sides, with the only passage bound to be guarded. Invoking to the power of your vision, you effortlessly become invisible to the eye, enter the building and almost rush back the same second - there’s a millelith passing nearby in whom you almost bumped in.

Heart racing you enter the building again, walking on half bent legs to minimize the sounds, and avoid milleliths on your way. They feel a sudden rush of frosty air, but seeing no one nearby, just write it off as a sudden midnight chill. You continue to make your way, peeking into each room, forcing yourself to remain in this form longer and longer, body aching and freezing from the overuse. Finally you see it - a stack of documents placed on the bamboo table near the oil lamp in a conveniently empty room.

Your hand is already extended to push the lamp and fake an accidental fire, when you decide to investigate the papers - it’s better to learn what qixing already knows. Your eyes quickly peruse a liyuen script, characters upon other characters - a report about suspicious activities, a detailed intelligence of Northland’s spendings and thankfully, not a word of sigils, except the note stating that Fatuis are buying a considerable amount of paper and ink.

Having memorized each of the documents, you throw the lamp now, a flame quickly spreading to the documents and soon consuming a whole table. Someone in the corridor screams about fire, four milleliths rushing in the room and you use this distraction to sneak out. Having escaped the borders of the faux ruin you quickly run, still maintaining invisibility, and only when you reach the cliffs again do you allow yourself to rest.

After climbing over the rocks, the rest of the trail is spent between jogging and walking, frost from the vision still residing inside. Bitter chill slows down your movements and you can’t help, but shiver from time to time, arms and legs aching and burning from it. You eye the pyro delusion and consider using it - unlike a cryo vision that you sculpted for secrecy and agility, the delusion is more battle-focused, able to produce quick bursts of fire in the rare occasions you get into a brawl.

Suddenly, a ball of flames explodes near you - a whopperflower bursts out of the ground, sensing you in proximity. You dodge another fireball, instinctively flinching at the sudden flash of light and send an ice blade it's way. It slightly grazes the creature's skin, yet a mimetic plant rushes back under the ground as you summon another icicle and swiftly stab it in the "head" the second it emerges again.

The plant dies in convulsion, it’s reddish walls contracting around the blade, a fast stream of boiling hot energy nectar shooting from the wound the moment you pull away the weapon. You curse, as some of the liquid hits you on the leg, burning a part of your pants and scorching the flesh underneath. Hissing and gritting teeth, you use your vision again, now to soothe a throbbing pain.

Well, at least I am not freezing anymore.

You return at the first rays of dawn, dull pain still lingering in the lower body, pulsating and echoing every step. Slightly drowsy Nadia at the entrance nods at you, her gaze at your wound obvious even with a mask on, and you nod back, a wordless exchange providing a slight reprieve, before you have to deal with Childe again.

“Hard day?”, she asks right before you enter, a pale shadow of concern in her voice. You frown, confused by the sudden disquiet.

“Something happened?”

“Uhm”, a small pause, “the boss. He was restless tonight, very restless”.

Ah, shit.

“Well, that is unpleasant” you deadpan, any remaining desire to go inside the bank vanishing the same second: “Thank you anyways” and then you step in.

Harbinger waits right there in an absolutely empty lobby - it seems that Ekaterina’s shift hasn't started yet. He’s leaning on the wall, head turning to you as you enter and immediately noticing the state of your leg. His expression grows darker, when you thought he would lighten up at your perceived failure instead.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, hints of steel appearing in his voice. You lift your eyebrows - no teasing, starters or bravado. Maybe he's so impatient to hear about your failure that he forgot to keep up the act?

You swat away his question, deciding to report on your mission instead - documents were destroyed by a set up accident, none of the qixing and milleliths saw you; he doesn’t seem to listen though, eyes still glued to the burn and then he repeats his question, voice taking the dangerous tone.

“No one, no one did it. It was an accident on the way back”, he isn’t convinced judging by the way he grabs your arm, his monstrous strength evident in the steel trap grip. “Damn” you cuss, trying to free your hand - if Tartaglia learns that you let the whopperflower of all things injure you, he won’t let you live it down and will weaponise it, to point out your so-called incompetence over and over again.

“Let me go” you tug harder, a vision coming back to life from the distress. You pull away your wrist from him again and again and then you hear it first and feel it second - a small cracking sound and a sharp pain, shooting up your arm - you broke a bone. It’s too sudden for you to realize what happened or even properly sense the shock of ache.

He lets go of you in the same second, eyes looking blankly at the injured hand. His lips thin and he exhales, in a long and strangely controlled manner - seeing Childe act and look so emotionless is sure bizarre. He hauls you up bridal carry style, ripping out a low hiss of pain as his clothes rub against the burn, and directs himself to the stairs. You're too busy gritting your teeth and trying not to cry in front of Childe to notice him climbing past the third floor and only when he opens the door to his room with a kick do you finally snap back to reality.

Despite working for him for months now, you enter his quarters for the first time. It's a spacious place, with a wide bed and writing desk located near the window. There are different weapons decorating the walls - swords, claymores, spears - all with the traces of use, and a small pile of trinkets and children's toys on the desk, placed right near the started letter, some of them already half wrapped - must be a gift for someone, then.

He sets you down on the bed and turns to the wall, taking a dagger from its place and some small container. A part of you gets scared all of the sudden - you remember your morning thoughts and all those instances when his eyes focused on your body for far too long to be innocent or comfortable. Is this it? Did he get so fed up with you that he decided to drop any pretense and abandon the cat-and-mouse game you two seemed to have?

Ignoring the pain in both limbs you jolt for the exit - there’s no meaning in fighting him, yet you can still flee, lock in your room and then plan what to do. “Stop it” he says, a warning clear in his voice, and to your frustration it’s enough to glue you in place. You look at him, heart booming in your chest, barely suppressing a flinch at every step he’s taking. He leads you back to the bed, as you feel the world warping around you again and the worst part is that you can’t stop it - It’s unfair, I can’t leave, not yet, I will hate myself for the rest of my life if it happens.

He kneels down, blade slicing through the pants as you forget how to breath. His figure deforms, a dark blue sea leaking out of the dead fish eyes and you see great leviathans lurking underneath the surface. Childe is the ocean, in a sense that he contains horrors beyond the human imagination. He is the great sleeping kraken that will swallow the world and you are his first victim.

His hand takes something out of the container and you expect it to burn and to hurt you, but instead there’s a muffled soothing feeling that comes, an unintentional “ah” coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t force himself and patches you up on the contrary.

You come back to yourself little by little, when he almost finishes with ministrations, leg and wrist looking like two casts. It feels bizarre to come back to your body halfway, to see Ajax kneeling in front of you, head hung low and it’s even weirder to hear his voice, hurt and utterly defeated: “So that’s what you think of me”.

He helps you come back to your room, as you still feel dazed. You pinch yourself a couple of times, still unable to believe that any of these happenings are real, they are.

A turning point, you conclude, there’s no way anything will stay the same after this.

You both dread and anticipate the changes.

[ghirahimbo]

"Why me?" + revalink if it sounds good 💙💚

Ha ha, I was torn between angst and humor with this one, but I ended up with something on the lighter side :) Possible pre-relationship Revali/Link, though still firmly entrenched in the rivalry portion of rivals-to-lovers. Set early in the Age of Calamity timeline, just to switch things up. Thanks for the prompt!

—

Why me? Link thought but didn’t say, nodding instead with blank-faced consent.

