#let them do a shimmy- let them do a time warp- let them do a jojo dance i don’t care

[whatudottu]

Part of me wants to imagine that in a hypothetical situation where TFA!Blitzwing and TFP!Starscream met they'd bond over their shared trauma, constantly being disrespected by their peers, and being screwed over by the writers of their respective shows and become fast friends but the other, more rational part of me feels like TFP!Starscream would be absolutely terrified of TFA!Blitzwing or at the very least feel incredibly uncomfortable around him

Thinking about a TFA Blitzwing and TFP Starscream friendship reminds me of their little moments of dancing- Blitz’s being a little more in canon than Screamer’s cortical psychic patch dream. Considering Starscream’s impeccable ability to not only attempt to overthrow the ‘Cons multiple times but ALSO to worm his way into continuing to live for as long as he has despite it, I think even if initially Blitzwing unsettles him in either the terror way or the discomfort way, he can probably duck and weave his way into learning what makes Blitz tick; like - perhaps - a dance *grins*

TFA Megatron seems less tolerant for bullshit considering he axed TFA Starscream when he showed his face again IMMEDIATELY, so the threat of acting out and getting on Megan’s nerves is SIGNIFICANTLY more deadly than TFP Megatron had the bearings to pull. Or perhaps that’s what it looks like at first appearance, for while Blitzwing just has to grin and bear being disrespected, TFP Starscream manages to get away with a lot of things through grit teeth and spilt energon. It’s still abuse and trauma and otherwise another form of disrespect that he just has to navigate through, but it takes a certain amount of crazy to even begin to dance around.

And yeah, have them do their gay little dancing together, they need it 😌

[ddejavvu]

ok but my favorite criminal minds specific trope is when the team needs someone to be bait and the unsub’s type is reader, would you pls write hotch just trying so hard not to lose his professionalism when the team realizes reader has to play bait??

There's a knock on your door, and you hope it's Emily. She'd know how to untangle this dress.

"Who is it?"

"Hotch," Comes the reply from behind the door, "Can I come in?"

"Uh-" You stammer, lunging for your tank top and throwing it over your head, "...Yeah!"

Once he gets the O-K from you he turns the knob, peering into the dimly lit locker room that you've been using to change. The outfit you'd been provided is a strappy ensemble, but the strings are intertwined with each other like stray yarn, and you don't know how you're ever going to get into the garment.

"I can't figure this out," You lament, holding the dress sheepishly between two fingers, "I think this is made for wizards or something."

Hotch chuckles, reaching for the dress, "Can I try?"

"Be my guest," You nod, turning to a mirror on the inside of one of the lockers and reaching for a comb, "I'll do my hair in the meantime.

Hotch absentmindedly fumbles with the dress while keeping an eye on your work, "Pigtails?"

"Well," You grimace, tugging one of the ponytails tighter on your scalp so that it sticks up and bounces with any movement of your head, "You know what they say about pigtails."

Hotch's face takes on a similar expression of discontentment, "Right."

While you pin some of your stray hairs in place, Hotch makes a breakthrough. The dress comes untangled, hanging between his fingers like it should have on the hanger.

"Oh my god!" You marvel, "Are you a wizard?"

"I was trying to keep it a secret," He plays along, offering you the garment, "But I guess the cat's out of the bag."

"Thank you," You gush, taking the dress from his hands, "I can't- oh."

The dress warps in your fingers. It hangs limp in your hands; apparently you'd grabbed the wrong strings.

"Uh- like," Hotch reaches for it, pulling a few straps up from where they're sagging, "That."

"Oh. Right." You grab the ones he's holding instead, hyperaware of his fingers brushing your own, "Can- um, is Emily here?"

"No, she's out at the second scene," Hotch hums.

"JJ?"

"Talking to the parents of vic #3."

"Hotch," You hum cautiously, "Could, um- could you help me get this on?"

He's still for a moment, nodding slowly after he processes your words.

"Yeah," He takes the dress back from you, letting you fumble with the zipper, "Here, I'll- I'll close my eyes."

"Thanks," You breathe, watching him lower his hands until the dress is close enough to your waist for you to step into it, "So just-"

"Yeah." He nods, letting his eyes slip shut as you take a deep breath. You take your tank top off first, then your bike shorts, and brace your hands on Aaron's to get your leg high enough to step into the dress. He doesn't open his eyes, but you can tell he wasn't expecting the touch.

"Sorry," You hum, far too close to his face as you shimmy your hips into the fabric. You try finding the sleeves, mindful of the straps, and his breath hits your face when he speaks.

"You don't have to do this." He murmurs, his lips moving mere inches away from your own.

"Hm?"

"This," He jostles the dress slightly, as much as he can with it around your waist, ""If this is too much, you don't have to go undercover. It seems stressful to me."

"It is." You nod, even though he can't see it. The movement shakes your chest slightly too, and with the way Hotch is crouched, your boobs bounce just below his jaw.

You take the time that his eyes are closed to admire his face like you can't when he sees you. There's equal laugh lines and frown lines in his face, and you're glad he doesn't overdo the latter.

You slide the dress the rest of the way up your body, fitting your arms through the sleeves and securing them over your shoulders. Then you hum, 'okay', and his eyes flutter open.

They widen at the dress, a maroon garment that hugs your curves and billows out at the waist. You back away from where you'd been nearly standing on his toes, tentatively turning on your heel, "Could you zip me up?"

"Mhm," He nods once, reaching for the zipper. It puts his hands on your lower back and you barely contain a shiver, something that you'll think about long after tonight.

"There," Hotch hums, securing the clasp at the top of the zipper's track.

"You're sure you want to do this?" He asks, his breath now fanning over your mostly-bare shoulder. This time you do shiver, but you hope he doesn't notice.

"I have to," You nod, "I'll be okay, Hotch."

"Alright," He nods reluctantly, his voice soft and careful, "I'll be across the room the whole time if you need me. Just say the word and I'll be there."

You pride yourself on not collapsing at his words despite your weak knees. You nod, "Thanks." And finally turn to face him with a nervous smile.

"Ready?"

"Ready," You nod, and he steps aside to let you pass him. Despite having let you go first he reaches the door before you do, pulling it open for you and letting you lead the way out.

"Oh," Morgan crows from across the room, "Killer, baby!"

"The pigtails are a nice touch." Reid smiles kindly at you, "Did you know that-"

"Yes Reid," You put a hand up, not intent on hearing nauseating statistics, "I know."

He nods, blinking rapidly at being cut off. But he's quiet, and that's all that matters to you right now.

"Okay, Morgan, you're with me," Hotch commands, "We'll be stationed around the club just in case Y/L/N needs help. And Reid, you stay here with Rossi. JJ will be out soon. Let me know if Garcia has any updates."

"Will do," Reid nods, and Hotch gestures to the exit of the police precinct, letting Morgan fall into step beside you.

"Nervous?" He asks, elbowing you in the arm.

You take a deep breath, nodding, "Yeah, a bit. But it'll help, I'm sure."

"It will." Hotch assures you, heading for the team's SUV and pulling open the passenger door for you. He pointedly avoids looking at the hem of your dress when you climb into the seat as it rides up your thighs, and he even tucks the fabric into the car so that it doesn't get caught in the door.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for your confirmation. When he has it, he shuts the door, striding around the front to the other side.

"I think boss man's more affected than the unsub'll be," Morgan snickers, and you turn to glare at him while Hotch climbs into the front seat.

"Morgan," Hotch eyes him disapprovingly in the rear view mirror, "Whatever you're doing, stop."

"Told you," Morgan smirks at you, hissing at the slap you land to his forearm, "Ow! Hotch, control your work wife."

"You probably deserve it," Hotch drawls, pointedly ignoring the work wife comment, as do you. But everyone notices the slight rosy tinge to his cheeks, and as usual, Morgan doesn't know when to quit. You're happy for the excuse to check your phone, even if the text does make your face flush hot.

Derek: I know he helped you get that dress on, maybe he'll help you take it off tonight ;)

[suguwu]

umemiya x reader apocalypse au drabble that will likely become part of a larger fic, i just got possessed for a minute. sorry.

minors and ageless blogs dni.

the hand crank whines.

it's a low, incessant buzz, a mechanical mosquito. it whirs and whirs, louder with each turn, until finally—the flashlight flickers on.

the beam cuts through the settling night, a knife blade of light. it dances over the edge of the still-young crops before steadying.

"there we go!"

you glance back to umemiya; he's still cranking the handle of the flashlight. with each turn, the light grows stronger. his delighted smile glows just as bright.

"it still works," he calls, as if you can't see that for yourself.

"i noticed," you say. it comes out unbearably fond.

umemiya doesn't seem to notice. "c'mere," he says, his voice cutting through the flashlight's whine. "let's see if we can find any more."

you push to your feet. he aims the flashlight towards you, giving you an easy path back to him. you tread carefully anyway; you can't afford an injury.

you settle beside him. he's warm; you can feel the heat bleeding from him, a small sun. you bite your lip and lean forward, peering through the cracked, dusty window of the shed. you try the warped door; it doesn't budge.

a big hand lands on your shoulder. umemiya coaxes you back and hands you the flashlight. he glances at you over his shoulder. "cover your face," he tells you.

you do, peeking out between your arms.

"properly," he says.

with a grumble, you cover your face entirely. you feel him move more than you hear him; it's in the sudden displacement of the air around you, a kiss of wind. the solid thud of his kick against the door settles into your bones.

the wood groans, long and low, and then it gives way. when you peek between your arms, the door is hanging by its hinges, shattered where his foot connected, the wood in splinters. he nudges it open with his foot and sticks his head inside, peering around before he glances back over his shoulder at you.

umemiya gives you a wide, boyish smile.

"you comin'?"

you shake yourself into movement. "yeah," you say, holding out the flashlight for him. "i am."

"great!"

inside, the shed isn't much better. there's dust everywhere, and the light from the flashlight sends the largest spider you've ever seen scuttling back further into its moonbeam web.

umemiya coughs lightly, waving his hand in front of his face as his movement sends a puff of dust into the air. "look!" he says. "there's seeds!"

"really?"

"uh-huh."

"what kind?"

he squints. shifts. squints again.

"...you can't read it without your glasses, can you?"

"nope!"

you sigh and shimmy past him, trying to ignore how solid he is, how firm his chest is when you brush by him. "let me see," you say, and he obligingly holds the flashlight steady for you, curling over you to do so.

"mostly flower seeds," you tell him after a minute. "but there are some potatoes. those will be good if we can germinate them."

"grab 'em! anything else useful?"

"not over here," you say, turning around. it leaves you pressed close against him, but it's not the first time you've been in close quarters. "let's try the other side."

he nods, starting to straighten up.

"umemi—"

it's too late; he stands up and smacks his head into the hanging light fixture.

"you okay?" you ask.

"yup," he says, wincing slightly as he bends back down. "happens more often than you'd think."

you can't help the laugh. "you can't dodge a light?"

he just grins. the mishap has knocked some of his hair loose; a little strand of it falls into his eyes, as white as snow. you reach out.

he catches your hand by the wrist before you can touch him.

the flashlight goes out.

for a moment, the both of you stand there. your eyes adjust slowly, and by the time you can blink him into clear focus, he's already watching you. his fingers are pressing indents into the delicate flesh of your inner wrist.

"umemiya," you breathe.

he shakes his head.

"umemiya—"

"we can't," he says. quiet. firm.

"...i know."

he smiles, then, and an ache cracks through you, a snapping rib. he lets go of you without a word. your eyes sting; he steps back and turns away.

neither of you bothers to power the flashlight back up again.

[fastrateauto23]

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If it feels like you need to slam your foot down harder than usual to stop, it’s time to schedule a brake check. Reduced responsiveness is a clear sign that something isn’t right with your braking system.

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Get Direction From Google Map

[assistaaai]

Buckle up, digital nomads and silicon savants, for a ride through the cybernetic cosmos to a destination where magic meets motherboard, and productivity gets a neon-lit makeover. Welcome to the world of Assista, not just a tech marvel but a digital genie in your pocket. Ready to have your mind zapped? Zap on over to Assista’s cyber den and let the journey unfold.

From Humble App to Digital Deity

Our tale kicks off in the cyber chill of 2022, where Assista sprouted up from the digital ether, not just as another app but as a vision in virtual velvet. It was the dawn of a new era in productivity, baby. From its baby steps as a chat-based chum to its metamorphosis into a B2B behemoth, Assista’s journey is like a rollercoaster designed by Da Vinci, if he’d been into coding.

Pivot Like a Disco Ball

Originally dancing to a B2C beat, Assista quickly switched up its groove, shimmying into a B2B model that lets businesses craft their own AI sidekick. It wasn’t just a pivot; it was a full-on moonwalk into the future of efficiency.

The Now: A Digital Dance Floor

Flash forward to today, and Assista is the life of the party, a digital DJ spinning out tasks with the flick of a finger. Emails? Sent with sass. Meetings? Scheduled with swagger. It’s not just about getting things done; it’s about doing them with dazzle. Feeling the vibe? Slide on over to Assista’s lair and witness the wizardry.

The Dream Team Behind the Machine

At the helm of this starship is Captain Paul Burca, CEO and cosmic navigator, with a crew of tech titans, coding wizards, and strategy sorcerers. Together, they’re not just steering the ship; they’re bending the universe to their will, crafting the future one byte at a time.

Gazing into the Galactic Core

With its sensors set on SMEs and startups, Assista’s mission is to beam up businesses into a realm of unmatched productivity. It’s not just about providing a tool; it’s about unlocking a treasure trove of time-saving treasures. And for those daring enough to dive into digital depths, Assista’s beacon shines like a disco ball in the dark, beckoning adventurers.

The Saga Continues…

As we warp back to the present, remember, the saga of Assista is an ever-unfolding epic, a cosmic comic book where each page brings new powers, new adventures. For the brave, the bold, and the curious, your portal to this universe of possibilities is just a click away. Embark on this interstellar expedition to Assista, and let’s redefine the cosmos of productivity together, one quantum leap at a time.