"Why me?" Revali demanded, loud and incredulous—though he modified his tone quickly enough, clearing his throat. "Forgive me, princess, but… your little knight might have all the time in the world for such tasks, but isn't my time better spent here, with Medoh?" He tossed his braids haughtily, green eyes flicking towards Link as if to gauge his reaction. Link took maybe a bit too much pleasure in not giving him one. "When Calamity Ganon returns, we need to be—"

"If the Calamity comes tomorrow, we'll have worse things to worry about than your training," Impa interrupted dryly from the princess's side, and Revali spared some of his glare for her. Zelda’s little, egg-shaped guardian pitched in with a sliding beep, and was easily enveloped in his sharp-eyed animosity. "If the little one is right, we still have weeks to prepare, and plenty of problems to take care of in the meantime. There's work to be done all over the place, but we're all pitching in where we can."

"If the road between Tabantha and Rito Village remains overrun with monsters, then the merchants will refuse to travel it," Zelda added, and Link noticed with some satisfaction that Revali didn't quite dare to spread that glare of his to the princess. "Your village would bear the brunt of that, Revali. Surely as a Rito Warrior, your priorities lie in protecting your village?"

"I—of course they do!" Revali flailed a bit in search of a retort. "Of course! This is of utmost importance to Rito Village, so—so there's no reason for Link to be involved at all!" He pointed a large, accusatory finger at Link as if he'd begged for the opportunity to come along. "Let me go and clear the path myself, your highness. Why waste both of us on something that I alone can manage easily?"

"I'd assumed it was because of all of Link’s spare time," Impa murmured.

"I'd rather have you go together," Zelda said with what Link saw as impressive patience, though her foot did start to tap. "I imagine your strengths should complement each other quite well, actually. Hyrule can hardly afford to lose any able soldier so close to Calamity Ganon’s awakening, much less a Champion, and I’d like the two of you working together to watch each other’s backs.”

Again, Revali’s eyes flashed towards Link, and Link had the sinking feeling that if anything, he’d be looking over his own shoulder more carefully with Revali around. If they’d all gotten off on the wrong foot when the Rito had mistaken Link and Impa for a raiding party, then Revali still seemed in no hurry to get them back on the right one.

“But—your safety!” he said instead, taking a new approach. “If this boy is the knight chosen to protect you, then shouldn’t he be here to do his job? Hyrule can’t afford to lose you, either.”

“I have Impa with me for that—and you, of course,” she added fondly as her little guardian gave an indignant sort of trill. “I assure you, I’ll be quite safe while he’s gone.”

“But—”

“Enough, Revali. I said enough!” Her voice sharpened as Revali tried yet again to protest, and Link almost had to admire his commitment to a losing battle. “If there is one thing Hyrule absolutely cannot afford, it is facing the Calamity with such—such division! Only by presenting a unified front do we have any hope for survival. Do I make myself clear?”

Her admonishing glare took in both Link and Revali, and Link straightened guiltily. This wasn’t his fault, and he’d stand by that, but… maybe he could do less to egg Revali on.

“Crystal, your highness,” Revali said, his feathered crest sticking up stiffly, and Zelda relaxed.

“Perhaps you could use this as an opportunity to come to an understanding together,” she suggested more lightly, though with a look in her eyes that said she expected no less. “I don’t suppose I'll see you return as best friends, of course, but… some tolerance for each other might be nice.”

“It would be, wouldn't it?” Impa muttered under her breath, still giving Revali a skeptical look, and it occurred to Link that maybe the Rito Champion wasn't the only one holding a grudge. "You do have a gift for optimism, princess."

The two of them left together, Impa accompanying the princess as she immersed herself again in her Sheikah Slate without so much as an apologetic glance at Link for sentencing him to such a task. With a series of reproachful beeps for Link and Revali, the egg-shaped guardian followed after, and they were left alone.

Uncertainly, Link turned towards Revali with a vague sort of gesture that welcomed him to take the lead. Despite his apprehension, Link allowed himself a brief moment of hope. Maybe they could reach some sort of understanding by working together. Maybe—

“Don’t get in my way, little knight,” Revali snapped, launching himself into the air with a gust of wind that nearly knocked Link off his feet, and Link regained his balance with a bit-back sigh. Then again, maybe not.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

The Reunion - Part 2

Summary: We meet up with our crew after they have left Barab and after Friday’s episode of the Bad Batch getting their chips removed. Hunter x Reader. Echo x Reader.

A/N: Italics - Past conversations

The quotes Crosshair says during his nightmares are directly from the Bad Batch episodes.  All rights for those quotes, belong directly to the geniuses working on the Bad Batch TV show at Disney.  

Warnings: Slight mention of a beating, nothing described.  Medical procedures.

If I miss a warning, just let me know.

Words: 4,608

AO3 Link

Drop some love, a comment or a reblog, it’s all appreciated.  If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Previous -> Masterlist -> Next

“We don’t usually work with regs”

“Grow up, Wrecker”

“If your plans are so good, why did Commander Cody have to call us in?”

“An order is an order”

“Since when?”

“Good soldiers follow orders”

“He had us disobeying orders”

“I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem”

“Disobeying orders again over a kid?”

“You’re becoming a liability”

“You disobeyed orders”

“I did what I thought was right”

“You should have killed that Jedi, you disobeyed orders.”

“You never could see the bigger picture.  Now surrender.”

“Best stand down sergeant, make it easier on yourself.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Your move”

“Bad play, Hunter”

“You want to know why they put me in charge? It’s because I’m willing to do what needs to be done.”

“What seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” Lama Su asked Nala Se

The two Kaminoans looked on behind the one way mirror, “medic, what seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” asked Nala Se.

I looked towards the mirrored glass, “he’s having a nightmare”, I glanced from the mirror to Crosshair that laid on the med bed before me.  The Kaminoans wanted his inhibitor chip to be constantly activated and operating at peak efficiency; if they lost him, they would lose the backing of Admiral Tarkin, something they couldn’t have.  

How I wished Hunter was here?  How I wished I got to the ship in time?  I wished for a lot of things, mostly I wished that Crosshair’s chip hadn’t been activated, and that as the medic for Clone Force 99, I wasn’t the one in charge of keeping his chip activated.  Every time he laid down on that med bed, a little bit of me died.  I had to do this to my friend, my family, Hunter’s brother.  I tried at first to say that the chip was damaged, it wouldn’t activate, but they quickly dealt with my deception, in the form of a beating from two of the Clones who had taken me under their wing.  The beating from the two had knocked me out, when I came to Bad Batch was gone, Omega, my little helper, was gone, and Crosshair had tried to kill his own brothers.  

What’s worse is that Crosshair looked for every opportunity to wound me with his words, he wasn’t my Crosshair, he wasn’t the man I had grown to know and love as a brother.

‘Must be miserable to know you fell in love with a traitor.’

‘How does it feel knowing they left you?’

‘Only the Empire can provide what you need’

‘Join them and die’

“He seems to be having a particularly disturbing dream, he keeps thrashing” that voice, oh I hated that voice, it was responsible for the so called War Mantle project, Vice Admiral Rampart.  How I wish he could be the one on this bed before me, so I could make him suffer, the way he’s making Crosshair suffer.

“Indeed” oh there’s that other voice, Admiral Tarkin.  I loathed both men, and would be happy to see both die a very slow painful death.

“I do not believe we should continue for much longer, the procedure could cause irreparable damage”, I suggested.  I’m sorry Crosshair, I hope you can hear me.  I’m so sorry.  

“Very well” Admiral Tarkin’s voice filled the room, I could almost feel his breath on my skin.  It was revolting.  

“End the procedure, medic Kambe”

“Yes, Prime Minister”

I turned off the machine and watched as Crosshair's tortured face relaxed.  I moved beside him, and disconnected him from the machine, he was still unconscious, at this moment and I could pretend he was still my family, he was still the same Crosshair.  The one who taught me to shoot a target five klicks out.  The one who would tease Hunter and me, when we would go out on a date.  The one who said he always wanted a sister, and was happy I was his.  I discreetly held his hand, rubbing circles with my thumb on the back of his hand.  I’m sorry Crosshair.  I’m so sorry Cross.  

- - - - - - - -

“That medic seems very attached to CT-9904” Admiral Tarkin noticed

“Yes, she was the medic for Clone Force 99.  She got to know them very well and went on several missions with them.”

“Interesting.  She may prove useful.”

“How do you mean Admiral?” Asked Vice Admiral Rampart

“She may know something the clone doesn’t, or she could be used as bait, to bring in the others”

“Admiral, I must protest” Nala Se interjected, “she, unlike the clones, is not Empire property, she is hired by the Kaminoan facility, and works directly for us.”

“And yet, she gets paid via the Empire, does she not?  Or do you pay her directly, Prime Minister?”

“Uh … I would have to check our records, Admiral Tarkin”

“Don’t bother, I have checked already.  She gets paid by the Empire.  She used to receive funds from the Republic, and has subsequently received funds from the Empire, therefore she is a servant and employed by the Empire.  As such, we have the right to do as we wish with our workers.”

“Admiral, I would be more than happy to take over … keeping an eye on the medic” offered Vice Admiral Rampart.

“That is not necessary, it seems we have the best thing to keep an eye on her already” he motioned towards the unconscious clone.  

- - - - - - - - -

Although, I couldn’t hear what was being said behind the glass, I could sense eyes on me.  I grabbed a data pad and pretended to check Crosshair's vitals. If they were going to stay there watching me, then they wouldn’t get anything except a medic doing her job.   There had to be a way to get the chip out of his head, someway to go under the radar.  If Cross was back to normal then he and I would be able to get off of Kamino and find the boys.

I heard the door slide open behind me, “Medic Kambe”, I turned to face Nala Se, she was the only Kaminoan that I could somewhat tolerate, although in the end she was the biggest problem of all, as the Chief Medical Scientist, if it wasn’t for her, so many soldiers wouldn’t have been killed and treated less than they deserved.

“Yes, Nala Se?”

“You can move clone CT-9904 to the recovery room”

“Yes, Nala Se”

She stepped closer to me, it was odd and threw me off.  She disliked me more than anyone else, simply for making the clones feel like people and not property, it was one of the reasons I was assigned to an actual team, rather than the Kaminoan facility in general.  “You need to be careful,” she said in a lowered voice.

I kept busy preparing Cross for transport, “what do you mean?” I asked in a similar whisper, “they’re watching you, they want to use you to bring back Clone Force 99 and Omega.  We can’t have her land in the hands of the Empire.”

“I understand”

“Please be quick about transporting the clone, Admiral Tarkin wishes to see what effect the new enhancement has on CT-9904” she said in a louder voice.

“He has a name”

“He is a clone.  Clone CT-9904.”

“His name is Crosshair!”

“Medic Kambe! One more outburst and I’ll have you restricted to your quarters and brought up on charges of treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes”

“Good” without further word she stepped out of the room, maker I hated her.  I really did.

I looked at Cross one more time, he had a slight scarring from where the machine had performed it’s procedure. My only hope would be to perform surgery at night, or maybe if I was able to go on a mission with Cross again, distract him, get him isolated, and perform the surgery.   We both needed to get out of here, and soon.

- - - - - - -

“I don’t know if the plan will work” Fives offered

“Oh I’m sorry, do you have something better, vod?”

“Listen Phoenix Ghost, we are not judging you, it just seems risky” offered Hunter

“Well, what do you want to do?”  I asked, Rex had just left after we were able to get the chips out of the remaining Bad Batch, the idea was to take the med pod with us, or at the very least take it and hide it on a planet that we could bring Crosshair to.

“Why can’t we just use the method you did before, with the other clones?”

“That would require us going to a safe clone planet, the nearest one has over 500 of your brothers, inhabiting it.  I would gladly take you there, if the Empire thought you were dead.  However, as of right now, the risk is too great that someone would follow you, or someone spot your ship and decide to report you to the Empire simply for credits.  I’m sorry but I’m not putting your brothers at risk.  Either we find a way to bring Crosshair here, or find a way to bring the med pod to Crosshair.”

“Cyar’ika, it’s okay.  We trust you”

“Really, cause if you trusted me, you wouldn’t be questioning the plan right now”

“It’s just dangerous” Tech tried to reassure me.

I couldn’t help the glare that had appeared on my face, “seriously Tech? That’s your pathetic platitude, that it’s just dangerous.  Everything we’ve ever done, from the moment we either joined or were sold to the GAR has been a life filled with danger.  I personally have a scar on almost every quadrant of my body from one injury or another.”

They all looked to Echo, who simply nodded.  Oh that was it, “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I WOULD LIE ABOUT THAT?!!!”

“No, of course not” Hunter tried to calm me down, but the anger within was growing from their… I guess lack of trust.  

“Cyar’ika”

“Don’t Echo! Don’t Cyar’ika me!”

Echo let out a frustrated breath, being back with Echo was amazing, it’s like we hadn’t missed a beat, all those years being apart had evaporated within a matter of minutes.  

“Fine, ner riduur”

Ugh! Why did he have to tug that cord? All the anger I had a second ago washed away at remembering that we had indeed gotten married, I  dropped my shoulders and my head to my chest.  As soon as we were off Barab, we had found a place to lay low for a few weeks.  Echo didn’t want to waste anymore time and proposed, I didn’t want to waste any time either and said yes.  We both had wasted too many years apart, to waste another second not being with each other, was downright idiotic.

Fives had been his best man, Omega was my flower girl, Hunter walked me down the aisle, Tech officiated and Wrecker stood in as my man of honour.  Rex had come to wish us well, after the ceremony, he pulled me aside and gave me a big bear hug, “I’m happy for you ad’ika.  I wish you nothing but happiness.”

The words were there, but the warmth in the eyes weren’t, “I’m sorry Rex.  I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He didn’t let me finish, “nothin’ to be sorry about, little one.  You followed your heart to the man you love.  It’s the heart I fell in love with, so how can I be upset about that” his warmth finally reached his eyes, we hugged one more time, “thank you, Rex.  I love you, vod”

“Love you too, vod’ika”

“Alright, let’s come up with another plan than” I offered calmer, I looked over at Echo, and smirked.

“How do you do that?” Whispered Wrecker

“It’s my gift” Echo chuckled, I simply shook my head, “what if we make a medical droid?” Asked Omega

“It is possible” Tech advised

“We are at the scrap yard so we could find the parts we need, it won’t be pretty, but it’ll get the job done” I added, Tech and I sat down to work out a plan and design for the medical droid.

“While we are doing this, maybe the five of you could try to find an actual droid, maybe if there is an actual medical droid, we won’t have to make one” suggested Tech.

“Fine, we know when we’re not wanted,” Fives teased.

“Hey Omega”, I called, she turned towards me, “good suggestion” I winked at her.  She ran over and hugged me, “thanks mo…I mean, thank you Phoenix Ghost”, I returned the hug and looked at Hunter, he had a smirk on his face, “hun, I think your dad’s waiting for you”.  Hunter shot me a look, I couldn’t help but smile back, at the end of the day we were all co-parenting, so what was one or two more parents, uncles, or aunts.  Whatever way she looked at us, we were family.

- - - - - - - - -

“How does it feel, vod?” Fives asked Echo

“How does what, feel?”

“Being married to the love of your life?” He elbowed Echo

Echo couldn’t help the blush that appeared on his face, “like I’m living a dream that I never want to wake up from”.

“Awww, that’s so sweet” shouted Wrecker

“Alright you guys focus, Omega and I will go done here" Hunter motioned to the corridor to his left, "Wrecker, go with Fives and Echo” as Hunter motioned to the corridor on his right.