So there you have it, cosmic travellers – a voyage through the vortex of Assista, where every task is an adventure, and every productivity problem meets its match. Beam yourself over to Assista’s dimension and join the rebellion against the mundane. Together, we’ll surf the supernova of efficiency and ride the waves of innovation into the neon sunset.

[fanficshiddles]

Addicting Temptations, Chapter 15

Jodie was awake early one morning, before her Alphas were even awake.

She was feeling turned on, but she wasn’t really sure why. Not exactly wanting to wake them though, she decided to have a little fun of her own anyway.

She ducked under the covers and shimmied her way down the bed until she was level with their crotches. She could barely see under the covers, but could just make out the outlines of them and their cocks since they were sleeping naked.

Going to Tom first, she slowly ran her fingertips up and down the length of him. He twitched a few times, then as she wrapped her hand around him and started stroking him properly, he began to grow firmer in her hand.

She quickly took him into her mouth and the way she could feel him growing hard on her tongue was absolutely amazing, it turned her on like crazy. More than she already had been.

Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked him for a while until he was standing completely to attention, moaning softly in his sleep too. She giggled to herself as she then moved over to David to do the same. But she tried to keep one hand stroking Tom, now and then her thumb brushed up over the tip of his cock, making him twitch.

She took David’s flaccid cock into her mouth and began to suckle him softly, feeling him beginning to grow hard too. She had to squeeze her thighs together to keep herself under control, she was becoming so wet.

Unknown to her, Tom and David had woken upon feeling her mouth on them. But they didn’t let on, wanting to see what she would do. Just letting her have her fun and explore.

Her jaw did begin to ache rather quickly because of their size, but she did her best to keep alternating between them both with her mouth and hands. She learned swiftly that she got a big reaction when she would stroke their balls and also warp her hand around where their knot was while sucking the tip.

When Tom was close to cumming, his knot began to swell and he couldn’t hold back any longer while she sucked him as deep as she could, her lips touching the top of his knot. He reached down under the blanket and gripped her hair tightly, holding her mouth on him until he came down her throat with a loud growl, her small hand gripping around his knot helped aid his pleasure.

‘Oh, god… pet.’ He panted as she lapped up his entire length, not letting a single drop of his cum go to waste.

He was reluctant to let go of her hair to let her sort David out. But he knew he had to.

She did the same with David, getting a similar reaction when he came. She was so enthusiastic about it all, licking his cock clean like a lollipop.

David was lost in his pleasure when Tom reached under the blanket to grab their omega, pulling her up over the top of him.

As soon as she was up and straddling over his abdomen, she started rubbing down against him.

‘Oooo, pet. I was about to ask where all this enthusiasm came from, but it seems you are incredibly aroused.’ He purred and gripped her hips, helping her to move against his abdomen. Leaving a very wet trail on his skin.

‘So horny.’ She whimpered, her face was completely flushed and eyes blissed out.

‘We best fix that then.’ Tom lifted her up and lowered her over his cock instead, she sank down onto him and they both moaned together.

As soon as she bottomed out on him, he sat up and bit at her hardened nipples, wrapping his arms around her he thrust up into her, meeting her thrusts and making her cry out in pleasure. Then Tom flipped them over, so she was pinned under her strong Alpha while he took her, making her scream in pleasure.

Jodie couldn’t get enough of her Alphas that morning. When Tom was finished with her, his knot going down enough that his cock slipped out of her, David took his turn with her. Taking her in doggy style, one of her favourite ways.

She had become very clingy with her Alphas, so it didn’t surprise them that she draped herself over their laps most of the day after their exciting morning. She was truly theirs now, and the three of them loved it.

They ended up in the pool before dinner, Jodie enjoyed trying to beat them at races up and down the pool. Even though she was a decent swimmer now, she still struggled to beat them because of their size and strength. But deep down, she didn’t mind. She loved having powerful Alphas, in every sense.

‘We are having another of our parties in four months, kitten.’ David said as they were just floating around in the deep end of the pool.

‘Oh?’

‘And we want you on our arms, as our special guest.’ Tom continued for him.

Jodie’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

Tom and David nodded. ‘If you want to?’ David said.

‘I’d love to!’ She grinned and rushed to them, hugging David first and then Tom, making them chuckle.

‘We love you, Jodie. Our beautiful, beautiful omega.’ Tom said as he smoothed hair back behind her ear.

She blushed and felt her heart race as David nodded in agreement, kissing the top of her head. ‘We do.’

‘I love you both, too.’ She said honestly and shyly. Making both her Alphas hearts soar in utter delight.

-

Chris came home from work one day to find a pile of mail at the door. Normally he didn’t bother reading it, not caring about much anymore after losing his omega. But a stamp on one of the letters captured his attention.

It was from H & T Health Insurance.

He ripped the envelope open and his eyes widened. It was an invite to one of their elusive parties again. Invites were sent out to every customer of their other business.

This was his chance, to see if he could finally find his omega. He had tried so hard on an almost daily basis to get into the building and to get a face-to-face meeting with the two Alpha bosses, but was always denied at the front door.

Finally, this could be his opportunity to see them. To get to the bottom of whether they had taken his omega or not.

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

Popsicle → Nakamoto Yuta

↳  Pairing: Yuta/reader | smut

↳  Warnings: pure PWP, dirty talk, oral, face fucking

↳  Word count: 2,915

⁙ Summary: On a hot day during a vacation in Japan, Yuta becomes enamoured when he remembers that you’re one of the people that doesn’t bite their popsicles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Want one?"

Yuta looks away from the television, noticing that you are standing above him, skin glistening with sweat and holding out an unwrapped popsicle toward him. He nods appreciatively, taking it from you and realizing it's already started to melt. 

The hot Japanese summer permeated the little Airbnb you and Yuta were staying in, the air conditioning had gone out in the night. June bugs sang through the screen in the living room, the patio door having been opened to let in what little fresh breeze there was.

"Thank you," he says, immediately biting the red tip of the popsicle off. He sighed in relief, "if only the ac didn't go out on the hottest day of the year so far," Yuta complains, watching tentatively as you plop down on the couch next to him, hoping to catch some of the cooler drafts from one of the many fans strewn about the floor. 

"I agree, but at least we have the fans." 

Yuta hummed in agreement, nearly turning his attention back to a rerun of Dragon Ball Z, but decided not to as soon as you also began to eat your icy treat. If only your vacation had gone like Yuta had planned- then he would be with his family, showing you off to them and meeting with his mother in private to get her engagement ring resized to fit your finger. However, the two of you were stuck here, basking in a heatwave where nobody was advised to go outside at all.

You were dressed in the skimpiest outfit you could muster without looking too indecent- a light neon green tank top and blue cloth mini shorts. Even if you were sweating and panting in the heat, your appearance made Yuta's stomach flip.

Yuta was happy that there were a few popsicles left in the freezer, whatever was able to stay any sort of heat was welcome, popsicles being even more so. They were sweet, cold, and cheap. It kept his mind off of you- at least that's what he told himself.

There has always been a debate on the best way to eat a popsicle- especially your favourites: rockets. You either bit down and endured each flavour until you got to your favourite or you licked and sucked on it, dying your tongue and lips fully in red before you even reached the white section.

Yuta always preferred to bite his, while your method was the exact opposite. It was almost like you were trying to torture him; utterly consumed by the television while you practically shoved the entire thing down your throat and then brought it back up with an audible pop of your lips like it was nothing. Red dripped past your lips, but you managed to swipe the juice away with your tongue before it trickled down your chin. 

The more he watched, the more his imagination warped what really was in your mouth. 

"Yuta-kun, you're staring," you still have the popsicle resting on your lips, tilting your head in curiosity at your red-haired boyfriend. His popsicle was almost half-melted now, sticky sugar and flavouring running down his hands. His eyes widen and his face goes red, quickly looking away from you. You knew how it made him weak when you used that suffix.

"Sorry," he says quickly, running his tongue along his fingers and up to the melting treat when he bites down on it again. 

"It's okay," you waive it off quickly, smiling. "I was wondering how your teeth can handle chewing on a popsicle," you say, utterly oblivious to what was going on in your boyfriend's mind - taking the entire popsicle into your mouth again, humming in contentment.

A shrug is his only response, taking in a deep breath through his nose as he bit down again, harder this time, and he wouldn't have cared if the stick snapped. He hopes with all of his might that you don't look down at his tight jean shorts- he was embarrassingly fully aware that he was already getting hard.

The room goes silent again save for the television and the white noise of the fans. Once he knows you're absorbed in the show again, Yuta goes right back to staring at you. He pulls the last piece of his popsicle off the stick and chews on it, while you're just starting the blue section of yours. You're still sucking on it lovingly, your lips dyed a deep red; as if you had just applied a fresh coat of lipstick. 

Your tongue paid attention to the underside of the popsicle first, then brought the whole thing into your mouth, cheeks sucked in for but a few seconds before you brought it back out, swallowing audibly and licking your lips with a satisfied hum.

The longer he watched, the tighter his pants felt and the tighter his pants felt, the more uncomfortable he got. It wasn't until he was practically squirming in his spot that you looked over again, concerned. 

"Is the heat getting to you, Yuta?" You ask sweetly, finishing off the last of your own popsicle, leaving the stick in your mouth for a moment before gingerly pulling it out. 

"You could say that," he said stiffly, unsure if he should just bite the bullet and tell you what he wanted.

You hummed sympathetically, standing. "Maybe you should go into the bedroom and keep the lights off. I'll bring the biggest fan in. I don't want you to get heatstroke," you don't even wait for him to nod before gently taking his popsicle stick and turning to pad into the kitchen. Yuta had to hold back a groan when he noticed the creases where your thighs met your ass were visible beneath the hem of your shorts. 

Yuta quickly stands and makes it into your shared bedroom, flicking off the lights and closing the curtains, blocking the rays of warm sunshine as best he could. He gets some relief from the heat when he lies down face first on the floor, the wood beneath him thankfully hadn't absorbed much heat. 

His situation felt much worse as he lay, his pelvis pressed right up against the floor. He would have moved to lie on his back if the floor weren't so cool. He then closed his eyes to wonder how long you were going to leave him alone before bringing in a fan from the living room. He licked his lips and thought; maybe a little relief wouldn't hurt. 

He stuttered out a sigh as he moved his hips against the floor. Even if it was the smallest amount of friction, it was better than nothing. He choked back a moan as he moved back and repeated- licking his lips. He eventually settled into a rhythm of humping the floor, the image of your popsicle disappearing into your throat replaying in his mind. Oh, how he wanted that to be him. 

He doesn't know how much time had passed, but he freezes and holds his breath when he hears the bedroom door slide open. He sits up and turns to look at you, hands in his lap to avoid the stream of light coming in that could reveal his erection.

"Feel any better?" you ask sweetly as you haul in the largest square fan, plugging it in and aiming it at Yuta. 

"A little," he says. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," you say, closing the door and turning on the fan, plopping down to sit on the floor next to him. "Ahh, that's the stuff." 

"Sure is," he says slowly, biting his lip. It's dark again, and he feels himself subconsciously palming at his pants. It's starting to hurt, and he's tempted to just blurt it out-

"Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?" 

Your question makes Yuta's breath hitch, looking at you with wide eyes. "Wh-what?" 

You're completely serious as you look him up and down through what little light was in the room. "Do you want to watch me eat another popsicle?"

Yuta began to sputter for a moment, not sure how to react or to respond to your question. "I, uh, what am I supposed to say?" Of course, he knew what he wanted; and if he had to somehow get off through his pants while watching you, he would.

Your smile returned. "You're supposed to say yes, silly." 

Yuta took in a deep breath and pushed his bangs back, feeling the sweat on his forehead. "Then yes," 

You grinned, but you didn't stand up. "Okay. Good." You lick your lips and only got up long enough to approach Yuta, pushing back his bangs gently and leaning forward to trap him in a kiss, your hands sliding to cup his cheeks. He instantly reciprocates, catching the message to scramble backwards so that he's leaning against the side of the mattress. 

When you separate from him, he watches you with wide eyes. "(Y/N)?" He nearly squeaks out your name, breathing heavily and wincing when your hands trail down from his face to his shoulders. You first unbutton his shirt, pushing it to the side to slide your hands down his tanned flesh. You smiled innocently as your index finger gave extra time to the thin happy trail that beckoned your eyes to the hem of his boxers that peeked from his jeans.

"Yuta-kun," you reply sweetly. "You're terrible at hiding things." 

Yuta sucked in a sharp breath when you began to unlatch his belt. "Y-you knew?" 

"Of course," you're slowly pulling down his zipper now, sticking your tongue out in concentration. "You watched me eat my popsicle and only looked away when I caught you. You know," you continue with a mischievous smile, "I don't think I've seen you this hard in a while."

"No, it hurts… please hurry," he's surprised at how desperate he really is; he's usually not this wanton- or you this bold. 

"Since you asked so nicely," you smile up at him, gently tugging down his pants and boxers, enough that you could shimmy them both off his legs. As soon as his cock sprang free, Yuta sighed with relief. 

You observed him with a loving gaze; his eyes half-lidded, absently flicking away his flowing bangs, panting and whimpering ever so slightly as you brought your mouth to the tip of his cock. It was one of your favourite sights.

Yuta gripped your hair gently as your cherry red lips kissed his tip. "Like… like you did with your popsicle…"

Humming, you comply. Your lips parted to consume him entirely, and you could barely contain a smile when Yuta let out an all-out moan as he hit the back of your throat. You worked on his cock in the same way you ate your popsicle, and it made Yuta shiver. 

You brought your mouth back up, leaving him coated in saliva. He didn't have any time to recover - you went right back down, your tongue swirling around him as you went. Then you were quickly licking stripes up and down his shaft. 

"(Y/N)," his breathing was heavy and hot, more sweat permeated his forehead. His hand gripped your hair tighter, taking in the sight of you growing more dishevelled, saliva and precum rolling past your lips and down your chin.