“Copy that” Fives answered.

Hunter and Omega headed down what looked like a medical hallway, there were all kinds of beds, against the wall, “Hunter?”

“Yes, Omega”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

“Like Phoenix and Echo?”

Hunter didn’t answer for a minute, Omega could see something was bothering him, “I”m sorry, should I not have asked?”

“It’s okay, kid.  No, I’m not married.”

“But there was someone?”

“Yes”

“Medic Kambe?”

Hunter stopped and looked at Omega, “how do you know that?”

“I trained under her as a medical assistant, she always used to mention Clone Force 99”

“That’s how you learned all about us”

Omega nodded, “she treated me like I was …”

“Like you were a person”

Omega nodded, “that’s how she treated us too.”  Hunter continued examining the rooms, and realized more than likely his love had seen what was happening to Omega and how she was treated.  He could see his tiny love stepping up to protect Omega.  Knowing her, she probably even had to fight to be Omega’s trainer.

“Do you think we’ll see her again?”

“I don’t know, kid.  I hope so, I really do.”

“Why didn’t she come with us?”

Hunter let out a sigh, “I don’t know, but something must have happened, otherwise she would have been waiting for us in the hangar.”

“I hope if we do find her, you two get married”

“Really?”

“Yes, she makes you happy.  You clearly make her happy.  She always had a smile on her face when she spoke of you, she kept her biggest smile when she mentioned you specifically.”

Hunter smiled at that, hopefully soon enough, he’ll have his brother back, and his love in his arms.  

- - - - - - -

“Any luck?”

“There’s no such thing as luck” chuckled Fives

“What are you? Obi-wan?” I asked

“Hey how do you think I got so good with the ladies?  I learned from the best” he laughed.

“Fives, you were good with the ladies, because they took pity on you.  Not because you had any of the charm, Obi-wan had.”

“How do you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo.

“Hmm… what, my love?”

“We will discuss this later”

“Whatever you say, ner cyare”

“Oh don’t try and placate me with sweet sayings”

“As fun as it is to be in the middle of what’s probably your first argument” Tech interrupted, “did you find a medical droid?”

“I did!” Shouted Wrecker

“Good.  By the way", Tech directed towards Echo and I, "I would like to see how an argument between married couples proceeds, it would be interesting to learn and see first hand” inquired Tech.

“Yeah, not gonna happen” I said, “let’s get this droid adjusted. Faster we get this thing on the ship, the faster we get out of here, and the faster we can get to Crosshair.”

“I think I have an idea about how to get Crosshair out in the open,” Hunter offered.

“How?” Asked Wrecker

“I’ll tell you guys when we’re back on the ship”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“That’s a bold plan” Fives commented

“But it has the potential for working” I appeased

“How do we know we can trust her?” Tech questioned, “how do we know she didn’t wilfully not show up? Had a change of heart?”

“Come on Tech, you know her.  She loves us.” Hunter looked to the ground before continuing, “she loves me, she would never … She was detained.  I know it.  Something prevented her from meeting us in that hangar.”

“Okay, so you want to send a message that will undoubtedly put her in danger, either on the mission, or before the mission, and definitely after the mission.  Basically, you are okay painting a giant target on her back, Hunter?  Cause that’s what you’re doing by sending that message.”

“I know Phoenix, but it’s the only thing I can think of to do.”

“Then I’ll help to try and limit the damage.  First things first, we are going to need to split up, find a planet to draw their attention to, hopefully one that’s uninhabitable.”

“With lots of ground coverage” offered Wrecker

“No high ground” suggested Tech

“With lots of animals” said Fives, we all turned to look at him, “what? If he can get distracted that gives us an advantage, I’m not crazy”, we all nodded along.  “He does have a point” chimed in Echo.

“What about Felucia?” Hunter suggested

“It’s not inhabitable.  I actually think I have a place.” I offered

“Where?” They all asked at once.

“I can’t say.”

“Well if you can’t say, how can we use it then?” Fives asked

“Because I have to ask permission to go there, it could put someone in danger, and that could be worse then …”

“Then having the Empire after us right now?” Wrecker inquired.

“Yes, actually.  They’re very dear and special to me, I need to …sorry guys, I’m gonna have to take over the bunk for now.”

“Oh” said Echo

“Oh” I nodded.

“Oh what?” Hunter asked

“Ohhh!” Clued in Fives adding, “I thought he was dead.

“About as dead as you and I are”

“What are we talking about?” Wrecker asked Tech

“I don’t know” Tech answered shrugging his shoulders.

“Sorry guys, I can’t say more, or talk more about it.  Like I said, I need the bunk, no one come in until I emerge.  It could be several hours, I suggest we stay in hyperspace as much as possible.”

“What’s going on?” Omega asked as she stepped out of her room.

“Sorry guys, but we can’t talk about it” Fives answered, “just trust us, when we say she needs to do this, and you really can’t disturb her, she needs the quiet.”

- - - - - - - - -

It had been a while since I sat here meditating, trying to connect with my older teacher.  I had been a force-sensitive child, and was about to take the Jedi trials, to be ordained as a Jedi Knight, but the anger within me had proved to be too volatile, with the war in effect.  It was important to not let those who could be in situations where the constant fighting, the constant bloodshed and the insurmountable injustice would be present all the time.  It could lead one to use the force in an unnatural way, causing one to take actions into your own hands.

I closed my eyes, and focused on the force, being one with the force was always easy for me, which was why the Council was concerned when they felt my anger.

“Little one, hmmm? Yes, hmmm”

“Hello Master Yoda”

“Why reach out through the force did you, hmm? Alright are you, hmmm?”

“I seek advice, Master, the advice is not for me, I’m alright, but it is to save two innocents.”

“To save a clone called Crosshair you wish, and medic called Kambe.  Innocent, Kambe is.  However, shed innocent blood, Crosshair has.”

“It’s not his fault, Master, it’s his chip.  If we remove the chip, he’ll be back to his old self.”

“Possible, removing stone from a puddle is, damage the stone caused when thrown in is permanent.  Back, what makes you think the Crosshair you once knew would come, hmm? Hmmmm.”

“Because it happened to one of the clones I am travelling with.  His chip activated, and he tried to kill Omega, the little clone girl, once his chip was removed he went back to normal, although he remembered the incident.”

“Wrecker activated for, how long was, hmm?”

“Not long, maybe about 20 to 30 minutes.”

“Crosshair been activated, how long has, hmm?”

“Since the start of the Empire”

“Over time weeds grow over stone, in the puddle, that is.  When you pull out stone, pull out weeds too.  The damage caused, irreversible, could be.  Prepared to face that consequence are you, hmm? Hmmm?”

“At least he would be free.”

“Of clone life free from, hmm? No.  Free from the Empire, hmm? No.  His other self free from, hmm? Possibly.  Plague his mind constantly, the nightmares of what he has done will.  Carry, can you soothe the pain his soul will, hmm?  If this chip you free him from, have to help carry his burden, you will.  Ready for that are you, hmm?”

“Yes”

“Then I offer, what advice can hmm? Yes, hmmm”

“We need a planet that is shrouded in darkness, with no major high ground, lots of foliage and animals”

“You use Dagobah to draw him out want to, hmm?”

“With your permission, Master, yes.  But if you feel it is too big of a threat, maybe you can recommend another planet, one that can wreak havoc on a sniper.”

“My permission, you have.  I will give you coordinates that will put any in danger not, and your purposes that will serve.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Your anger and your fear I no longer sense.  Changed, what has, young one, hmm?”

“Ever since my ‘death’, I no longer lived for myself but for others.  With the help of others and my skills we were able to save 2500 soldiers.  Brave men, each one.”

“That is all not. Herh herh herh”.