Once you lifted your head away, you slowly slipped your tongue out of your mouth to collect the dollop of precum collecting on your face. You're still working him gently with your hand as you catch your breath.

"Don't stop," Yuta commanded darkly, and your eyes lit up. 

"There he is," you say excitedly, licking your lips and swallowing thickly. "My Yuta," you giggled as Yuta grunted and gripped your hair tighter to push you back down on him. You started once again by bringing one of his balls into your mouth, smiling in triumph as you hear his moans echoing through the room. You work your way as slowly as you can, licking a wide stripe up his shaft, stopping periodically to sloppily kiss him. When you return to deepthroating him, you don't even gag, and Yuta's cock twitches in your throat from the sight alone. 

"Fuck," he gasps, "please let me fuck your mouth," 

You look up at him as best you can from your position, taking your mouth off of him with an obscene slurp and pop. You lick your lips, tilting your head to the side. "I thought you wanted this to be like my popsicle," you said innocently, and Yuta nearly scowled at you. 

"Please," his voice was dark and raspy, but you could tell he was desperate enough to start begging. His hand let go of your hair for but a moment, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "Please let me fuck your face." 

"Hmm, I don't think I will ever be able to say no to you," you say, kissing his abdomen, watching it twitch beneath your lips. "Okay." That was when you stood, peeling off your shirt. Yuta noticed you hadn't put on a bra today, basking in your half-nakedness as you haul yourself onto the mattress, lying face-up by the edge and opening your mouth to Yuta, flicking your tongue teasingly. 

He didn't waste time pushing his garments down and stepping out of them, leaning down to kiss you before standing up straight. He grabbed his cock tightly and stroked it as he hovered it over your face. 

"Don't make me wait, Yuta-kun," you whine, pouting at him. This was his turn to grin devilishly, deciding to comply with your request. 

As soon as he re-entered your mouth, he felt like he would immediately lose control. His cock was hitting the back of your throat perfectly, and you kept your tongue moving along his shaft and just under the edge of the swollen tip of his cock. 

"Fuck, this is so good, I'm gonna cum soon," Yuta could hardly contain himself, crewing his eyes shut tightly as he felt his world fall away into a blind search for his climax. His thrusting grew more erratic, causing you to finally start gagging on him. "Oooh," he groaned, feeling your throat constrict against him. "Oh fuck," 

You breathed through your nose as best you could, trying to endure Yuta's wanton fucking. You still enjoyed the feeling of his wet cock sliding against your tongue regardless. You would really need to catch your breath after he was finished, and you would definitely need to change your underwear. 

Yuta leant forward as far as he could, careful not to bend your neck too far against the edge of the mattress. He panted, grunted and moaned, moving his hands to knead your breasts and pinch your nipples. That was when you began to emit muffled cries as you lovingly choked on his cock, the vibrations of your throat sending him flying further into a frenzy.

"Gonna cum down your throat," he groaned, pinching your nipple tightly, reaching the peak of his speed, thrusting into your throat with all of his energy. "Fuck, feels so good, take it all," 

You felt as if precum and saliva were about to start spilling from your nose, but you were still close to cumming yourself. Yuta's touch on your chest, his words and the feeling of him wantonly fucking your face more than enough to leave you writhing. 

"Ooh, I'm gonna- take it, cumming, take it all… drink it, ah, fuck!" Yuta stills and you feel his length harden even further before he begins to twitch, hot salty liquid exploding into your mouth. Yuta stayed inside your mouth for what felt like an eternity, swallowing thickly and panting sharply. Once he finally pulled out, you could barely swallow everything before you started coughing. He took a moment to slide his boxers back on, turning the square fan to blow in the direction of the mattress.

Yuta took a seat on the edge of the bed beside you, gingerly placing a hand behind your head to help guide it into his lap. You move your body to lay comfortably, panting and regaining your own breath.

"Are you okay, baby?" If you had the energy, you would giggle at how concerned he looked. He pets your hair softly, threading through the tangles. 

"Yeah," you rasp, licking your lips of anything that may have escaped. "I just didn't know you had that in you."

"Me neither," he smiled sheepishly, looking you over. His eyes widen when his hand trails down to your shorts, clearly noticing the wet spot in between your legs even if his fingers barely touched it. "Did you-" 

"I, uhm… guess I really liked it?" You blush and look away, but it doesn't take Yuta long to start laughing sweetly, bending over to shower you with quick kisses. 

"Me too," he agreed quietly, "but I should probably get you all cleaned up. Bath or shower?" He tapped your chin with his index finger so you would look back up at him. He's looking at you curiously, waiting for your answer. 

"Bath, please." 

"Bath it is." Carefully, Yuta took you into his arms and slid the door open with his foot. Immediately you both were blasted with a wave of heat and intense sunshine, groaning at the vast difference in temperature.

"Cold bath," you whine, screwing your eyes shut to try and keep the sun out. "Ahh, it's so bright!" 

Yuta chuckled, kissing your forehead. "Yes, a cold bath."

[blackacre13]

Please continue the twelfth night au ?

Part four was here. So Here’s part 5:

It had been almost a week of living in Tammy’s barn as a secret couple on the run and Debbie had honestly never been better.

They played their game of secrets they’d concocted together almost every evening, sneaking into the fields to watch the sunset as they whispered secrets between them in exchange for kisses, talking until the sun had sunk below the trees in the distance and disappeared. Until the sky went pitch and the stars sprinkled out across the expanse of darkness, flickering to life, spreading sprays of glittery light overhead as the two kept up their game until one or both of them was yawning and having trouble keeping their eyes open.

Lou knew Tammy would never warn them that they were overstaying their welcome or that their time was wearing thin, but she did know that it was about time she and Debbie had a full, honest conversation about the future and what it held for them, together or not. And as much as she hated it, she wanted them to confront Debbie’s parents and find out the results on their own rather than living their life constantly on the run, hiding out in darkness from town to town. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t do that to Debbie. She didn’t deserve a life like that just to be with someone as common as Lou. She wouldn’t let her own feelings get in the way of Debbie’s happiness and safety. She couldn’t if she truly cared about her the way she knew that she did.

They had retreated back to the barn, a sleepy Debbie stumbling beside the blonde as she yawned, clinging to her waist for support as Lou laid her down, stroking her hair back as Debbie smiled up at her, her eyes struggling to stay open as she hummed. Lou had been itching to bring up the conversation, but she decided, in that moment, watching Debbie’s soft and tired face, that something that serious could wait until the morning. And that they would face it together.

“Lou?” Debbie murmured, her voice sleepy as Lou tucked the blanket around her gently, sweeping her hair out of her face as she hummed her response.

“Have you ever been in love?” Debbie whispered.

The blonde froze, her eyes slowly meeting Debbie’s as she held her gaze for a moment before nodding her head.

“Just once,” Lou admitted, feeling the blush spread across her newly pinked cheeks as she took off her shoes and laid down, shimmying down into the blanket beside Debbie as she looked up at the ceiling, trying to peek at the night sky through the cracks of the warped wood.

“Me too,” Debbie breathed.

It was quiet for more than a moment. So long so that Lou thought Debbie had fallen asleep beside her, but she’d been afraid to meet her eyes again, opting to stay looking up at the ceiling and the glimpse of the stars that scattered light across the dusty, hay covered floors. She eventually closed her eyes, holding her breath, suddenly anxious, left wondering if Debbie had understood what she’d been really hinting at.

“Right now I mean,” Debbie finally whispered, her voice almost silent as the blonde turned over to face her in surprise. She had to be sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her to tell her what she wanted to hear, but sure enough, Debbie was still awake. In fact, she looked more awake and determined than she had when Lou had tucked her in a bit ago.

“Me too,” Lou admitted, before holding her breath once more as she waited for the sound of Debbie’s voice nervously.

“I love you, Lou.”

And there it was. Lou’s heart suddenly hammering in her chest wildly as a smile grew along her face and her chest started to relax, deflating as she let the words sink in, repeating them to herself again and again.

“I love you too, Debbie,” she breathed. “I’m in love with you.”

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.���

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

[dinmadness]

Mando fic request/prompt

Din has to break it too Mayfeld that they are married now. Because Mayfeld saw his face and is still alive, so by creed they are married.

This goes significantly better then you would expect because Migs went from massively impressed and turned on with Mando’s skill while he was in prison to being in love when he saw how far he would go for his son, and those scared brown eyes.

So they go to save their little green son together.

Okay I’m super nervous about this one. I’ve wanted to write about these two since the episode aired and you blessed me with a gift. I hope I’ve done them justice!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Migs Mayfeld

Tags: lots of cursing, kissing, Mayfeld is in love.

I hope you enjoy this, it was so fun to write!

Fic under the cut!

Mayfeld scans the entrance to the mess hall, casually standing guard as to not raise any alarm. He can hear the machine Mando is standing at counting down, 10 9 8 7.... Panic creeps up his esophagus, threatening his airways, claws digging in.

6 5 4...

Silence.

Mayfeld turns to look at Mando and he feels the passage finally close when he sees tousled brown curls. He has to look away, shaking his head gently. Fuck, why’s it s’hot in here? Shifting to lessen his unease, Mayfeld looks back at Mando. It’s like he can’t resist. From the corner of his eye he catches Valin Hess stand and address Mando.

Fuck, fuck!

Panic is replaced with heavy dread in his stomach as Mayfeld watches the Mandalorian turn to Hess. Even from his place at the door he can see the fear Mando is struggling to contain. It’s a stark difference between the Mando back on the prison ship and now.

This man, who has never shown his face to anyone since he swore the Creed, is now standing bare faced in the presence of Imperial scum, all the while Mayfeld cowers in fear of being recognized. He has to do something. If Mando can sacrifice everything to save his child, Mayfeld can stand up to this fucking Imp jerk.

Quickly and smoothly as he can, Mayfeld shimmies up and inserts himself into the conversation, easing the attention off the Mandalorian. One look from the mans surprised face and Mayfeld is hooked. He gets swallowed instantly in the deep abyss of Mandos eyes, dark and warm like storm clouds rolling in on a summer evening.

In that moment, Mayfeld was prepared to do anything to help this man get his son back.

The pair (read: Mayfeld) was able to schmooze their way through the conversation. Unfortunately, it took a dark turn when Mayfeld brought up Burning Kann, despite Mando quietly urging him away from the subject. All his past anger began festering and festering the longer Hess spoke. How could Mayfeld be so stupid, how could he think this man would recognize him when all he and all the other stormtroopers were just numbers. He let Mando reveal his face because Mayfeld was a coward. Tears began stinging his eyes. Not anymore he isn’t.

Fucking scum.

Mayfeld shoots Hess. Then shoots every bastard in the room.

Slowing his breathing he looks at Mando and hands his helmet back. He did what he had to and if it helped the Mandalorian get the little green guy back, so be it. Mayfeld can play it off and forget what he saw.

Never mind the jaw he wants to cut himself on or the stubble he wants to feel scrape his thig...

Mayfeld is jerked from his inner yearning by blaster fire ringing in his ears. Working together, the pair escaped and boarded Fetts ship. The older Mandalorian landed the vessel and left the two alone to get out of those hideous clothes, promising to monitor the perimeter.

The duo changed with their backs to each other in silence. Tension thick in the air.

Unbearably quiet, if Mayfeld was honest. He had to say something.

He stops removing the flight suit, stinky as it may be and spins on his heels. The words die in his throat when he finds Mando is already staring at him, most of his beskar back where it should be. Brown eyes burrowing into his own blue.

Quick to look away, Mayfeld drops his eyes to the metal floor. “Hey man, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to touch and feel and see everything that is this Mandalorian.

“There are rules.”

Mayfeld flinches. The Mandalorians voice is level and so soft. “You’ve seen my face.”

Mayfeld brings up his arms, a little worried. “I ain’t never seen your face, Mando. I swear it.”

“Din.” Is all he says in return.

Mayfeld looks up a little further in question, now looking at the others chest plate. The armor shining in the light coming through the large panes of glass. From this distance Mayfeld can see his warped reflection. If he wasn’t so uncomfortable he’d crack a wise-ass joke. But nows not the time.

“My name is Din, Din Djarin. Look at me.” He demands.

Fuck, Mayfeld is weak. Doing as he is told he raises his head up meeting Dins eyes. Warm, warm, warm.

Din steps closer. “By seeing my face you are bound to me by Mandalorian law.”

Mayfeld quirks a brow, hackles raising, his pale cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What, like a fucking servant?”

Mando shakes his head, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “More like a riduur.” Mayfeld is silent, Din takes it as a hint the other doesn’t understand. “Partner, cyar'ika, beloved.”

A lightbulb clicks on above Mayfelds head. His face burns now, as red as his beard.

Oh.

Mayfeld lowers the walls he was quickly building. The fear that was starting to claw again gets swept away in the relief that washes over him.

“Well damn, Mando, I thought you’d never say.” Mayfeld closes the gap between them and drags Din down by his curls into a hot, slow kiss. Quiet moans swirl around them in the silence of the ship, just Mayfeld and Din.

Finally pulling back for air, Mayfeld smiles at the other before he leans over to grab the silver helmet to place back on, stopping just above his nose to steal one more gentle kiss.

“Now, let’s go get your kid back, shall we?”

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Have I got a treat for every one this fine Wednesday! X3

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! <3

Cue the boys finally having a moment of blissful happiness! *wails*

---

Solas let his thumb ghost along an infant cheekbone, feeling the faintest grit of scales under it. “He reminds me of you.”, he said without really thinking, nostalgia and the tightening of fondness gripping his mind and heart as ivory plate shivered from his touch, but not one of pain.

I am not hurting him, tainting his scales black.

Fane chuckled from beside him. “Does he? I think I see the resemblance. The scales, I’m guessing?”, his dragon teased, uncommonly, but understandably in good spirits.

Solas hummed. “Mm,” He readjusted the cloak, smiling without reservation as the tiny dragon burrowed into it more, a sleepy whimper loosing from a sharp maw. “Not precisely. It is more his spirit--bright even in slumber, strong even when faced with adversity.”, he explained and couldn’t help but let out a quiet coo when another whimper escaped a slender form. “Shh, da’isenatha. You are safe.”

“Here,” Fane reached over, readjusting Solas’ hold a bit and fluffing up a bit of the fur lining to which the tiny dragon immediately sought it out. “..he wants warmth.”

Solas tilted his head, glancing up at Fane and smirking gently. “He is a snow dragon, is he not? Would heat not make him uncomfortable?”, he asked. He only asked due to how the other man practically whined when the fire in their quarters was just a tad too high.

Fane shook his head, eyes soft as they gazed upon his kin. “Not yet.”, he said, slowly taking his hands away when the ‘nest’ was deemed good. “Infant dragons seek warmth from their mothers for the first several weeks, but I think he’ll have to need a source of heat for much longer. His body can’t regulate properly. He’d die in the conditions our breed is supposed to thrive in.”

Solas felt his gaze go hooded when Fane gently ran a thumb along the crown of the dragonling’s head and his whole body felt like mush when a tiny purr rattled through the cloak and up his arms. It was followed by a soft squeak of satisfaction, almost looking as if the line of the infant’s mouth was smiling. It was such a beautiful, mortal sight that Solas didn’t know how much more he could take, but despite that, he pulled the dragon closer, offering him warmth as he desired.

He would grant any desire, any request if it brought a smile forward--on either dragon that he was blessed to know and to love.

Solas hummed, thinking. “Hm,” He shifted a bit, moving closer to Fane absently before settling and looked up into softened emerald and gold with a tentative smile. “Would a warming spell be unwise?”

When Fane only stared at him with a raised eyebrow and curious look, Solas felt the need to justify or rather, explain his request. He wasn’t trying to push magic as the only option, knowing the precarious thoughts on it, but if warmth was sought, warmth could be easily obtained.

Solas cleared his throat gently. “Most of the magic will be contained to my body, of course. The heat is the result of a delicate balance of core temperatures and the residual essence will be projected outwards.”, he explained, suddenly finding himself blushing as Fane’s gaze softened like butter and more or less saying, ‘Relax’. “Ah, in shorter terms, it is akin to a rune warming a basin of water.”

Fane chuckled. “I know what a warming spell is, my sky. You’ve done it for me countless times.”

Solas blinked, blushing more. “Ah, of course.”, he muttered, turning his face away and absently pulling the tiny bundle in his arms closer. What was going on with him? It was as if all thought processes had flown out the cave’s entrance, and had been carried away with the wind, lost to him.

“Solas,”, Fane called out to him, another chuckle lacing his baritone. When Solas didn’t answer the call with his eyes or voice, opting to pluck at a loose emerald thread, one of his dragon’s hands appeared upon his face, beseeching. “--look at me, my sky. Let me see what you’re feeling right now.”

Solas felt his lips draw tight, refusing to look up, but leaning into the blazing hearth that was Fane’s palm. He honestly couldn’t understand what was coming over him. Could it be the atmosphere--cool and soothing, ice and snow smelling fresh, smelling clean? Could it be the blend of emotions that permeated the air--stress ebbing away, gentle joy edging inwards? Could it be how Fane’s thumb began to stroke under one of his eyes--quietly praising, openly relaxing? He had no definitive answer, and for once, he did not care as a willowy body shimmied and huffed out a cool to the touch sigh, finding the perfect spot to resume their plunge into pleasant dreams. Did dragons dream, he wondered? Maybe he should ask, but not now. Now was the time to relish in silence, not soil it with noise beyond whispers and whimpers.

He wanted to cherish this sensation--this sensation of being alive, of being able to hope and imagine a brighter future than what the path depicted before him every day, every night, every hour. Pointed ears twitched as Solas heard Fane let out an airy laugh; the sound was exquisite and it made his body warm without the use of magic.

“I’ve never seen you act this way.”, Fane murmured, but his voice wasn’t displeased. It was more...in awe? Solas wasn’t sure, but he didn’t mind it as he gingerly began to stroke the tiny dragonling with the back of his hand--easily pulling bits of the Fade through to warm the leather. He knew he was acting...odd, but he couldn’t reign it in, couldn’t control the swath of gentle love and tranquility coursing through him.

Solas chuckled, fondness encasing him more as a serpentine head nuzzled against his warmed hand. “I have never felt this way.”, he said, breaking his vow of silence and his vow of not gazing up at his dragon.

The look on Fane’s face had the essence of love blooming into full blown adoration as Solas took it in. Emerald and gold were no longer two, but one--mimicking the most intense waters of the Fade since they appeared to gently glow. Their depths screamed, ‘I love you. I love you. Let me see. Let me see.’, and Solas felt his lungs tighten and his mouth go dry. He, too, wished to see, to see his dragon bask in life, and though it was subtle, Solas knew that that was what Fane was doing every time he caught jewelled orbs flicking downwards to check on their slumbering hope. A tenderly stroking hand was still prevalent upon Solas’ face and he couldn’t help but turn his head a bit to lay a light kiss against it, drawing an all encompassing gaze back his way and also pulling a voice just as sweet as the one in ebbing orbs.

“You’re happy.”, Fane whispered, a soft smile upon his features to match his glittering eyes. “I adore seeing you this way. It’s beautiful--you’re beautiful.”

Solas sucked in a quiet, but shuddering breath before letting it out slowly. “That is--” He clamped his mouth shut as Fane’s face appeared but mere inches from his own, earnestness all over it, as well as the desire to make him see.

“You are beautiful, my sky.”, Fane reasserted, stabilizing arms coming around to carefully embrace him, but mindful of who was between them. “If only you could see yourself right now, through my eyes, and soon, through his,” Solas followed the flicker of gold as it indicated downwards, his heart melting anew as the tiny dragon fidgeted as if it were dreaming. “..you’d understand completely.

Solas leaned into the arms encasing him, eyes going hooded as Fane began to nudge and nuzzle at his cheek and jaw. He felt so warm, so calm, so solid. The tiny dragonling was in his arms, heart perceptible as it beat against his arms, breaths calm and deep as slumber stretched on. His dragon was around him, shielding, holding, and drawing him closer to his form to where Solas could feel a strong, strong heart thumping in time with his own. It reminded him of when he and Fane used to sit along the forest floors just outside of Arlathan, blissfully at ease despite the loom of shadows. His dragon had welcomed him into a ‘hoard’ of one back then, and he was being welcomed again in a hoard of two.

He was being accepted by a being who never should have accepted him due to what and who he was, but actually came to love him, to take a form that had once been reviled and thought of as no better than an insect’s just to...be with him. Just as the little one in his arms, oddly warm despite an opposite affinity, seemed to accept him as well, allowing Solas to hold him, to..to care for him. How is it that he felt more kinship with the two proud creatures before him, one small, one dual in form, than he did with any elves or mages? He cared for his people, almost to a fault, but now, it felt as if his...heart was growing, reaching for more, thinking beyond to a world where...coexistence could truly happen this time.

How is it that he felt so alive when even things such as touching a page of a book or holding a brush felt numb?

“You are beautiful, ma’isenatha.”, Solas whispered, unable to keep the tremble from his voice as emotion began to overwhelm him and the sensation of Fane inching closer and closer as if to bridge the miniscule gap between had his heart yearning. “I am merely--”

Fane blinked once slowly, stilling the words that wished to flow. “A person.”, he whispered, a hand coming up to cup his cheek once more and a forehead coming to greet Solas’ own. “A person that’s made mistakes, made errors, but a person that’s loved, that’s cried, that’s cared.” A light kiss fluttered against his cheek, heat rising as surely as a whimper did from his chest.

“Cared so much as to warp the intention. I know what I have done, my dragon, and no matter the justifications, I committed an act unforgivable. To my people and to yours. If I am a person, I am but a shadow of one.”, Solas argued, gently turning his head down to witness pure white with only a splash of obsidian, but even that was pure to his eyes at this moment. He took a bit of the cloak in hand, swiping the edge under a closed eye gingerly and nearly wept when a pleased hum left the beautiful creature nestled in his arms. A question unearthed from that display of wonderful expression. “Would it...be wrong to name one of your kin?”

A pregnant pause, one that had Solas nearly backtracking, mentally smacking himself for being so foolish, but all the dread, all the self-loathing vanished like a barrier as Fane’s lips appeared against his own, warm, tender, and ever depicting of the man the other truly was; devoted. He froze up a bit, gingerly giving the tiny dragonling a squeeze, but no fuss was made, no whimper of discomfort sounded. Solas slowly began to relax, warmth filling him, eyes falling shut, and tilting his head slightly to slot his lips more flush with Fane’s own. The kiss was slow and sadly, fleeting, Fane letting out a quiet hum before pulling away with a hooded gaze and a truly bedazzling smile that made the lower lids of his eyes pull upwards.

Solas blinked, stunned and face warm despite the chill. “...Ma’isenatha.”, he whispered with a tone akin to reverence before unabashedly leaning into the wall before him and nudging against a beautiful jawline. He rested his head against Fane’s shoulder soon after, relishing its stabilizing demeanor, basking in how a hearty heart thumped and thumped and thumped with the drums of life against his side, linking with his own, while a tiny one fluttered against one of his forearms.

What had he done? What had he done to deserve this..?

Fane wasted no time in embracing him, bringing his arms up and giving him a tentative squeeze. Solas chuckled at that obvious display of carefulness, gaze going hooded as he stared up at a being who had defied so much as the little one in his arms did. Tenacity was indeed indicative to dragons.

“Did I break you?”, Fane asked, voice as soft as an echo of thunder, distant, but oh-so near.

Solas scoffed softly, smirking a bit. “Mm, perhaps a bit.”, he said, shifting his head back and forth against the leather of his dragon’s coat. Such a thing would make him bristle with discomfort any other time, but right now everything felt soft and truly perfect. It felt real. “Though, I know it was but your answer to my question.”

Fane chuckled. “Indeed it was.”, he said, glittering orbs of two tones rolling downwards to the slumbering dragonling. “I had a name in mind after I was sure he wouldn’t...die.”

Solas blinked before smiling a bit. “Is that so?”, he asked, smiling more when Fane nodded and his ivory visage flushed a light pink. “Then, the honor is yours, vhenan. Let the world know another dragon yet lives.”

Beauty was everywhere as those words fell from Solas’ lips. In the sharp lines of a devotion borne jaw, in the contours of cheeks and their related bones, in the curves of a smiling, a full blown smiling mouth, in bottom eyelids as they pulled upwards and the top shaded a heavily hue. In this moment, Fane appeared every bit of the beautiful person that he was--dual, but wholly one. Just as the curled up dragonling in his arms was. What had Solas done to deserve not one, but two, wonderful beacons; one, Devotion; one, Hope? He truly, truly did not know, but he wished for those two lights, those two lives, to shine forevermore.

They would endure, even if he did not. But perhaps, Solas would endeavor to push onward right beside, as a new set of sparkling tones--emerald and gold--gazed up at him sleepily, double lids flickering as the tiny dragon blinked away dreams and haze, and another set gazed down, wide-eyed and loudly joyful as those pools finally allowed themselves to fill with tears.

“Yune.”, Fane voiced the name with a shuddering, airy, but deeply joyful laugh. Tears began to roll down his pale cheeks, the delicate drip, drip, drip resounding off the stone ground, but Solas felt no guilt from them, no pain. For they were of happy make, of hope. “His name is Yune.”

Solas nodded, smile of happiness stretching his face to impossible heights, but he didn’t mind it. To bask in life was to share in its tender joy. And this time, he would allow it to permeate his mind and soul without shame, without guilt. For there was hope where there was otherwise not. A tiny questioning ‘chrp’ had Solas blinking gently, newborn orbs staring up at him curiously instead of looking down like the ones brimming with tears.

Those eyes, Solas offered a singular finger to the tiny dragon and felt tears prick at his own eyes as emerald and gold blazed with excitement and already, love. We will keep them colored, little one. Da’isenatha. A term that will be more commonplace. I promise.

“Welcome to the world, Yune.”, Solas whispered, feeling Fane come down to rest his forehead against the side of his eyes. The man was sniffling and quietly sobbing, and it had Solas letting out a shuddering sigh, leaning into the gesture eagerly as Yune--such a beautiful name--let out a squeak of acknowledgement and acceptance.  

Hope. What a beautiful light in the shadows--in this world he had wrought.

----

A bit lengthy, but I COULDN’T DECIDE! *screeches and curls up on the ground like the very dragon I created* 

Tagging (bask in the HOPE): @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @drag-on-age @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs and anyone else who’d like to BASK with their own creations! (no pressure, as always! <3)

[soyforramen]

Faith

Another update to the urban-fantasy AU I will eventually finish:

-

“Running away again, Jonsey?”

Penny’s voice echoed in the alley around him, her voice surrounding him, trapping him. Jughead gritted his teeth and ran for the street. His side throbbed and screamed with every step, but Betty’s grimoire had held up beautifully. At least until his leather jacket had finally given up under the heat of demon fire and grafted onto his skin.

Sanctuary was close by, so long as the Father was in. Glancing up and down the sidewalk, Jughead realized he was the only one out on the streets this late. That meant that there was no one he’d have to try and save from Penny’s wrath, but it also meant she had nothing to distract her from her pursuit.

Hearing Penny’s footsteps, he stumbled into the street and scrambled towards the sacred steps.

His shoulder screamed when he raised his arm to lift the clunky, rusted gargoyle door knocker. It slammed into the wood, creating a hollow, ominous sound. Panting, Jughead glanced behind him only to have Penny’s smirking face burned into his retinas. Another fire bomb flew his way, and he jumped back onto the thick cement railing. A shock of hellfire lit up his neck and Jughead realized his hat had caught on fire. He threw it towards her and turned back towards the door, only to find it standing strong without a single scorch on it.