“No, Master.  Ha, never could hide anything from you.  I married the love of my life, Echo”

“Happy for you little one I am.  Continue learning from the force.  Serve you in the future, it will.  To the dark side within you I no longer sense the temptation.  However, to say goodbye to the man you love, be prepared, when the time comes, or to the dark side again find yourself on the path.

“Yes, Master.  Thank you.”

“With you may the force be.  Hmmmm”

“And with you, Master.”

- - - - - - - - -

“How long does this usually take?” Hunter asked Echo

“Once it took her - - - what was it? Fives, 12 hours?”

“I thought it was longer, closer to 15 or 16”

“It depends”

“On what?” Asked Tech

“On how easily I can connect to the force”, I answered.  They all turned to see me emerge from the bunk room, “how long was I in there for?”

“About 8 hours,” Echo answered.

“Do we have a plan?”

“We do, Hunter” I smiled, not only did we have a plan, but I had the privilege to continue learning about the Force, who knows what will happen in the future, but as of right now I was very hopeful.

“So where are we going?” Asked Omega

“Dagobah, we’re going to Dagobah, but first I need to eat, secondly there are a few things we need to discuss and thirdly, only three or four of us should go, the others should keep Omega safe.”

“I feel like there’s going to be a whole Jedi sort feel to this story” Fives laughed

“Well not completely, but you’re not wrong either” I laughed along with him.

“Does that mean, you’re going to tell me how you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo

“You’re never going to leave that alone, are you?” Hunter and Tech got up and headed for the cockpit, Omega headed for her room, Fives and Wrecker headed for the bunk room, leaving Echo and I alone.

“Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do I need to tell you about something that is so trifling, and doesn’t matter in our current predicament?”

“Because I need to know”

“You don’t need to know, what you want to know is if I personally experienced his charms, isn’t that true?”

“I … how … that’s …” Echo rubbed the back of his neck after his failure to start his sentence, “that’s not what I want to know.”

“Then why do you keep asking that question”

“I just didn’t think that Jedis, you know”

I just looked at him, “Echo, I married you.  I was learning to become a Jedi, remember?”

“Yeah, but I just didn’t think you were with anyone before me, I thought we had that in common”, that’s what he wanted to know! Man, why was he beating around the bush?

“Echo, my love” I kneeled before, cradling his face with one hand, holding his right hand with my left, “I love you.  Obi-wan is just a horrible flirt.  I was never interested in him.  I wasn’t interested in anyone other than you.  You have been and always will be the love of my life.  No one can compare to you.  They can’t hold a candle to your bravery, your courage, your kindness, your sweetness, the way you care for me, the way you look after your brothers, the way you look after Omega.  You are the best man I have ever known.  No one will ever change my opinion about that.  I love you and only you, and I have never been with anyone other than you.”

Echo looked into my eyes, leaned forward and kissed me, with all the passion he could muster.  “I really wish we had our own room, and our own ship, right now.”

I laughed out loud, “well let’s get to a safe haven where we can pick up another ship, and you and I take an hour for ourselves.”

“I think maybe four hours is needed”

“Ha, if only we had that kind of time my love, an hour and a half?”

“Two”

“Done, but then we have to get this plan under way as soon as we land.”

“I know”, I pressed my forehead against his, soaking in his scent; Master Yoda was right, I would have to prepare myself for the eventuality of losing him for real, one day.  When I had thought I had lost him the first time, it nearly destroyed me, and it was because I wasn’t able to have a future with him.  Wasn’t able to live freely with him.  Now, I could.  If I were to lose him tomorrow, I can be comforted in knowing that I had married, and had been able to love him without reservation.  I would have no regrets with how I loved him.

“I love you, Echo”

“I love you, Phoenix”

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[unnecessarywriting]

Tolerate It (Part 2) - Harry Potter x Reader

A/N: So this is a little long, like 3x as long as part 1, but you know things happen! I hope you all like it and thank you for the love on part 1. Warning, it is a little angsty, but it gets fluffy at the end. Remember to send in requests!! Enjoy!

ALSO Italics are flashbacks!!!!

Part 1

Tolerate It (Part 2)

~ Your Morning ~

The night was spent with shots of firewhiskey and tears. There was nothing that could really prepare you for the feeling in your chest. Your body was convulsing from the sheer torment you had put it through. Luckily, you had someone who was there for you, but it didn’t make the pain ache any less.

When you woke up in the morning, your head ached from the alcohol and the crying. Your face was puffy from crying relentlessly, and your throat was sore from the inevitable coughing that comes with an intense session of tears and wails. Even your lungs were tired from all of the hyperventilating. You grabbed the shirt on your body pulling it to your nose, but much to your surprise you weren’t too familiar with the scent. That was when you acknowledged that your friend let you sleep in hers. When was the last time that you weren't wearing Harry’s shirts? These thoughts needed to leave you. You deserved to move on and be celebrated for everything that you are.

You made breakfast for your friend, and now roommate. She thanked you and complimented your cooking skills. It felt foreign to feel recognized for something so mundane. She offered to clean up, which you graciously accepted. You changed into some of her clothes so that you could go to work. You had managed to take half the day off, but the distraction from, well, let’s just refer to him as he-who-shall-not-be-named. Ironic right? Our hell has been killed, and yet a new one arises in his place. I would never have thought that he would become mine. 

All throughout your shift, you tried to keep your focus on work. “Be productive” became your mantra. Eventually, however, your time at work came to a close, and you knew that you had to get your things. You apparated and appeared in front of your old front door. Cautiously, you opened it. You knew he would be at work, but a small piece of you hoped that he would be moping around, waiting for your return. When you found nothing but silence, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed. 

You knew how much time you had to gather everything you owned, but you didn’t want to risk him coming home and finding you, so you rushed. With everything packed up, you took a look around. The place looked quite empty. When you two had moved in, a lot of the decorating was your own doing. You wanted it to feel warm and inviting, despite who you had felt living there. Now, it looked like how the place felt. Your eyes glanced into the kitchen and you saw the dishes, piled high in the sink. Of course, he probably thought that you would come back and have them done. You scoffed and grabbed your things. When you arrived at your new place, you took everything you could and put it into your room. Emotionally, you were drained, so when you felt your eyes closing, you knew that your day had ended. 

~ Harry’s Morning ~

After you left, Harry stayed at the table. He pushed the food around his plate until his stomach warned him to finally eat. He was lost in his angry thoughts. Who were you to accuse him of such stupidity. He loved you, and he knew that he made it clear to you all of the time. You were just being obnoxious and clingy. You would get over it and all would return to normal. That night, he piled the dishes into the sink and walked into his study. He scribbled a letter to Ginny, where he explained how you walked out on him, and how you accused him of such atrocious behavior. Afterwards, he went to bed, feeling slightly colder than normal. 

The following morning, he was greeted by a chill. He looked over and saw your side of the bed unslept in. Of course you didn’t return in the middle of the night. He walked out into the kitchen expecting to see you there, but he was greeted with silence. The room smelt of the dinner you cooked the night before. He rolled his eyes to himself, and began to make breakfast. As he placed the bacon on the pan, the scent brought him back to one morning at Grimmauld Place.

“Harry!” You exclaimed as Harry hugged you. “I’m trying to cook. Leave me be!” You giggled.

“But I can help. I used to cook all the time for the Dursley’s. Then we can be done quicker and spend more time together.” His smile was so bright, and his tone remained mischievous. 

“Precisely Harry. You don’t have to be a slave anymore. Let me do this for you.” You turned around in his embrace after flipping the bacon. “Besides, after we are done with school, I’m gonna cook breakfast for you every morning just to show you how much I love you.” As you finished that sentence, you booped his nose and turned back to your cooking. Harry just smiled into the crook of your neck, fantasizing about his life with you.

After you finally managed to kick him out of the kitchen, he caught sight of his godfather, who offered a knowing smile.

“You know Harry, she’s a keeper.” Harry nodded in response, and turned around to watch you work.

“She sure is Sirius.”

You had kept your word. Every morning that you were together, you cooked breakfast for him. He ate in silence, like he did while he was with you, except this time, it felt different, almost eerie. He piled the rest of the dishes into the sink and finished getting ready for work. He wasn’t missing any of his shirts. That was unusual. He apparated to his job, trying not to think too much. 

“Hey mate.You look awfully tired today.” Ron was too joyful for his taste.

“Didn’t sleep well.” Was all he said. 

By lunch time, Ron had figured out that something was wrong. He had seen his friend when he was tired. Something was bothering him, and his irritable behavior was starting to piss him off.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are you gonna continue acting like a prat?” Ron always had a way of getting the truth out of him.

“Y/N left last night.” Harry huffed.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure she’ll be back. She loves you.”

“Loved seems more accurate. She said I've been neglecting her.” As Harry spoke, it seemed like he became angrier with every word. “She accused me of not loving her or appreciating her, and then she walked out.”

“Harry, is it possible that she was right? Those feelings don’t just come out of nowhere. I mean the other night at Mum’s, you didn’t really look pleased to have her around. Maybe you should go and talk to her.” Ron thought he was being reasonable with his words. He wanted to side with his friend, but he was worried about you. You had been friends at school, and after the war, you had stopped talking to him and Hermione. He hadn’t seen you a lot recently, and he couldn’t but be concerned with you behavior the other night. You used to be bright and bubbly.

“All I’m saying Harry, is that Ron is reasonable about his fear of spiders, although you can be a bit of a scaredy cat,” you joked while nudging Ron. 

“Y/N I am not. Any fear I have is reasonable. Plus you didn’t see how big those spiders were. Plus I was 12. Even Fang was scared.”

“Yeah, and Fang is a scaredy cat too. Ask Hagrid. Now,” you jumped up from your spot and grabbed his fork, “admit that you’re a scaredy cat, and I’ll give you back your fork.”

“This isn’t funny. I’m very brave. I’m in Gryffindor.” You started to wander away from the table, giggles spilling from your lips. “Y/N, please c’mon. I’m hungry. Oh, fine! I’m a scaredy cat, okay? Terrified of giant spiders. Is that what you wanted? Now give me my fork back.” By the end, he was yelling in the great hall, and you were laughing uncontrollably at his desperate confession. You handed him his fork and continued to giggle.

“Brave sure, but you are pretty dumb Ron. There was another fork right there,” you said pointing to where he was sitting a moment before. Harry and Hermione just facepalmed at their friends’ shenanigans.

Your silent behavior was unlike you, and he knew there was something going on, but he didn’t get the chance to ask you about it. Harry left the conversation, frustrated with his friend, and he returned to his job. He needed to get his mind off of what you said the night before. 

On his return home, he half expected you to be back, waiting for him to come home so you could talk through things. He was met with a cold emptiness. Your things were gone. He rushed into your bedroom, and saw that half of the room was bare. There wasn’t an ounce of you left to grasp onto. He realized that you weren’t just in a fight. You were gone, and it was all his fault. He put his head down on what used to be your pillow. Your perfume was light, but the slightest whiff let him feel you. He hadn’t felt you in so long. You’ve always been there, but he wasn’t close enough to you to get the scent. You were right. He had been neglecting you. His tears began to fall as he held onto the only bit of you he had left.

“Look at what I bought! This is going to be perfect Harry.”

“Darling, you’ve done too much.”

“How dare you? This is so very important. When people come over, they need to be welcomed. They need to be in awe over how amazing I am at decorating. This is our place Harry! It needs to be perfect.” He was aware of how serious you were which made him smile to himself. You could be a lot to handle sometimes, but that’s what he loved about you.

“As long as you’re here with me, it will be perfect.” He nuzzled into you and breathed in the beautiful scent you omitted. You really were perfect.

Are perfect. You are perfect, and he just let you walk out the door. Worse than that, he allowed you to think less of yourself. He’s been through a lot of heartbreak and pain, but this was worse. Hell, he even died, but this was worse. He stayed in bed the rest of the night. He couldn’t bring himself to eat. Eventually, he fell asleep.

~ Your Response ~

You were doing better than you expected. You weren’t happy by any means, in fact you still cried yourself to sleep, but you were better. You worked your regular schedule, and you really put everything you could into your work. Your roommate was great, although you knew she would be. You two were friends. You still hadn’t fully unpacked yet. It felt as if you did, it would really be over, and you weren’t ready to let go just yet.

One morning, you felt that you needed to go out and do something productive. So, you went to Diagon Alley. You owe yourself a little shopping spree, and maybe you would get a gift for your roommate to thank her for allowing you to move in on such short notice. You had made your way through different stores. You found yourself outside a bookstore. You smiled at it, but it felt bittersweet.

“Is there a reason we need more books? C’mon dear, you aren’t Hermione. You don’t need to compete for who has more books. We barely have space for them.” Harry never understood why you wanted to buy all of these books.

“There is a very good reason Harry. I just haven’t told you yet.” You continued looking through the shelves, trying to find a book that jumped out at you and told you that it was a must read. 

“What do I have to do to find out?” He was watching you in awe.

“Find a book you want, and I mean really want. I don’t want you just picking up some random book. And then, I’ll be ready to tell you.” He took the challenge and began looking for the book. After about twenty minutes, he returned back to you, book in hand. You looked at it and smiled at him.

“So, why are we buying these?” You laughed and walked to the counter to check out.

“I said I would be ready to tell you. I never said that I would.” Harry playfully rolled his eyes and followed after you.

You never did get to tell him your reasoning for buying all of those books. A shame really, but now that you two aren’t together, they don’t mean anything. You sighed and walked to get some ice cream.

“Y/N?” You turned in the direction of the voice. A part of you wanted to just leave her standing there, but you knew that she would be persistent.

“How can I help you Ginny?” You tried to sound polite, but you were bitter.

“How are you? Harry told me about your fight.” Of course he told her.

“I’m fine. Now if you don’t mind, I was gonna get some ice cream and get home.” Except, it wasn’t home to you.

“Well, I was gonna get some ice cream too, so let’s get some together. It’s my treat.” You didn’t want to eat with her, but free ice cream was not something you were about to pass up. You nodded your head in response. You both ordered your ice cream, and took a seat outside. 

“I heard Harry’s side, but I think he left some things out. I was talking to Ron, and he said that you looked like you were going through something before your fight. We’re all worried about you two. I know that I may have overstepped a little bit, and I’m sorry, but you two are perfect for each other. I don’t think that I can handle being what came between you two.” You scoffed. She wasn’t at fault. Sure she was a part of why you were mad, but it wasn’t her fault that Harry stopped loving you.

“Listen Ginny, I don’t want you to feel like this is your fault, because it isn’t. Harry stopped caring about me a long time ago, and I finally realized it. I gave him everything, and he brushed me off. He was just dealing with me being there. I left because I deserve to be happy. I may not be there yet, but I can’t go back to be treated like a maid.” She seemed to understand. The two of you talked a little longer about how you were, her life, and her family. Eventually, you parted ways. You felt a little better knowing that she didn’t find you selfish or crazy. 

That night, you two didn’t cry yourself to sleep. You were still sad, but there were no more tears.

You were awoken to a familiar owl at your window. You grabbed the letter and opened it.

 Dear Y/N,

I know you hate me, but I think we should talk. There are things I need to say, but mostly, 

I need to apologize. In person. Please come back. Tonight, 7:30.