“Aw, you think Father is going to save you Jonesy? Just like he saved dear old daddy? Are you gonna scream? Beg for mercy, just like F.P. did back in the old country?” Penny taunted.

The chains around her hips clanked softly in the night air as she sauntered towards him. At least one of them was enjoying this, though Jughead would rather see their roles reversed. Just as she reached the curb, the door behind him creaked open and he lunged inside.

“Forsythe? What on earth brings you –“

A burst of hellfire threw Jughead the rest of the way through the door. He landed hard on the old, polished marble and skidded across the floor only to slam into a pew. Every inch of his body was heavy; it was impossible to raise his head. Jughead blinked, but all he could see was the spark of flame coming at him, the afterburn of Penny’s latest attack.

“You have no power here, demon,” Father Mason said, his voicing booming in the high cupola above them.

Penny growled something low and unintelligible. Father Mason responded in kind. A bright, chiming song cut through their noise and it took Jughead almost two passes to answer his phone.

“Where are you? I lost Penny,” Betty’s ragged, gasping breath came from the speaker.

Jughead let out a long breath, thankful that she’d managed to get free. “8th and Elm. St. Hermione’s.”

“You’re in a church?”

It was quiet a moment. Another blast of fire managed to make it over the threshold and wound it’s way directly at him. Jughead dropped the phone and rolled away from it, letting the rest of his jacket take the direct hit.

The door slammed shut, and the air calmed.

“Jug.”

Cool hands cradled him, lifting him into a sitting position. Jughead blinked back the nausea, and Moose’s face swam into view. Wisps of grey threaded through his hair, and there were a few more lines around his eyes, but this was the same, kind face that had proselytized to his small village when Jughead was just a boy. Jughead reached up a hand, only to gasp and shudder at the pain.

“Are you hurt?” Moose asked, his voice brooking no lie.

“No more than the last time you saw me.”

Moose frowned, and a wave of shame hit Jughead.

“Sorry, I know it’s been a few …”

Days? Months? Years? Centuries?

Somewhere in the back of the apse a door slammed shut. Jughead started, adrenaline coursing through his body, but Moose gently guided him back to the floor.

“That demon will never cross my threshold,” Moose promised.

“Juggie?”

Moose stood, his center of gravity low and his hands clenched in fists, ready for a fight. He’d always been ready to protect, and die for, a member of his flock, no matter how lost they may be.

Jughead tugged on Moose’s frock and managed to croak out, “A friend.”

He turned to see Betty rushing around the alter, her blonde hair outshining the painted angels above her. Jughead refused to note the comparison as another wave of pain hit. Ignoring the priest, Betty rushed towards Jughead and pulled him into her arms.

“Are you okay?” Betty asked as her hands hovered above his shoulders, assessing the damage that had been done.

“Never better.”

Her hands landed on his side and he yelped. Blackness swam across his vision and he felt Betty grasp him even tighter, cursing under her breath.

“He needs blood,” she muttered.

She unbuttoned her cuff to roll up her sleeve, but Moose stopped her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jughead turned his neck, squinting to watch Moose walk towards a cabinet behind the alter. They’d done this many times before, though often it was more an act of contrition than one of necessity. In truth, Jughead had little interest in faith or religion. He’d gone to church not out of a sense of duty, but because of the stories that Father Mason wove, day after day, about men claiming to be sent from God. And as he grew, he and the Father had formed a strange sort of friendship between a devout holy man and a scoffing, peasant teenager.

Even when Jughead’s life had been taken by a woman who smelled of lavender and leather, her touch tender against his throat and his soul, it was Father Mason who brought him sanctuary. Touched by an unholy fever and an unnatural hunger, it was Father Mason who knew the rites to perform.

Now, knowing what was to come, Jughead’s teeth ached and his mouth filled with saliva. The pain shifted from his shoulder to his stomach as it clenched in anticipation. Watching Father Mason pour the sacramental wine, Jughead could smell it’s acrid stench, the rotting grapes taking on a light, delicious temptation.

As he neared, Betty curled Jughead closer to her.

“Are you trying to kill him?”

Father Mason held up a hand and prayed. The low mumble of Latin lulled Jughead into an almost catatonic state, an addict waiting for his next shot of morphine.

“It’s fine, Betts, we’ve done this before,” Jughead said. His eyes locked on the chalice where the wine was slowly thickening.

When Father Mason was done, he held the chalice up to Jughead’s lips. It was pure ambrosia – the sweet, tangy flavor had increased in the now consecrated blood – and the tang of it sent ecstasy running through every inch of Jughead’s body.

“For this is my blood of the covenant,” Betty murmured. She shook her head in wonder. “That’s impossible.”

Moose smiled sadly and sat back on his heels. “Everything is impossible for those who doubt.”

She frowned. “No, there’s no way you could do that without …”

Another blast hit the door, and though it held, the chandeliers swayed above.

“You’re a witch,” Betty concluded. “You have to be.”

Father Mason jerked back, staring at her. His lips were set in a thin frown and his grip on the chalice had tightened.

“I’m no such thing.”

“You have to be, otherwise –“

Jughead wrapped a hand around Betty’s arm and shook his head.

“Faith alone,” Father Mason said firmly, “is what gives me power.”

He set the chalice on a nearby pew and stood, an imposing figure even in the black cassock. From this angle, Jughead realized for the first time he’d known Moose for almost three centuries. It was a strange thing that he’d never realized this before. Father Mason should have been dead, or at the very least a very old man, but Moose didn’t look a day over forty-five. Forty, in the right light.

“But –“

Jughead sat up slowly and shook his head. “Let it go. Please.”

Betty chewed her lip and they watched as Moose walked towards the door. Without effort, he opened the massive door - carved figures from biblical times, sinners and saints alike, lit up with fading hell fire.

“Father,” Penny spat out.

“You have no reason to be here. Leave,” Father Mason ordered.

She laughed, the sound distorted and warped within the church. “I have every reason to be here. Jones is in there, and I’m not. You know the rules.”

Father Mason shook his head and stepped out of the church. “This is a place of sanctuary, or have you forgotten the ancient rules?”

“Have you? I’m surprised you haven’t burned to ashes in there. Heretic.”

Carefully, Betty pulled Jughead to his feet. He leaned against the pews for a minute, too in awe of the changing lights around him to move. The consecration always hit him differently, the faith put into the wine stronger and stronger each time. Now, though, it appeared that Betty’s doubt had only increased the potency of Moose’s faith.

“My sins have been forgiven,” Moose’s voice bellowed, “as will yours. Repent and you too shall be brought back into the fold.”

Demonic cackling had Betty and Jughead clinging to each other.

“Forgiven? Us? Is that the lie they told you? We don’t get forgiven, Marmaduke. We’ve fallen, remember? We’re the rejects, the ones cast out by God and his holy entourage.”

The air in the church dropped a few degrees and the light dimmed. Jughead tugged Betty away from the door, and together they drew closer to the altar. Even from this distance they could see the sag in his shoulders, hear the desperation in his voice. Jughead felt a sting of sympathy run through him; he knew, painfully, what it was like to loose something that so defined one’s personality. It wasn’t a pain he would wish on anyone.

Without an ounce of fear, Father Mason opened the heavy doors and stepped out. Their carvings - images and figures from the Bible, depicting saints and sinners alike – glowed amber from the hellfire barrage they’d undergone. To Jughead’s eyes, they danced and shimmied, mocking the demon who dared attack them.

“Shouldn’t we –“ Betty leaned towards the doors, watching the priest take each step deliberately.

Jughead clamped down on her arm and pulled her closer to him. He knew, without a doubt, that she would run to Moose’s aid if given the chance. “This has always been his fight,” he told her softly. “I’ve only been a way to get to him.”

His words, an attempt to quell her fears, only seemed to wind her up like a toy, ready to leap forward at the first hint of trouble.

“Besides,” he added, “his name’s Moose. I think he’ll be fine.”

Another flare of heat rushed through the church and they drew back further from the door.

A howl of rage and pain mingled with Latin chants, the sound even more chilling that the last. There was a clacking noise, and Jughead glanced down to find Betty running through a string of charms, her lips chanting their own sort of prayers of protection.

In less than a second, the world went silent. The air was suffocating in its stillness, and the temperature suddenly dropped ten degrees. Jughead waited, his eyes never leaving the door; while his faith in Father Mason was absolute, even he had to admit there were enough things on heaven and earth, live or not, who could destroy even him.

One minute passed, then two. Betty jumped up and dashed towards the door quicker than Jughead could stop her. He followed cautiously, still waiting for another flash of hellfire to come his way. But when he reached the stone steps all he found was a calm, exhausted Father Mason and Betty, hovering over him, trying to find some way to help him.

“She’s gone,” Father Mason said from his seat. He wheezed out a cough, and Jughead noted a grey streak running from his temples that hadn’t been there before. “For now at least.”

He waived Betty away, thanking her for thinking of him, and nodded to Jughead.

“I wondered when I might see you next,” he said to Jughead, offering a hand. Jughead took it, and Father Mason clasped it in both hands. “But maybe next time call first.”

Father Mason dropped Jughead’s hands and reached for the railing. He leaned on it heavily, groaning as he took each step. They watched warily, both aware of the tremendous toll the fight had taken on him. Betty kept opening and closing her mouth, full of a million unanswered questions, but to Jughead’s relief she didn’t ask a single one.

It wasn’t until the old wooden doors were shut that she turned to Jughead. He held up a hand.

“It’s a long story,” he offered. Betty pursed her lips at his answer and he continued quickly. “Let’s go get someplace safe, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Fine.” Her voice was petulant and not for the first time Jughead wondered whether it hurt her to keep so many questions inside. “But you’re going to have to start with how on earth you didn’t catch on fire.”

He raised an eyebrow and matched her stride as they walked down the road. “Pretty sure –“

“I mean in the church,” she said, cutting him off with a roll of the eyes. “And how you were able to drink consecrated wine? Last I checked, vampires tended to avoid that sort of thing. And what in Gaia’s name was that thing with the Latin? No one’s ever heard of –“

Jughead let Betty’s stopped up curiosity spill out of her while his mind wandered back to Father Mason, wondering not for the first time what type of creature he really was.

[laurelsofhighever]

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again. 

--

CW: sleep paralysis in the beginning

Something hunted her. Avarice, perhaps, or Glory. The light in her hand drew them ever closer, blinding them to the glint of the dragonbone Talon she kept unsheathed by her side, the blade that longed to sate itself on their spirit flesh. For one, the rose was a trophy, for the other, the essence of all she hoped to gain. The forest around her hung close, crooked branches girdled by beards of hoary lichen, roots trying to trip her, the light above blocked by the canopy so that only the bobbing green glow of wisps remained to guide her along the path. They drifted towards her and darted away again like shoals of curious fish, and as ever, the demons gained. She would have to turn soon, to stand and fight though exhaustion snapped at her heels. And something else nagged at her too, a weightlessness, a disconnect between her actions and the world around her as if chains dragged at her limbs.

A dream, then. In realising it, she slipped into sunlight as the forest dissolved around her, opening her eyes to rich furnishings and sheets of gold brocade overlaid with soft pelts to keep out the cold, the warm pull of an arm thrown over her stomach. Alistair lay already alert beside her, the details of his face blurred by the haze of first waking but no less dear because of it. As her body rolled and turned into him, he rose above her to bring her close, untangling his arm from the bedclothes to embrace her.

“Bad dreams?” he asked, in a voice that didn’t quite reach her sleep-fogged ears.

She felt no desire to reply, and instead slid her hand into the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down to her mouth. His touch stirred the banked embers in her chest, his weight melding them together, one body, one lick of heat through questing limbs –

But he had no scent. There was no scratch of stubble against her cheek.

Her consciousness erupted into the prone form of her slumbering body, but got no further. She commanded it to move. Her flesh responded like stone, and panic rose like water to freeze her lungs. Avarice might be leaning over her, its claws poised above her to rend life from her bones and claim her skin as its own, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even feel her sword in her hand. A finger, an eyelid – anything that might bring her back to herself. She fought. She screamed inside her own head, pushing back at the darkness and at the illusion it fed her of her hands moving, the iron of her will useless against the dead weight of her limbs.

It must have been only moments before the paralysis recoiled and broke without warning, but it felt longer. It left her gasping in the dim, moonlit confines of an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar shape lumped among the pillows next to her. Despite her sudden start, the figure breathed in deep, even lungfuls of air, and as her eyes grew used to the dark, Rosslyn made out Alistair’s bearded face poking from the covers. His eyes roved under their lids, his lips parted slightly, while his hair – though longer than it had appeared in her dream – stuck out at all the odd angles she remembered. The certainty that she could not have imagined him so calmed the race of her heart and brought her back to where she was, the knotted string that had led her back into his life.

“No, Ambassador, I didn’t say that…”

His mumbles trailed off as he shifted under the covers, and she bit down on a smile. They had been in Highever when she first found out he talked in his sleep. She had teased him about it, and all the salacious things he might have uttered without the filter of his conscious mind to stop him, but even as her hand reached out to smooth his hair away from his face, the sweetness of the memories turned bitter. They had shared so little time together without the world getting in the way, brief weeks after only a year of knowing each other, and since then, she had lived two years in an endless Void, without anything to bar the sound of her own breath from her ears. He, meanwhile, had grown into the grace of his kingship without her. She had known he would, but it didn’t stop the whisperings of the snide voice at the back of her mind that told her he no longer needed her. What if everything, including his image, were just another dream?

She withdrew her hand without touching him.

Carefully, so Alistair wouldn’t notice, she shimmied out from under the covers and set her feet into the thick silk pile of the rug that guarded the bed like a moat. She counted her fingers, pressing her thumb to the tip of each one in turn, and then along the scar on her wrist that she had received from an accident in the training arena when she was still a beginner. The movements had become habit by now, but experience had taught her habit itself was dangerous, a way for the mind to skip over inconsistencies in favour of familiarity, and so to ground herself she closed her fist around Talon’s blue leather scabbard. Slowly, making sure to feel the difference between cool metal wire and rough drakeskin, she half-drew the blade and winced at the scrape of the dragonbone as it came free.