Love,

Harry

~ Harry’s Response ~

Harry was miserable. His days at work were unproductive. Ron was concerned, but he didn’t know what to do. He had never seen his best friend this distraught. He was beginning to look like Sirius did when he escaped from Azkaban. Harry would come home and whimper at the lack of you in his home. It used to be your home. The place was a mess. If you had seen it, you would probably scold him for being so irresponsible. 

It was a Saturday. He had nothing to do but sit around at home. He walked into his study, and found the pile of books in the closet. You complained that he had the study to himself, so you stole the closet from him claiming that you deserved it. He complied. Since you left, he hadn’t opened it. He was terrified of what it could possibly be, but his hand continued to the knob. Inside were all of your books. You kept buying more whenever you two would make your way to Diagon Alley. He never found out why you bought them, but he still wondered. He opened a few of them, and recognized your handwriting in the margins. They mostly consisted of your reactions to things that you read, or even just cute doodles that matched the story. 

He held a couple of them to his chest as he thought of you. He didn’t know how long he was sitting there. He was only interrupted by the call of his name. He reluctantly got up and looked for the owner of the voice.

‘Blimey Harry. You’ve destroyed this place.” Ron was there. Of course. Ginny stood beside him, looking disappointed.

“Harry, we need to talk about Y/N. You’ve been insufferable without her, and she’s struggling too,” Ginny stated. 

“How do you know how she’s doing?” Harry was really worried. 

“Ginny met with her today at Diagon Alley. Harry, when was the last time you cleaned at all? This place  is absolutely disgusting.” Ron winced at the sight of the kitchen.

“Harry, I’m gonna cut right down to it. You need to talk to her. You are killing yourself over your mistakes, and she is struggling to deal with how you treated her. Merlin, Harry, how could you let her down. Did you know that she really believes that you stopped loving her? The damage you’ve caused is almost irreversible, but I think you both need to talk. If not to sort things out, then to give you both closure.” Ginny had a point.

“I don’t even know how to talk to her. I don’t want her to see me like this either.”

“Mate, we don’t want to see you like this either, but we can fix that,” Ron exclaimed.

“She said that she is living with a Y/F/N.” Harry’s eyes lit up. He knew where that was.

“Harry, you are going to shower, and we are gonna start cleaning up this,” he motioned to the room, “and then you are gonna tell her to meet you here tomorrow night. It’s the least you could do,” Ron finished with a hopeful look. Harry nodded and retreated to the bathroom.

~ Together at Last ~

You were nervous to say the least, but you gathered yourself and apparated to the place you once called home. You knocked on the door. It felt foriegn, but you didn’t feel like you could just enter a place you no longer lived. You heard rustling from behind the door, and what you thought was a curse. Then the door opened, and you saw a slightly disheveled Harry smiling awkwardly at you. You returned the smile but stayed where you were standing.

‘Oh, come in.” He moved out of the way and closed the door after you. There was a smell in the house that you could only describe as burnt food.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to cook for you, but I think I lost that ability, and well, it’s not entirely edible. I ordered a pizza a little while ago. It should be here any minute.” Almost as if on cue, there was another knock at the door. He rushed to get it, while you stood observing the place. It was clean, but it looked dark and empty. 

You both walked over to the table where he placed the pizza. You sat down cautiously and eyed all of his clumsy motions. He was reminding you of how he was in school. Completely unaware of how to act in front of a woman. It was kind of funny, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. When he sat down, he looked up at you with a nervous glint in his eyes.

“I guess I should start by apologizing. I have a lot to say, so I ask that you allow me to speak this time. First of all, I am an idiot for so many reasons. The things I said to you that night were cruel and unreasonable, and I cannot put in words how sorry I am. You were right. I have no excuse for the way I treated you. I’ve been thinking, a lot actually, about us. I need you to know that I have never stopped loving you.”

“Harry-” you began.

“Let me finish please. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and losing you broke me. I need you in my life, not as a caretaker, but as my equal. I need you by my side because you make life so much better. I don’t know what happened, but as cliché as it sounds, I realized just how much I need you and love you after you left. I know you waited so long for me, and I did nothing but push you aside. I’m promising you now, if you take me back, and you come home to me, then I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I will show you everyday how much I love you more than anything. So please darling, come home.” His eyes were glossing, and you could tell that he was being honest. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him this vulnerable.

“Harry, I hoped everyday that you would stop being cold, and would turn to me and confess just how much you love me. It never happened. I want to be with you because I love you, but I can’t help but be scared that you will resort back to your old ways. I don’t think I can take being someone that is underappreciated and unloved. I need time.” You were being honest with him. You couldn’t afford to push your feelings aside anymore. 

“Will you take me back? I want to start fresh, but I want you here.” His desperation was clear.

“Okay, but I need things to be slow for a while. I don’t trust you, but I love you.” He jumped up from his seat and walked over to you. His arms wrapped around your body. It had been so long since you were in his arms. Your scent made him sigh in relief, while his warmth let you relax into the embrace. This is what you had waited for. It had been so long, but it had been worth it. 

The following day, you both had taken the day off from work to move you back in and spend quality time together. You had stayed the night wrapped up in his arms. It was the best night of sleep either of you had gotten in far too long. You wrote to your roommate that morning telling her that you were moving out, but you promised to pay your part of the rent until she found a new roommate. She understood and was happy that you figured things out with the love of your life. 

You woke up before Harry, as per usual, and walked into the kitchen to start making breakfast. When Harry woke up, he was worried because you were no longer in bed beside him. He got up and walked into the kitchen to see you over by the stove. He smiled and found himself behind you, his arms on your waist. 

“Good morning love,” he said, sleep still heavy in his face. You smirked and kept cooking.

“You know, I would cook for you, but-” he started.

“But, you would burn down the place, and quite frankly, I don’t have any faith in your cooking abilities. Plus, I promised you breakfast every morning while we are together. I don’t like to break my promises.” You felt his smile grow in your neck.

The rest of the day consisted of Harry being glued to your hip. He missed you so much, and he didn’t want to spend any time away from you. After you had moved all of your things back into your home, you collapsed onto the couch from exhaustion. Harry sat next to you and wrapped his arms around your body. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You smiled at him.

“You just did, but go ahead,” you joked.

“The books in the closet. Why do we have so many of them?”

“Oh those? Well, I wanted to have something to give to our future children. Something I could share just between us. I know it’s kinda dumb, but I’d like to think that our kids would like to have that bond. Maybe even make it into a family tradition that they bring to their kids.” You said this with a slight blush forming.

“I think it’s brilliant. Remind me that we need to get some more.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, our children should have some from both of us, don’t you think?” You laughed and nuzzled closer into his body.

“I love you so much Y/N and don’t ever let me forget it.” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and tightened his hold on your body. He would never let you go again. 

[lesetoilesfous]

Sending you a prompt from the Bad Things Happen Bingo! I'd be interested to see what you do with "Defeated and Trophified", for either a negative Handers OR an Evil M!Hawke. Thank you! <3

Oooh thank you so much, I hope you enjoy!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: dark, abusive Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders, Alistair Theirin

Tags: post da2, evil Hawke, implied abusive relationship

Rating: Mature

The new viscount of Kirkwall has made changes at the Keep, and indeed in the city in general. No longer are there any mages to be found anywhere, not even in the city-state’s infamous Gallows. Alistair had been struck by how few staves he’d seen anywhere as a result. He realises that he’d just sort of got used to apostates and presumably-legal Circle mages wandering throughout Fereldan. The absence of them here in Kirkwall is, well, stark. But Alistair is a king, and visiting his new trading partner is not the most burdensome of his many, many responsibilities, so he takes a deep breath and tries not to think about Kelton Amell, and climbs the stairs towards the viscount’s personal offices.