Here lay the test; she breathed deep relief when her reflection showed her eyes, a slice of the tapestry behind her, and nothing else. It did not warp into any monstrosity, or move while she sat still, and with a roll of her shoulders she eased the sword back into its rest. Not that it stopped her hands from shaking. With a last long glance over her shoulder, she rose and padded across the expanse of gilded carpet, with Talon held tight in her left hand so the buckles wouldn’t jingle.

No expense had been spared in the appointments of the Emperor’s bedchamber. The high ceiling had been painted blue and dusted with silver stars that glinted in the moonlight spilling in from the windows. The largest of them mapped out the constellations visible in the night sky, though as she gazed upwards, Rosslyn noted that they had been arranged according to aesthetics, rather than accuracy to the true heavens her mother had taught her to read as a child. With a rueful twitch of her lips, she turned away and skirted the suite of chaises and spindle-legged sofas that clustered around the fire, their fine silk threads a heady texture under the trail of her fingers.

She found the opulence garish, from the sculpted marble halla framing the hearth to the tapestries on the wall that showed scenes of nobles hunting or riding into battle on horses with faces that seemed almost human, and she imagined the expression Alistair might have let slip when he first opened the door. Only the drift of woodsmoke from the fire brought her any familiarity, the faint, whining hiss of its heart filling the silence as she explored. A bookcase stood in the corner of the room at the edge of the fire’s shaky glow, but close enough to spark against the gold-leafed titles on the spines. Still unsettled, she tilted her head to read them, mouthing their names to herself before she pulled out a likely tome concerning natural science and let the pages fall open on a discussion of dragon anatomy. She forced herself to see the shape of the words as well as their meaning, the first sentence on a page and then the last, and then the first again to make sure it hadn’t changed.

“Rosslyn?”

She dropped the book and turned, Talon already ringing out of the scabbard as she sank into a defensive crouch at the unexpected voice. Blinking groggily, Alistair sat up in the bed, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. His eyes shifted from her face to the weapon in her hand and the battle-ready stance she was too slow to hide.

“What are you doing over there?” he asked as she turned towards the window and tried to calm the race of her pulse. She heard him kick the covers away, the grumbled command to the glowstone, and the pad of his bare feet across the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Even though she heard him coming, she flinched when he touched her arm.

He edged closer. “Bad dreams?”

She clenched her jaw against the chill of déjà vu down her spine. “Something like that.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

A sigh tumbled from her lips as she ducked her head, as she leaned into the hand sliding into the small of her back and fought against the part of her that wanted to make light of what he must have seen. And yet, hadn’t she been trying for months to find him again? His lack at her side had been a physical ache beyond even the scars the Fade had left on her; to shut him out now when he was reaching out seemed too much like madness, like being bested by the fear she had pushed back for so long.

“When I was in the Fade, it was difficult sometimes to tell what was real,” she admitted, drawing her hands around herself. “When I had to sleep I’d wander through the dreams of others, and when I woke up I could never really be sure that I really was awake or if it was just some trap set by a demon. It’s been… hard to adjust back.” She kept her gaze on the carpet, but then she didn’t need to look to feel the cautious sympathy radiating from every line in Alistair’s body.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I…” The heat of his palm was a distraction, a reminder of all the times she had opened her eyes on his image and wondered whether the illusion might be worth succumbing to it. She had been alone too long, and left too many pieces of herself behind with the corpse of the Nightmare. But he was too clever, reading her silence and the fear behind it as if the words were scrawled across her face, and he moved close so that his bulk and his scent might fold her away from the world, cupping her jaw to lay a kiss at her temple.

“What will help?” he asked.

Rosslyn let herself wrap around him; her body acted on its own initiative and buried into his shoulder as her mind drifted back to the bad episodes of the first few days, when Merrill had led her through reality and shown her all the ways to rely on her senses again.

“Details,” she said, content to lose herself in the rhythm his fingers made against the back of her neck. “Things to ground me, that my mind can’t make up.”

“Such as?”

“Words on a page, smells…” She allowed herself a smirk. “That damned beard.”

“More baseless attacks against facial hair?” He tutted, shaking his head and deliberately mussing her hair with the accused beard in the process. “You’re still as cruel as ever, dear lady.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m still ‘dear lady’?”

“Always.”

When she could stand to lean away, she looked up at him, gazing at her with the same oak-bronze eyes she remembered, the same flecks of gold, the calm and the rapture and the certainty that had steadied her soul from the beginning. Unable to bear the weight of his expression, she turned her focus to the slight bow-curve of his mouth, and the growth of hair that accentuated the strong line of his jaw. It was several shades darker than that on the rest of his head, though as she gently raked her fingers through it, strands of copper and gold caught in the glowstone’s light. His eyes slipped closed at the touch and she smirked wider.

“You like that,” she murmured.

He hummed. “I never thought it would feel so nice.”

If they had been together, they would have discovered such sensitivity long ago.

“Rosslyn?”

She bolstered her crumbling smile. “I just thought of a use for these bristles of yours.”

“Mm?”

Instead of answering, she closed her fingers and drew him down with the lightest pressure until they met in a soft brush of lips. “That’s a much easier way of getting you to kiss me.”

“Easier than just being in the same room as me?” he teased. “Easier than being brave and beautiful and everything I’ve ever wanted?”

She let go. His smile was earnest but she couldn’t look at it, blinding and stealing her breath as if she were stepping out into the sun on a winter’s day. And still, his sigh cleaved her like a butcher’s knife as his hand skimmed the length of her arm to where Talon still rested in a white-knuckled fist.

“I have guards outside,” he told her. “You’re safe. Whatever hunted you before, I won’t let it get you here.”

She remembered another night, after an attempt on her life, when he had sworn himself to her defence. “So Orlais has run out of assassins, then?” asked lightly.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured, raising her knuckles to his lips. “Or – we could read one of the books, if…”

“If I don’t think this is real? You don’t need to worry about that, I’m convinced.”

The tension knitted tight through his shoulders unspooled. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t have to stay up on my account.” A smile ghosted across her mouth, brief and unconvincing. “This is hardly my first night without sleep, and from what I overheard earlier, you have negotiations to attend in the morning.”

“And rob you of the company? Perish the thought. Besides,” he added, bending past her to pick up the book she had been skimming, “Une étude de draconides du sud sounds fascinating.”

“It’s rather dry, actually.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Then maybe it’ll send us back to sleep faster. Come on, those chaises look comfortable, even if they’re gaudier than any furniture has a right to be.”

Defeated, Rosslyn sighed and let herself be tugged along, unable to entirely fend off the infectious grin sent her way, or the squeeze in her chest as she sat and Alistair knelt before her on the floor to wrap a heavy blanket around her shoulders.

“Will you read to me?” she asked.

His smile softened. “Of course. Now budge up.”

Negotiating the chaise took more effort than the bed. Despite being wide enough for the voluminous panniers favoured by Orlesian fashion, the springy, overstuffed cushions had not been designed to accommodate even one person lying down, much less two who had become unused to coordinating their limbs. After a lot of awkward folding and a brief interlude where she made him sit up again to take one half of the blanket, Rosslyn settled on her side with her back against the chaise and her cheek resting on Alistair’s shoulder in order to see the pages as he read them. Talon, still within reach, had been propped against the armrest.

“Now, let’s see, where shall we start…”

Heaving a contented sigh as he flicked through the pages, she snuggled closer and wrapped her free arm more fully around his waist. The movement pushed up the loose hem of his nightshirt, and without thinking she followed the feel of warm skin and slipped her hand beneath the fabric, pleased with the small hum elicited by the movement. After a moment, however, she paused, frowning. Instead of the smooth expanse of muscle she had once known almost as well as her own body, her fingertips tracked along a line of hard, raised tissue that curved across the point of Alistair’s hip.

“What…”

“Rosslyn?”

She levered herself upright and lifted the fabric to get a better look at the scar. “I don’t remember this.” Three long, uneven stripes stood out pale against the richer tone of his skin, faded enough that the initial blow must have been healed by magic, but still livid pink beneath where the new flesh didn’t quite meld with the old.

“Oh, that. It’s nothing, really.” He pulled the shirt down again to cover it, and dragged her hand to his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It looks like it hurt,” she pressed.

He smiled, too wide. “Barely felt it, actually. This looks like a promising page –”

“What happened?”

“Just leave it alone!”

Stunned, she flinched away to better look at him, at the immediate regret in his eyes and the wariness that still lurked behind it.

“Rosslyn –”

“It happened at Ostagar, didn’t it?” she said, and felt her stomach lurch as he sat up and hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

“It… It was while they were still clearing the rubble. There was still hope, but not much, and every rock they lifted where they didn’t find you…” He bit his lip. “It all got too much in the end, so I took a party out to hunt down the demons that escaped the rift’s collapse. One got a lucky swipe.”

All because of her. She shut her eyes and dropped her forehead to his shoulder to banish the image of him, wounded and grieving and hating her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured “You’re the one who was always telling me not to drop my guard.”

“If I had been there…”

“No. Don’t do that. I’ve spent two years wondering what might have been.” Arms wrapped around her waist, fingers under her jaw coaxing her to look at him. “You’re here, now, and everything’s going to be alright.”

Still unsure, she shook her head. “I thought this would all be so easy. I thought I could just… walk back into my life like none of it happened. But everything’s so different.” Just because she had been stuck in time, she had assumed the same of everything else, that she might return to the moment she first struck the Nightmare and still have her place as the Falcon without politics or resentment to cloud her triumph. The worst of it, the part she could barely admit even to herself, was that everything from her return to Harrowhill to the painted stars above her might not be real at all, and yet she had wearied so much that not even the guilt of surrender could make her care. Perhaps the real Alistair had died along with her at Ostagar, the only thing left of him this illusion, a phantom set of hands around her waist the closest she would ever get to him again.

The pressure of those hands tightened before she could move away, drawn into his lap instead with the blanket forgotten around her knees.

“Not everything is different,” he said. “Not the important things. You’re still my wife.”

Her breath caught in her lungs.

“Unless…” A pause. “Rosslyn, when this is over – when you’ve done what you have to for Flemeth and these trade talks have been hammered out – you will come back with me, won’t you? Ferelden still needs its queen.” He swallowed. “And even if it didn’t, there’s not a moment that’s gone by that I haven’t needed you. It’s been awful, I’ve missed you so much.”

Something sharp constricted in her chest as the firelight caught in his eyes, on the tears he rapidly tried to blink away. “I didn’t know if you’d want me like before,” she confessed.

“Of course I do.” For the second time, the book tumbled to the floor, this time displaced from his lap so he could turn and take her face between both of his hands. “I love you. I never stopped.”

“I’ve caused you so much pain –”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, again, stroking her face with his fingers as he leaned forwards and pressed his brow to hers. “You came back to me. It’s alright.”

Soothed by the patterns he was drawing across the back of her neck, she shifted until her legs pressed on either side of his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here. Rosslyn, I…”

His hands had wandered again, palms ghosting down her back and over her thighs, pulling her closer while his knees came up behind her to take more of her weight, to tip her forward onto his chest. She cupped his face and kissed him before he could gather himself enough to speak, and then followed the line of his jaw with lighter brushes of her lips to the pulse point in his neck, her concentration only broken when he found the hem of her borrowed shirt and slinked into a tighter embrace against her skin.

His teeth rasped against her shoulder, a chuckle low in his throat. “We’re supposed to be reading, dear lady.”

“You’re the one who started this,” she murmured back, as her fingers inched beneath his collar.

“You’re the one encouraging me,” he retorted. “Maker, I can’t get you close enough – tell me you don’t want to stop.”

“It’s not that…” A worry tugged at the small corner of her mind not yet consumed by the sensation of being touched, growing in presence until it could not be ignored. “I don’t know if I’m – if we’re still, uh, protected.”

“Ah.” To her relief, he didn’t push her away, and instead leaned back against the chaise with his arms around her shoulders. “And you don’t have any of that tea with you?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting to need it.”

For an instant, the shadow of thwarted expectation hung in the air, mingling with her worry about the cost of her hesitation, until with the breath of a low, rumbled laugh, Alistair sent the tension blowing away like errant cobwebs on a breeze.

“I’m sure we’ll dig some up from somewhere eventually,” he allowed, helping her adjust so she lay adjacent rather than astride his lap. “Besides, after two years, I can’t say it would have been my best performance anyway.”

She stretched up, careful not to jab a knee into where it wouldn’t be appreciated, and pecked him on the cheek before tucking herself back against his side. “The performance isn’t what I care about.”

“I love you. Have I said that yet?”

“I could stand to hear it again.”

Their fingers laced, and for a while only the fire made conversation.

“It occurs to me,” he offered eventually, with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows, “there are other things we could do. If you wanted. We could find out why that bed is so ridiculously big.”

“We could,” she replied, careful. “But… I think I want this over first. I’m still bound, and I want to feel like myself when I call you my husband again.”

Another sigh heaved through his body, shuddered with uncertainty. “‘Husband’. I’ve missed hearing that. I’ve missed –” He scrubbed at his eyes. “You know, we never got our honeymoon. We said we’d go to Eastwatch when the war was over, but we never made it.”

“We were going to take picnics to the riverbank.”

They’d had it pictured so clearly before Ostagar, a shining beacon for which to strive, when their responsibilities might fall away just for a little while and allow them the peace that had always at the last eluded them. Her family’s estate, couched in a slow meander of the River Rangett with the sweeping glades and pastures of Marl-land beyond, had seemed the perfect remedy to the demands claimed of them by war.

“I left Teagan in charge in Denerim,” Alistair mused. “There’ll have to be a progress to show you off to the people now that you’re back, but I’m sure we can persuade the guard to lose us on the Imperial Highway – what are you laughing at?”

She drew his knuckles to her lips. “You. Talking like a politician. Plotting. You’ve grown.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on the number of fine cheeses I’ve been sampling of late,” he huffed, shifting beneath her.

She recognised the deflection for what it was but let it go, realising the dark turn of her thoughts must have shown in her voice, the knowledge that so much of the person he had become was a stranger to her. And yet, as he reached down to retrieve the now sadly crumpled Une étude des draconides from where it had fallen, the way their bodies fit together and the logs cracking in the fire brought back all the promise she had felt in those few weeks by his side as they waited out her recovery from the Battle of Highever, the winter nights long and the frozen wind turned aside by the thick walls of her childhood home. He had read to her then, too, taking her away from the pain of her healing wounds to places woven by his voice alone, with his heartbeat under her ear and his fingers idle in her hair.

“Is the book alright?” she asked.

“A bit creased,” he answered. “But intact.”

“Good. Tell me about dragons.”

--

He read from the book until his voice turned hoarse, the winding prattle of academic language somewhat beyond his grasp of conversational Orlesian, but he tried keep the flow of words in cadence to at least get the general meaning. When he finally laid it aside and pinched his hands over his eyes to refocus his vision, the first rime of daylight could just be seen over the distant trees outside, a faint lilac stain against the ink of night swallowing the stars. Rosslyn didn’t stir even when he touched her shoulder to check her realness, when he gently carded the jet strands of her hair back from the wet patch of drool slowly seeping into his shirt. She had always slept heavily, like a true soldier, deep to dream and grumpy to rise, while he often started at phantom noises or spent hours trying to calm the whirl of his thoughts long enough to let him rest; more than once, he had used the slow, even rhythm of her breath to follow her into slumber.

He had so much to tell her. Without her to share it, his life had turned into one long road of nothing but duty stretching to the horizon, but now the details flooded back into his mind, full of colour. The two mares Fergus had given her as a wedding gift were stabled below as his own personal mounts, and Cuno waited back in Denerim, a pampered sire of many litters who would no doubt prove unbearably smug about being right that his mistress had survived.

The news could wait until they had more time, however, when they no longer had to hide her presence from Celene. For now, he had no wish to move her, but the angle of the chaise was beginning to hurt his back and they would both be in far more comfort on the bed.

“Rosslyn? Love, we need to get up, just for a bit.”

A wordless mumble was the only reply, tilting his mouth in a smile as he gave up and hooked one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. Had she been awake, she would have complained about being carried when she had two perfectly good legs of her own, but as Alistair stood the movement only turned her further into his chest and her hands closed around the folds in his shirt. He tried not to think about how light she had become as he laid her down again a moment later, how much colder.

After pausing only long enough to retrieve Talon, he slipped under the covers beside her and pulled them up until she was tucked in snug up to her chin. Too much did her trusting, easy breathing remind him of their last night together before the battle at Ostagar, the morning when he had unwound his arms from her warm body and left without a word, hoping to keep her safe.

He would not suffer that again.

Careful and quiet, he tore his eyes away and rolled over, reaching for the top drawer of his nightstand where servants had stashed a set of reed pens, paper, and a writing pad. Both of them had duties, he his meetings and she the destruction of Morrigan’s mirror, but as he dipped the nib into the inkpot and sponged off the excess, he breathed deep through his nose, determined not to waste the gift Fate had chosen to grant him. After their trials were over, he would make sure they could both be together again. Forever, this time.

[prairiesongserial]

15.9

The spot Johannes chose to shoot from was a lofted corner of the garage. It had been used for extra storage until Val pushed several heavy chests of auto parts down the ladder they had climbed. The violent explosion of metal and rubber parts in all directions had Enis swearing at them.

“Feel better?” Johannes asked.

Val was soaked in sweat. His hair - the long part on top, anyway - kept falling in his face. He silently motioned for the shotgun.

Johannes handed it to him. Without hesitation, Val used the butt of the gun to break the porthole window that was going to have to be their vantage point on the adults of Monocacy. Johannes got the impression that no, Val did not feel better.

Johannes still needed to talk to him.

“So, you’ve done this before?” Johannes said, crouching beside Val. “This happens to you a lot?”

The corner of Val’s mouth twitched.

“Once.” He glanced over at Johannes, then returned to scraping the barrel of the shotgun over the inside of the window to get rid of the rest of the glass. “It was easier with a rifle.”

Finally, Val loaded the gun.

“How many people are out there?” Johannes asked.

Val shrugged. Johannes wanted to pull the hair back out of his face. If he hadn’t kissed Val last night like an idiot, Val might have let him. They could have gone on flirting all the way to Maine. Now that it was all out in the open, the preacher couldn’t play along anymore. Johannes watched his back as Val lined up his shot in the window. Val had good form.

Johannes had to tell him. Right now, with the pounding on the garage door loud enough to drown them out. He’d been trying to tell him all damn afternoon.

Val took his first shot; the sound rattled the loft and had Johannes digging his nails into the floor.

“Hm,” Val said. He reloaded.

“I have to tell you something,” Johannes said.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Val said. He didn’t say it loud, forcing Johannes to read it on his lips. Johannes tried to ignore the jab of rejection that he had known damn well would come - even before he’d decided to shoot his shot like a kosher beheyme.

“I’m gonna tell you something,” Johannes said, raising his voice. “Don’t plotz.”

Val fired another round without indicating he’d heard. He shook his fingers out with a huff of annoyance, then gestured to Johannes for more ammunition. Johannes placed the next two cartridges in his waiting palm.

“I sold you out,” Johannes said.

The cartridges had made it into the shotgun, but Val’s fingers froze over the barrel. He wasn’t looking at Johannes.

“Lady - that’s the head of Hemisphere - she hired us to intercept you. We get the other half of the bounty on delivery.” Johannes rushed on. “It was a huge payout - not that we like working with Hemisphere, but the circus comes first.”

Val rounded on him, the shotgun still cracked open, the cartridges like exposed bone. His eyes were big and searing mutant purple, and his expression made Johannes want to jump down from the loft rather than take his chances on the ladder.

“Why are you telling me this?” Val said. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I’m telling you because I’m not gonna do it,” Johannes said. “Would you keep shooting?”

Val gave him a look that meant he could not have hated Johannes more.

“Fine, don’t keep shooting,” Johannes said. “I’m not making good on the deal. That’s all I wanted to tell you. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll pay Lady back.”

“Oh,” Val said. He absentmindedly felt under his nose, as if he expected it to still be bleeding from crashing the truck. “You’re the reason I could have died today. Up until ten minutes ago you were trying to kill us.”

“No,” Johannes snapped. “That has nothing to do with this. I’m telling you… You don’t have to like me, ketsele, but I’m telling you - “ He dragged his hands down his face. “Just - keep shooting, would you?”

Val snapped the shotgun closed and turned his attention back out the window. Johannes spared a glance over the edge of the loft. Below, the town of Monocacy was successfully warping the metal of the garage door. Pretty soon they’d be able to shimmy under.

Val fired out the window, yelled “Come on, fuck off already,” and then yelled “Cartridges,” at Johannes with as much ferocity. Johannes pulled another two cartridges out, and Val had snatched them, loaded them, and fired them before Johannes had time to think. He handed Val another pair.

“They don’t care, they aren’t scared. They know I’m not trying to hit them, because they aren’t mutants,” Val screamed out the window. A rock flew past his head, right between him and Johannes. Johannes yanked him back from the window.

“Okay, you’re done. Give me the shotgun,” Johannes said.

“No, you’ll shoot them,” Val said. He made eye contact for the first time in several minutes. Johannes didn’t like it. Not because Val looked mad, but because he looked hurt, and he clearly didn’t know he looked hurt or he’d be trying to hide it better.

“You really don’t want me to shoot them,” Johannes said.

“I don’t,” Val said, almost yelling.

“I won’t shoot them.”

Val stared at him. If this day had been going a lot better, Johannes would have wanted to kiss him again.

“Would you go help Enis?” Johannes said. “Just go do whatever he tells you.”

“Fine.”

Val handed him the gun and scrambled down the ladder like there were still rocks coming through the window. Johannes let out a long breath.

“That went great,” Johannes said. He loaded his last two cartridges into the shotgun. “What a great idea that was.”

He aimed out the window. The people below still looked like muties to him, even though he knew better. You would have to be pretty damn feral to claw at the aluminum siding with your bare hands, climbing over your yowling neighbors just for the chance to bloody your fingernails. Johannes felt sick to his stomach.

The why was eating at him. If the town of Monocacy had set out to out-mutie the muties, they’d fucking succeeded. But there weren’t any muties around to watch the show. There didn’t seem to be any competition for the territory.

The people of Monocacy were doing this to gratify themselves, because they wanted to. They had lures, even - peaches that didn’t exist. Johannes’s best guess for why they would go to all the trouble of baiting a trap - chasing them into it, even - was cannibalism. You didn’t see it often. You heard about it, and mostly thought the stranger on the other side of the gas pump was pulling your leg. Then she’d drive off, and you’d make a note not to bring the caravan too close to the Smoky Mountains.

Johannes frowned down at the crowd. One of them had a pry bar. He was attacking the corner of the garage door with brutal, determined force. The garage door squealed as it curled over itself.

Johannes turned from the window to look down at Enis and Val. Val was bringing Enis sheets of scrap at a sprint. Enis had found a welding torch.

“Did you fix the truck?” Johannes yelled down.

Enis gave him a thumbs up.

Now it was a question of getting out of here alive. It was luck that Enis had a plan. That was supposed to be Johannes’s job.

“How long do you need?” Johannes asked.

Enis had gone back to welding, so it was Val who silently held up ten fingers. Johannes nodded; Val went back to what he was doing. The person with the pry bar had torn a hole in the garage door about a foot wide. Enis and Val wouldn’t have ten minutes before the hole was big enough for a person to crawl through.

Johannes aimed the shotgun out the window.

What difference did it make? Val would never trust him again anyway.

15.8 || 15.10

[iron-mum]

Hello hi how are you????!!!! I wish you would write a fic where Tony is jealous of the other avengers because Peter starts to spend some time with them instead of him. But like Tony's being all abandoned dad and trying to come up with solutions while Peter being all oblivious to all and being all sweet and polite boi? And maybe the other avengers are like secretly teasing Tony? Maybe? I dont know I think I'm just a sucker for some cute domestic hurt-comfort kinda thing. But like if you dont like it just ignore meeee ♡♡♡

Okay so firstly, thank you so much for the request. I’m really well thank you, I hope you’re doing okay! 💕 In true Kat form, me trying to drabble isn’t doing great - I did say I need the practice 😂 I didn’t want to leave you waiting too long so here’s a part 1 of Tony being jealous of Scott and Stephen. I already have a bunch of ideas for Bruce, Thor, Nat and Clint (I stopped there because I am also participating in two events and couldn’t allow too much side tracking). Ramblings aside, I can’t wait to write the others and perhaps try and get the word count down a little too. Thanks again ❤️

****

The music in Tony’s car came to a jarring halt for just a single ring of a phone call before cutting off and resuming. The genius raised a single brow, the action catching him by surprise.

"Fri?" he addressed as he slowed his speed ever so slightly, wondering if someone close to him really had the audacity to prank call him. It wouldn’t be Peter because he had a heart of pure gold. Rhodey had definitely outgrown the kinds of mediocre pranks that involved hanging up on someone. Bet it was fucking Thor as he’s just getting the hang of ‘Midgardian antics.’ No one could blame the God of Thunder for finding humour in the simplicity of hanging up on someone or whoopee cushions under sofa cushions when he’d been contending with a shapeshifting brother who regularly stabbed him whilst disguised as his favourite animal.

Before the AI could reply, an alert popped up on his dashboard that had his heart skip a beat. Doing his best not to slam on the brakes he quickly pulled over—lucky he was in a place to do so—to take a proper look at the vitals in front of him. Peter’s vitals. 

"Fri, what’s happening?" Tony’s voice was dangerously quiet as he watched the elevated heart rate climb, skin prickling with anxiety and thoughts dangerously racing.

“Peter doesn’t appear to be wearing the mask so I am unable to make contact. The last footage I’ve got is of him approaching an address from the back garden that has been labelled, The Nest.”

“Send a suit,” Tony demanded on autopilot. When it came to Peter, the codename ‘Nest’ could mean anything and there was no way he was taking any risks when he wasn’t in the area. A stakeout of some kind, maybe? He had left copious voicemails and texts about watching some gang. It wasn’t an outlandish thought that the teen would get himself knee deep in horseshit before asking anyone for help despite the epic number of pep talks and reasoning Tony had attempted. 

“Suit has been deployed, boss” the trusty AI informed. Tony placed a pair of trademark Stark glasses on and watched from the eyes of the armour as it made it’s impending approach. 

“Try and call his mobile. Are there any known Avengers in the area of his location? Any suspicious activity in that area on police comms?” Tony was gathering data. Preparing a plan. It’s what he did. The genius needed to ignore his pounding heart and the tightness in his chest and focus as the suit started its descent towards what looked like a reasonably pleasant townhouse on the outskirts of New York.

“What in the ever-loving Hogwarts fuc-” he whispered to himself when the terror that had been coursing through his veins wavered.

Jimmy Woo was nursing an injured ankle, his foot elevated as he lay sprawled across a sofa. Perched on the edge of the sofa was Wong, the pair cheering on something not quite within view until the armour shifted position slightly and then...

From an apparent crouched down position, Peter’s best friend, Ned hopped into view. His arms were in the air, hands waving dramatically. The familiar blue and red Stark suit popped up after a couple of seconds, Peter following Ned’s lead with flapping arms as his curls bounced at the movement. Scott Lang was next to jump up in a similar fashion, before a final competitor arose. Dumbledore himself, Stephen Strange, far taller than the others and moving just as ungracefully. They all started to hop on one leg, arms still up in the air, balance all over the place and all doing terribly at stifling their laughter.

“Let’s do the Time Warp againnnn,” Peter and Scott sang horrifically out of tune. 

“It’s just a jump to the left!” Ned called out as they all shimmied to the left and started to wiggle, Scott gleaming at the fact he was joint first with Peter on the starboard so far.

“And then a step to the righhhttttt,” Ned continued, an exaggerated long tone that was up far too many octaves for the kid to handle. Then the small group were all crouched down again and out of view.

Tony should’ve sent the suit back there and then, but something hit him hard at how happy Peter looked. He was buzzing with excitement and thriving in the company. As the song progressed the teen was attempted an uncoordinated ballroom dance with Scott, the pair pulling silly faces which would’ve been hilarious to Tony if he’d been there—and not feeling terribly jealous. 

The scene was so domestic. So homely. And, nothing like the environment he had ever provided for Peter. Ned hadn’t been to visit the Tower yet. Hell, dancing had never even been brought up, or video games for that matter. Not that Tony knew how to play video games but he’d damn well learn quickly if Peter would enjoy that. It was either workshop suit upgrades or the occasional movie and takeout night. 

“Dude, you smashed it kiddo!” Scott called out, grabbing a hold of Peter and barely managing to lift him up in the air. The use of the nickname had absolutely snapped Tony back into reality as he’d clearly zoned out and not even been aware of the song finishing.

“You weren’t too bad yourself, old man,” Peter jested as he stepped away to high five his best friend. They have nicknames for each other too? Stephen was next in line, receiving an awkward side hug for his efforts. Almost like the hug in the car that definitely hadn’t been a hug, but definitely was. 

“Call the suit off, Fri. He’s… All good.” Tony muttered in dejection, pulling the glasses off and tossing them into the glovebox. With a shake of his head in consternation, he checked his mirrors before pulling back out onto the road and continuing the drive home. 

The genius had this gut-feeling that he was the boring parent within the Avengers family. Not that he’d ever admitted to Peter he unconditionally loved him and that he could pretty much do no wrong despite the grey hairs and near heart attacks he induced regularly. And not that the Avengers had ever called themselves a family—particularly the likes of Stephen Strange. But the feeling was there. Deep in the pit of his stomach and he needed to change that. With a deep exhale, he started to formulate a plan of attack.

[farfromparker]

Give me your love | t.h.

Pairing: sub!Tom Holland x dom!Reader 

Summary: Punishment isn’t meant to be easy. 

Warnings: established D/s relationship, orgasm denial, use of a cock ring, ruined orgasms, cum eating

A/N: This is FILTHY, also Tom is a squirmy lil sub, pass it on. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Denial might have been your favorite form of punishment. 

Because as a result of it, Tom is currently on his knees in your living room; naked and begging. You hadn’t asked him to get on his knees, you hadn’t even asked him to get naked, you hadn’t asked a single thing of him. He’d just finally reached his breaking point. 

The two of you had spent the night out with friends at a bar not far from your house. Drinking and enjoying the company. At least you had been. Tom was on edge, barely able to take his eyes off of you for longer than a second. Hands on your legs, wrapped around your waist. He’d nuzzle into your neck and plead that tonight could finally be the end of his punishment. 

It’s been 13 days since he’d last cum but that orgasm hadn’t been allowed. He came without your permission. Apologizes spewing from his lips as he spilled across his stomach. You never tired of watching him cum, but he had to follow the rules, and punishment wasn’t meant to be easy. 

The first few days had been almost no touch, quick kisses in the morning and before bed, you’d held hands if you were out in public but otherwise, hands off. Four days in and he was desperate, a constant string of pleas for anything. And so you had him kneel next to the bed, hands tied behind his back. You stripped naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, propping a leg up on his shoulder so he could see everything as you played with your pussy until you came three times. He was a shaking mess by the end of it, cock aching, muscles flexing as he begged for your touch. 

His one reward was your fingers in his mouth afterwards.

“Bad boys don’t get to cum Tommy.”

And it had been much of a repeat of that cycle since, a few days of barely there contact before you’d sit him down and make yourself cum in front of him. 

“Miss please, I wanna be good for you.” Tom’s begging brings you out of your thoughts. You look at him, he’s already got his hands behind his back. His eyes plead with you.

“So desperate aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he gasps. 

You consider him, glancing at the clock, 10:59pm. “It’s been 13 days, and that’s an unlucky number, darling. We can’t have your punishment end on an unlucky number.” 

He swallows thickly, head dropping, “Yes Miss.” 

He accepts his fate so easily you can’t possibly fight your urge to give into him much longer. “Tom,” his head snaps up immediately, “In exactly 61 minutes, it’ll have been 14 days.”

His eyes go wide as realization dawns on him. “Okay, okay,” he stands quickly, “whatever you want, what do you want me to do?”

He’s half hard already and hasn’t cum in nearly two weeks. There’s no way he’ll last. “Put on your cock ring.”

His eyelids hood and he whines, “Fuck me.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his lips softly, “In time baby boy. Now, I’ll give you five minutes to get it on. Can you do that?”

“Yes, absolutely.” and he’s gone, heading to the bedroom, practically sprinting to get up there as quick as possible. 

He’s on his knees when you walk in a few minutes later and you can see the black silicone around the base of his cock and balls.

“Good boy. I want you on the bed.”

He’s up instantly. “On my back or belly?”

You smile, “Back, darling.”

He settles into the mattress, watching you walk into the closet. You’ve already got your phone in your hand and you reach up to the top shelf to grab a black shoe box. You walk out of the closet and set the box on the bed. You unlock your phone, noting the time before opening up your clock app. “It’s 11:10. When this timer goes off, you can cum.” You say, setting your phone on the nightstand. 

He nods, “Yes, Miss.”

You strip down to your underwear, happy to have chosen the black set while getting dressed earlier tonight, it’s one of Tom’s favorites. You can hear his heavy breathing as you open the shoe box, digging around to find the bullet vibrator. You pull it out and he whimpers when he sees it between your fingers. You quickly grab the two silk scarves from the box as well and a little bottle of lube before setting the box on the floor. You put the bullet between your teeth and crawl up next to his head. He raises his arms and you quickly warp one of the scarves around his wrists and secure it to the headboard. The other goes over his eyes. 

You take the vibe out of your mouth, “Alright darlin’?”

“Yes,” he breathes, settling back against the pillows. 

You move down the bed, pushing his legs apart to make room for yourself. His cock is already more defined, the veins popping out in a way they don’t without the ring. He’s dark red as well, the blood pumping heavily beneath the surface. You turn the bullet on and it buzzes to life in your hand. His body tenses, anticipation boiling. He always gets so squirmy when he’s blindfolded, jumping out of his skin at every touch and sound. You bring the vibrator down to your clit, rubbing gently through your underwear. 

He hears you sigh, hears the buzzing change as you rub it against yourself. “No,” he whines, “No, please if you’re going to do that - please I wanna watch. I can’t - ahhh!” You press the vibe against the base of this cock, watching as it twitches under the pressure. “Fuck.”

You run it up his length, taking your time, watching his stomach muscles clench, cock dribbling. “You’ll get what I give you baby boy, understood?”

He nods, exhaling sharply through his nose, “Yes Miss, I’m sorry.”

You take the vibe away and press it back against yourself, moaning softly at the sensation. You watch him fiddle with his fingers, body fidgeting as he listens to you, picturing you in his mind. You roll your hips as you press the bullet along your folds, making noises for him. Your panties are properly soaked now, pussy clenching and you bite your lip as you pull the vibe away, not wanting to cum yet, huffing as a result of the loss of contact. 

You press it against the head of his cock, pulling a moan from him and his body jolts against the stimulation, pulling at his restraints as he attempts to curl in on himself. You trail it down his cock slowly, twirling it between your fingers so that he can’t anticipate the movement. Moving down, you take it away from his cock, holding it against his balls in a barely there way and he jerks up, headboard rattling. 

“Shhh Tommy.”

He sounds a bit like he’s sobbing, gasping for air as you move the vibrator along his skin but never applying more pressure. He bends his knees, toes curling into the blankets. Looking up, you can’t even see his face, his neck arched so far back in the pillows you can only see the column of his throat and cut of his jaw. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and tries to fill his lungs properly. 

You switch the vibe off, discarding it off to the side as you lean over him, reaching for your phone to check the timer. He’s still gasping, whimpering but he turns towards you as much as he can, hairs across his body standing on end as he awaits your next move. 

There’s 16 minutes left on the timer. You smile, an idea springing to the front of your mind. “You want to cum don’t you baby?”

He licks his lips, teeth dragging along them afterwards. This feels like a trick question. You cup his jaw, keeping him in place as you kiss him. He opens up to your tongue submissively, pushing up to meet you, greedy for it. You slide your other hand down his body, pinching his nipples along the way just feel him write under your fingers. You pull away from the kiss as you wrap your fist around his cock. He whines, flexing and twisting up into grip.

“Answer me Tom, do you want cum?”

“Yes,” he pants. 

You smirk, “Good boy.”

Moving down to sit between his legs again, you grab the bottle of lube and drizzle some onto your palm before throwing it off to the side. You wrap your hand around him and jerk him off. He whines, body twitching as you work him quickly. 

“No,” he pants, “the timer - I can’t -” his voice is shaky, it’s getting hard for him to even form words. He’s picked his head up, chin against his chest as if he can see you through the scarf. 

You simply hum, not slowing down, feeling how hot and hard his cock is in your hand. You know Tom’s body almost as well as your own at this point, and you know when he’s about to cum. Can tell from his breathing, the way his body starts reacting to your touch, the pitch of his moans. One last squeeze against the tip and you remove your touch completely. 

He’s trembling, chest heaving and it takes one, two, three seconds and he’s cumming. He drops his head back into the pillows, swallowing harshly as he feels his cum drip onto his stomach, orgasm ruined. 

“I’m sorry - I couldn’t - sorry, sorry, Miss.” He’s babbling and his voice sounds wet, you’re sure that if you pulled the blindfold off there would be tears brimming at his eyes. 

“That’s alright sweetheart, I had to ruin you at least once.” You run your hands up his thighs, massaging his muscles to comfort him, “I won’t count that one against you.”

He practically sobs, “Thank you Miss, thank you. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you. I promise.”

“I know you will be, Tommy.”

His cum had dribbled out slowly, forming a small pool against the silicon of the ring and his stomach. You dip your fingers into it before spreading it along his cock, mixing it with the lube. He lets out a shaky breath. 

The timer goes off suddenly and you both jump. “Well, would you look at that,” you reach up for your phone and stop the timer, seeing 12:00am staring back at you. “It’s been two weeks, darling.”

You shimmy out of your underwear and unclasp your bra. You’d cum multiple times in the two weeks he hadn’t but god did you miss having his cock inside you. You reach up for the quick release of his blindfold and he shakes his head as his eyes adjust to the soft light of the room, eyelashes wet. He focuses on you, drinking in your naked figure and whines, wanting you so badly. 

“Missed you Tommy, missed your cock.” and he’s nodding, eyes glued on you as you straddle his hips, wasting no time before sinking down on his cock. Your moans mix together and he’s pulling against his restraints as you start moving. You anchor yourself with your hands on his chest, nails digging into his pecs, leaving angry red crescent marks in his skin. Mine.

He’s whimpering every time you sink down on his cock. He’s desperate to keep his eyes open because he can’t touch you. He focuses on different parts of your body. He watches his cock disappear inside of you before moving up and watching your breasts as they bounce, he traces your skin with his eyes where he wishes he could feel you under his hands. His pupils are blown, eyes black and filled with desire. 

His body is taut, you can feel his muscles clenched tight under your hands. “Miss, please, please can I cum? Wanna - ughh - wanna fill you up.”

You reach forward and grab his jaw, “Keep your eyes open, look at me when you cum.”

Your movements increase and he cries when he cums, sobbing and moaning, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t close them though, eyelids fluttering as he fights to keep them open, locked on you. You ride him through it, giving him everything he’s wanted these past two weeks. 

You reach up to wipe away his tears when he finally stops. “So good for me darling, so good.”

He nuzzles into your touch, buzzing under the praise. You reach up and pull the scarf, releasing his arms. He rolls his shoulders once before touching you, sitting up to snuggle into you neck, kissing any skin he can get his mouth on. 

“Need to make you cum Miss, let me.” He whispers. 

You shiver against him, “We need to get the ring off you first love.”

He nods, letting you of his grasp so you can pull off of him. There’s an obscene wet noise as he slips out of you, cum dribbling down your thighs. You reach for his cock and carefully remove the ring. He shivers as you pull it off him, oversensitive. 

He reaches up for you as you set the ring off to the side, hands on your hips, pushing his chest against yours. “Gonna eat your cum out of me, Tom?”

“Yes,” he breaths, moving with you as you lay on your back, “wanna.” 

He moves down your body for a moment before he stops. He looks up at you, all doe eyed and wanting to please, waiting for permission, “Yeah, go ahead darlin’, make me cum.”

He buries his face in your cunt, opening his mouth and pushing his tongue inside you. You arch into his mouth, running a hand down your body to get to his head, feeling his short hair under your palm. It feels like he’s everywhere, sucking on your clit before moving to get his tongue inside you again. His hands are vices on your thighs, keeping you open and close to him. 

“So good Tommy, fuck. Making me feel so good.”

His fingers squeeze at your skin, moaning against you as you continue to praise him. He focuses back on your clit, sucking and licking as he pushes his fingers in your cunt, curling them as he pumps in and out. 

You cry out, “Fuck Tom.” Your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and you reach out, fisting a hand into the sheets as it crashes over you. You moan his name, rocking against his mouth and fingers. Waves of pleasure continuous as your vision blacks out. 

The aftershocks have you shivering as you slump into the mattress. Tom’s kissing along your body, up your stomach, taking his time to remember how your skin tastes. You run your fingers along his shoulders and he cuddles into your side, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you close. 

You listen to his breathing, your heartbeat starting to finally slow down. “We need to shower sweetheart.” 

He hums, “Yeah, can we wait a little bit longer though? Just wanna hold you.”

You smile, kissing his forehead, “Absolutely, love.”

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