A servant who looks pale and frightened and flinches far too easily for Alistair’s comfort dips him a low, low bow and swings the door open on perfectly oiled hinges. Everywhere, the Amell family crest bleeds in red lines beside the emblem of the city of chains. Everything is spotless and silent, and even the air tastes clean, somehow - perfumed with what tastes to Alistair like elfroot and spindleweed. He’s led, with his retainers, into a large room with a long, beautiful dark wooden table. Behind it the Viscount of Kirkwall: muscular, broad, handsome Garrett Hawke, sits in state wearing an iron crown. Behind him, standing demurely with his hands folded and his head lowered, is the apostate who blew up the Chantry.

The first thing Alistair can find to think is that he recognises this man. He remembers gently encouraging Kelton to recruit him, almost a decade ago in Amaranthine. A young, frightened man whose brave face warred with his real horror at what the Templar order wished to do with him.

The second thing Alistair notices is the collar. It’s not ostentatious - of course not, if there’s one thing Alistair has learned from the immaculate Keep and the deathly silent streets, it’s that the man sitting in front of him does not go in for the obvious. But it’s a collar all the same: a thin, beautiful bar of rolled gold which hangs like a necklace around the apostate’s neck, darkened with dozens and dozens of finely engraved runes that makes it look stained black like an antique. Thin gold chains dip below the apostate’s neckline, under the loose, beautiful deep green silk tunic he’s wearing. There are matching, thick gold cuffs wrapped around each of his wrists. Alistair can’t see his feet from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t doubt there are cuffs there too. He swallows his bile, and refocuses his attention.

Hawke doesn’t bother to stand, which is technically a formal insult, but Alistair suspects it won’t be the last thing he tolerates today in the name of preventing open war. Instead he inclines his head, and waves at the frightened servant to pull out a chair. The servant does so, and Alistair thanks them softly, not missing the way Hawke’s mouth turns down in a sneer. The apostate behind the viscount, (the grey warden), says nothing. Alistair can barely believe he’s breathing, for how silent he’s being.

Hawke leans forward. “King Theirin. Such a pleasure to have your company so soon after our...troubles.” Behind Hawke, the apostate flinches, so subtly Alistair can hardly believe he noticed it. But Hawke’s jaw clenches, and the apostate’s already pale skin pales further.

Alistair thinks about facing down a broodmother and sits a little straighter in his chair. “Of course, Viscount. I was sorry to hear the news of your predecessor, and,” Alistair pauses, picking his words as carefully as stepping between landmines, “...confused by Knight-Commander Meredith’s interim occupation.”

Hawke laughs, and again, the apostate flinches. “Yes, well, Stannard always did have delusions of grandeur. But she wasn’t wrong about the mage problem. Worse than a nest of plague-ridden rats in this city and just as rotten. It was poisoning us from the inside out.”

Alistair lets the comment past him, and keeps his features neutral. He’d gotten good at this, as a child, under Isolde’s harassment. He asks, neutrally, as politely as he can, “Is it true, then? That you took part in the annulment personally?”

Again, Hawke laughs. Alistair feels a thorny kind of heat coiling in his chest. Hawke says, “Damned right I did. I was the only one left in the Blighted city with the fucking guts. Got every apostate too - all the criminals and infected children. I lanced the boil that this city had become and I burned out every bit of rot. Except this one,” Hawke gestures to the apostate behind him, then looks back at Alistair with a wide smile of perfect teeth, “But he’s pretty.”

Alistair fantasises about breaking his nose. Instead, he follows Hawke’s gesture to look up at the tall, broad man beside him. He’s older than he was, when Alistair had met him, lines printed across his face in deep crevasses. But he’s clean shaven, and his hair is brushed and soft around his head. Alistair listens to his own racing heartbeat for a moment before he speaks. “I heard he was a Grey Warden.”

Hawke’s eyes narrow, and there’s a flash of something there in the brown and gold of his irises that reminds Alistair terribly of the bird after which his family took its name. Something bloodthirsty, and cruel. “Like you? I told Vael, and the blighted Divine, Anders stays here. He’s mine.”

Alistair raises his hands in surrender and wonders whether Hawke can see that his palms are sweating. “Of course! Wouldn’t dream of separating you. It was only innocent curiosity. Now, I believe you have a Fereldan apostate to deliver to me?”

The blatant threat on Hawke’s face melts into a smirk, and he leans back in his chair. Behind him, Anders, the apostate’s shoulders lower, fractionally. Hawke clicks his fingers at the servant, and a few minutes later there’s the clatter of armour as a pair of templars bring in a wounded, starved looking elvhen girl.

Alistair thinks hard about exactly how much worse war would be for all his people and truly, deeply hates being king. Hawke gets up, circling the table to lift the girl’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. She glares at him, and Alistair hates that he’s heartened by this remaining spirit.

But then Hawke looks at the apostate in the corner and lifts his hand. The gold ring on his wedding finger, similarly blackened with runes, burns red, and Anders flinches as the jewellery on his wrists and neck glow, too. All Hawke says is, “Anders.”

The apostate moves faster than Alistair thinks he could have followed even if he were prepared for it. His hand flicks, and a silent bolt of lightning crosses the space of Hawke’s private quarters and connects with the girl’s skull. Her body slumps almost immediately, shuddering in a death rattle that is all too familiar to Alistair. He makes an effort to close his open mouth, and for the first time gives up the poker face.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Hawke smiles at him, close lipped and shrewd. “A lesson, your majesty. We won’t tolerate apostates in Kirkwall. Try to keep them on your side of the ocean.”

Alistair looks up at the apostate, Anders, but his hands are already folded in front of him again, his head bowed. Alistair swallows past the dryness of his mouth and the thick lump in his throat, and gets to his feet with an agonisingly loud screech of the wooden chair legs on stone.”Well, Viscount. It’s certainly been...educational.”

Alistair turns and tries not to imagine the entire darkspawn horde at his heels. Hawke doesn’t stand, and his pet apostate doesn’t move. But when Alistair gets to the door, Hawke speaks again. “Come back any time, your majesty. Anders can do wonderful things with his hands.”

Alistair doesn’t turn around. The doors swing shut behind them, and both the Keep’s guards and two servants usher them forward. But Alistair hesitates, listening for a moment.

Through the wooden doors, there’s a crack of skin on skin, and a soft cry of pain. Softly, deadly, Alistair hears the Viscount whisper, “Killed her quickly, didn’t you? Any suffering you spared her I’ll deal you, later.”

Alistair doesn’t realised he’s curled his fingers into a fist until one of his guard’s touches his forearm, her eyes wide with either fear or concern. Slowly, Alistair uncurls his hand, listening to the crunch of metal, and follows the soldiers and servants out of the Keep. He makes a mental note to write Zevran, later.

There’s a warden in need, and a state leader in desperate want of assassination.

[yesimwriting]

Solace (part 2)

SOLACE (part 2)

A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!

A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that. 

Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader

Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy. 

-- 

The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be. 

Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse. 

Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this. 

Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand. 

“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen. 

He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.” 

His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.” 

Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.” 

Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust. 

I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek. 

“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?” 

His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him. 

“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force. 

Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again. 

I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.” 

“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”

An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch. 

“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.” 

I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.” 

“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”

His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break. 

When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things. 

“You claimed I was a villain.” 

Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.” 

Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.” 

I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.” 

The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something. 

“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment. 

I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.” 

He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.” 

I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color. 

“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still. 

Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”

That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.” 

“My door will be unlocked after.” 

At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.” 

His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?” 

“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back. 

--

The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone. 

When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities. 

“New clothes, l/n?” 

Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.” 

My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?” 

I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.” 

“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.” 

And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.” 

He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”

Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.” 

Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here. 

I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”

“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward. 

I turn as well, “You should too.”

 I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back. 

Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper