#our instinct to love and care is a good thing. our pack bonding will help us survive.

[uncanny-tranny]

And another thing that gets me about the human condition is how we weren't even meant to survive this world alone - humans with humans. We chose to trust certain animals, to nourish them, to be symbiotic with them, to love them like we love ourselves. I think a lot of people talk about how selfish it is for humans to take advantage of animals, but I think that's too simplistic. It's closer to friendship - if you do not foster the relationship, then it simply won't go anywhere, and I think the implication that animals can't ever know anything for themselves, for their survival, is also human-centric and selfish (selfishness not inherently being a bad thing).

It's just nice to know that we want to be around people - we want to be around comfort and security and safety so much that we now have animals by our side. Every time I cuddle with my cat, I think that we weren't meant to survive this world alone; she is shaped to fit in my chest, and my arms were made to wrap around her.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 3

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4.6k

warning; blood, vomit °°3

notes; hello hello everyone, here is the part 3 a bit earlier this time ! Please take into account the warnings it's nothing to big but I rather mention them before. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment (I'm down to see if you guys have some theories for the next parts :)) ) or ask to be on the tag list ;)) See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 2 or part 4

---

The morning sun had barely risen over Velaris when you began preparing for your trip to the Winter Court. The crisp air carried a hint of frost, a promise of the cold that awaited you in Kallias’s domain. Your latest commission was an intricate and challenging one—a weapon requested personally by the High Lord of the Winter Court. The order was for a ceremonial glaive, crafted with a blade of shimmering, icy blue steel that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was designed to resemble the ancient trees of the Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length, meeting a pommel embedded with a crystal that glittered like freshly fallen snow.

You admired the weapon one last time as you packed it carefully in a protective case. The glaive was a masterpiece, a blend of artistry and power that you were proud to deliver personally. But as you were finalizing your preparations, Alex approached you, his expression a mix of determination and concern.

“Nana, I think I should stay in Velaris,” Alex began, his tone firm despite the lingering traces of the boyish enthusiasm he usually carried. “The shop needs someone here, and I can handle things while you’re gone.”

You paused, turning to face him fully. “Alex, it’s not just about the shop. Leaving you on your own in Velaris for a week, it’s not safe.”

Alex crossed his arms, his brows furrowed in a way that reminded you of your younger self. “But Nana, you’re the one who taught me how to take care of myself. And besides, business is going great! We can't afford to close the shop for a week, maybe even longer. I can just tell customers that we’re temporarily closed for new orders, but that we are still selling regular weapons.”

You sighed, considering his words. “It’s not just about the money, Alex. It’s about making sure everything stays secure. The shop, our work, you—it’s all important.”

Alex stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “And that’s exactly why I should stay. I know how much this place means to you, to us. I’ll make sure nothing happens, I promise. Stellan can stay with me for protection, and you know he’s more than capable of keeping any trouble away.”

You glanced at Stellan, who was lounging nearby, his dark eyes watching the conversation with quiet understanding. The direwolf had been your protector for years, and you knew that with him by Alex’s side, there was little to fear.

“But Alex, you’re still young. I can’t help but worry,” you said softly, your concern evident in your voice.

Alex’s expression softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know, Nana. But you’ve trained me well. I can handle the shop, and Stellan will keep me safe. Besides, I’ll just be here in Velaris—it’s not like I’m going anywhere dangerous. You’ll be back before I know it, and everything will be just fine.”

You hesitated, the protective instinct within you clashing with the knowledge that Alex was more capable than you sometimes gave him credit for. The truth was, he was right. Business was good enough that closing the orders for a week wouldn’t be a disaster, and with Stellan at his side, the risks were minimal.

Finally, you sighed, nodding in reluctant agreement. “Alright, Alex. You can stay, but promise me you’ll be careful. No taking on new orders, just handle any clients who come by and tell them we’re temporarily closed for them. And if anything happens—anything at all—you send word to me immediately.”

A grin spread across Alex’s face, a mix of relief and excitement. “I promise, Nana. I won’t let you down.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I know you won’t, Alex. Just remember, Stellan’s there to protect you, but don’t take any unnecessary risks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

As you finalized your preparations, you brought Stellan downstairs, where he immediately positioned himself near Alex, his massive frame a comforting presence. “Keep an eye on him, Stellan,” you said softly, rubbing the direwolf’s head. Stellan’s eyes met yours, and you felt reassured by the silent understanding between you.

With everything settled, you turned to Alex once more. “I’ll leave early tomorrow. You know where the emergency contacts are, and if anything comes up, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Alex nodded, his expression serious now that the plan was set. “I’ve got it covered, Nana. Just focus on your trip and getting that amazing glaive to Kallias.”

You smiled, feeling a mixture of pride and a hint of anxiety as you realized how much Alex had grown. “Thank you, Alex. I’ll bring you back something from the Winter Court.”

Night had fallen over Velaris, and the familiar routine of winding down the day had set in. You were seated in your bed, sketchbook open on your lap as you meticulously worked on the designs for your next project. The soft light of the moon filtered through the curtains, mingling with the warm glow of the candles, creating a peaceful ambiance. Alex was fast asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even, the day’s events having worn him out.

Stellan, ever vigilant, lay at the foot of the bed, his eyes half-closed but his senses still sharp. As you sketched, you felt a deep sense of contentment, the tranquility of the moment wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. But that peace was suddenly shattered.

Within seconds, the atmosphere in the room changed. The air felt thicker, charged with something ominous that set your nerves on edge. Stellan’s ears shot up, his body tensing as a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you felt a chill run down your spine.

Before you could react, a dark shadow coalesced in the corner of the room, and Azriel, the shadow singer, materialized before you. His face was grim, his usual calm demeanor replaced with urgency. "We need you," he said, his voice clipped and direct, wasting no time on pleasantries.

Without another word, he reached for your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. The world around you blurred as shadows enveloped you both, and in the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your apartment.

You arrived at the House of Wind, the sudden change in surroundings leaving you momentarily disoriented. The grand, familiar architecture did nothing to ease the confusion swirling in your mind. Azriel was already moving, his expression dark and unyielding as he led you down a corridor.

"Azriel, what’s going on?" you demanded, struggling to keep up with him. The urgency in his movements only heightened your anxiety. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I don’t have time to explain," he replied, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "You’ll understand when you see it."

That statement did nothing to calm your nerves, but you followed him without further question, your heart pounding in your chest. The path he led you down seemed endless, the tension in the air growing thicker with each step. Finally, he pushed open a heavy door and ushered you inside.

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of herbs and something far less pleasant—blood. Your eyes immediately landed on Rhysand, who stood near the bed with a look of barely-contained worry. Madja, the healer, was at his side, her face set in grim determination. But it was the sight of Cassian that made your breath catch in your throat.

He was lying on the bed, his usually powerful and imposing figure reduced to a broken and battered state. His wings, once magnificent and strong, were shattered—twisted at unnatural angles, with blood staining the once-proud feathers. The sight was enough to bring a sharp gasp to your lips, your hand instinctively covering your mouth.

Madja’s eyes met yours, and in that moment, you understood why Azriel had brought you here. There was no hesitation in her voice as she spoke. "Y/N, we need your power. You’re the only one who can heal him."

Your heart raced, fear and uncertainty clawing at your insides. You had never used your abilities on something this severe before, and the mere thought of it sent a wave of doubt crashing over you. But as you looked at Cassian, writhing in pain and clinging to consciousness, you knew there was no other choice.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward and surveyed the state of his wings. The damage was extensive, and you knew that to heal them properly, you needed to use your power to its full potential—a process that required something very specific.

You turned to Azriel, your gaze falling on the blade at his side. "Truth-Teller," you said, nodding toward the dagger.

Azriel hesitated for a moment but then handed you the blade without question, his eyes dark with concern. Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself over Cassian, holding your arm above his wings. With a swift motion, you made a shallow cut along your forearm, letting your blood drip onto the mangled wings below.

Azriel's eyes widened as blue flames flickered to life where your blood touched, spreading over Cassian’s wings. "Y/N, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You glanced at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t worry. The fire doesn’t burn—it heals."

As the flames grew, their warmth enveloping Cassian’s broken wings, you focused all of your energy on mending the shattered bones and torn flesh. The process was intense, your body straining under the effort as the flames worked their magic, knitting together what had been broken.

But as the flames did their work, a frown creased your brow. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it—a lingering darkness that wasn’t being touched by your fire. Once the wings were fully healed, you stepped back, still frowning as you scanned Cassian’s body for the source of the disturbance.

"Rhysand, Azriel," you said, your voice tense, "help me turn him over."

They moved quickly, carefully shifting Cassian onto his back. You placed one hand on his face and the other over his heart, closing your eyes as you focused on the strange, dark presence that clung to him.

Madja watched you closely, her expression filled with concern. "Y/N, what’s going on? What do you feel?"

Your eyes snapped open, and without answering her, you leaned down, your instincts guiding you as you pressed your lips to Cassian’s mouth. The taste was bitter, acrid, and wrong. You inhaled sharply, feeling the dark presence surge up, and with a gag, you spit out a thick, black liquid.

But it wasn’t over. You reached into Cassian’s mouth, your fingers searching, feeling for the source of the darkness. Your hand closed around something cold and solid, and with a grimace of effort, you began to pull. 

A long, snake-like spirit, dark and twisted, slithered from Cassian’s throat, its form writhing in your grasp. It fought against you, but you held firm, your determination outweighing the horror of what you were doing.

"Hold him straight!" you commanded, urgency in your voice.

Rhysand and Azriel quickly moved to hold Cassian upright, their faces etched with shock and concern. As they did, Cassian began to vomit, thick black liquid spewing from his mouth and covering you as you knelt in front of him. You didn’t flinch, your focus entirely on the cursed spirit in your hand.

With a final, forceful pull, you yanked the spirit free from Cassian’s body. It writhed in your grip, hissing and snapping, but it was powerless outside of its host. You held it aloft, the dark entity thrashing violently as you turned to the others.

Rhysand, covered in a mixture of concern and gratitude, stared at you, his voice calm but firm. “I think we all need some explanations, Y/N."

Breathing heavily, your body and clothes drenched in Cassian’s vomit and the remnants of the cursed spirit, you nodded wearily. "I’ll explain everything," you said, glancing down at yourself with a hint of exasperation. "But first... I need a shower. I’m still covered in Cassian’s… well, everything.”

—— 

Rhysand led you through the winding halls of the House of Wind, his pace measured and deliberate. The tension from the night’s events lingered in the air, a heavy reminder of the seriousness of the situation. He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, revealing a room that was both elegant and functional, with the understated luxury typical of Velaris.

The room was furnished with deep, rich fabrics, the bed draped in dark, sumptuous linens. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the walls. A balcony at the far end of the room offered a breathtaking view of Velaris, the city’s lights twinkling like stars against the backdrop of the night sky. Beyond, the Sidra River glimmered in the moonlight, its gentle flow a calming presence.

Rhysand gestured toward an adjoining door. “The bath is through there. Take your time, Y/N. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

You nodded, your body aching with exhaustion and your mind still spinning from the events that had just transpired. As you entered the bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of a grand, sunken bath made of smooth marble. The water was already drawn, steaming gently and scented with soothing herbs that filled the air with a calming aroma.

You sank into the bath, letting the warmth seep into your bones, washing away the grime and tension. The soft light of candles flickered around you, the scent of lavender and eucalyptus soothing your frazzled nerves. As you soaked, you allowed your thoughts to drift back to that night long ago when everything had changed.

You had been just a child, wandering through the woods late at night. The night was alive with shooting stars, bright streaks of light cutting across the dark sky. You’d been entranced, watching the stars fall when you stumbled upon a glowing entity lying in a small crater, its form otherworldly and beautiful. It was like a scene from a dream, the world around you shimmering with magic.

The creature had been weak, its light flickering like a dying flame. It had reached out to you, a small, scared girl, asking for your help in a voice that echoed in your mind rather than your ears. You hadn’t understood the full weight of the decision at the time, but you had agreed to help it, to take it into yourself, binding its essence to yours. From that night forward, you were never the same.

After your bath, you stepped out and found a set of clothes laid out for you—fitting for Velaris, yet with a touch of practicality that matched your own preferences. A tailored tunic of deep indigo, embroidered with subtle patterns, paired with fitted leather pants that allowed for ease of movement. A sturdy yet elegant belt completed the outfit, cinching at your waist with a silver clasp. It was both comfortable and suited for someone who needed to be ready for anything.

Once dressed, you stepped out onto the balcony for a moment, letting the cool night air brush against your face. The view from the House of Wind was nothing short of spectacular, the city of Velaris spread out beneath you like a sparkling jewel. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to breathe in the peace of the night, to let the beauty of Velaris ground you before you had to face the others.

When you returned to the main room, Rhysand was seated near the fireplace, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. Azriel stood off to the side, half-hidden in the shadows, his gaze flickering toward you as you entered. He didn’t sit but remained in the shadows, a silent sentinel. There was something different in the way he looked at you now—something intense, as if he were seeing you in a new light.

You moved toward them, your steps measured as you took a seat across from Rhysand. The silence between you all was thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken questions and the lingering shock of what had just occurred.

“How’s Cassian?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than usual.

Rhysand’s expression remained neutral, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. “Madja is with him. He’s stable, thanks to you. His wings will heal in time, and the curse… whatever it was, is gone.”

You nodded, relief mixing with the residual tension in your chest. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Rhysand’s gaze didn’t waver as he continued, his tone calm but probing. “Madja told us about the healing flames, but what you did tonight—extracting that curse—it’s something we didn’t expect. We need to know, Y/N. How is it possible?”

You took a deep breath, the memories of your past stirring once more. You could feel Azriel’s eyes on you, a strange, unreadable intensity in his gaze that only added to the tension in the room. But you pushed it aside, focusing on the question at hand.

“We all make mistakes,” you began, your voice steady, though the weight of the words pressed heavily on you. “When I was young, I made a contract with a creature that fell from the sky. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before—an entity of pure power, beautiful and terrifying.”

Rhysand leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable as he listened. “A contract?”

You nodded, your gaze distant as you recalled that night in the woods. “I was just a little girl, alone and afraid. I was out in the woods, mesmerized by the falling stars when I stumbled upon this creature. It was weak, dying, and it asked for my help. It needed a host—someone to share its power with, in exchange for life. I didn’t understand what I was agreeing to, but I said yes. I took its essence into me, and from that moment on, it became a part of me.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained silent, his posture tense. There was something almost protective in the way he watched you, though he kept his distance, as if struggling with his own thoughts.

Rhysand’s gaze remained steady, assessing you as you spoke. “And that’s how you gained your abilities.”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The creature’s power is vast, but it’s also dangerous. I’ve had to learn to control it, to keep it from consuming me. The blue flames you saw—they’re just one aspect of it. But tonight, with Cassian… I could feel the curse inside him, a darkness that my flames alone couldn’t touch. I had to draw it out, to confront it directly.”

“And the curse?” Rhysand asked, his tone careful.

“It was tied to something much darker,” you explained. “The creature’s power allowed me to see it, to pull it out before it could do more harm. It was a risk, but I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Azriel shifted slightly, his gaze softening as he listened. There was a tension in his posture, as if he were grappling with something internally, but he remained silent, letting Rhysand lead the conversation.

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Azriel before turning back to you. “You’ve been carrying this burden alone for a long time.”

You nodded, the weight of your confession settling over you. “I didn’t want to involve anyone else. It’s my responsibility, my mistake.”

Rhysand’s expression softened just slightly, though his voice remained firm. “You’re part of this court now, Y/N. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Azriel’s gaze met yours across the room, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you—a connection that felt both new and ancient, as if something had shifted irreversibly between you two.

As you finished recounting your story, the room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You sighed softly, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the night caught up with you. Finally, you stood, a sense of duty pulling you back to the reality of your responsibilities.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” you began, glancing between Rhysand and Azriel. “But I need to get back home. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to leave for the Winter Court to deliver Kallias’s order.”

At your words, Azriel’s expression immediately shifted. His brows furrowed, and he took a step forward, his posture rigid with concern. “That’s not possible. You can’t go alone—it’s too dangerous.”

You met his gaze, a flicker of frustration sparking within you. “Azriel, I’ve been traveling alone for hundreds of years. I’ve crossed continents, faced dangers you can’t imagine. I know how to take care of myself.”

Azriel’s frown deepened, his eyes darkening with a mix of worry and something more. “Things have changed. After what happened tonight, we can’t take any chances. The roads to the Winter Court aren’t safe, especially not for someone like you.”

You took a step closer to him, squaring your shoulders, determined not to be underestimated. “I’ve handled myself just fine, Azriel. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting. I’ve faced worse than bandits or creatures in the wild. I can deal with it.”

Azriel opened his mouth to argue further, his wings flaring slightly in his agitation, but Rhysand raised a hand, cutting him off. “Azriel, calm down,” Rhysand said, his tone soothing yet firm. He then turned to you, his expression more measured. “We know you can handle yourself, Y/N, and we trust your judgment. But just promise us you’ll be careful.”

You nodded, appreciating their concern but determined to maintain your independence. “I will. I’ve been traveling for centuries, and I know how to handle whatever comes my way. I’ll be back next week, and we can talk more then.”

Rhysand offered you a small, understanding smile. “We’ll look forward to it. There’s much more to discuss, and we’ll be here when you return.”

Azriel, still tense, stepped closer, his gaze intense but still filled with worry. “I’ll fly you back to your place,” he said, his tone steady but leaving no room for argument. “It’s late, and you should rest before your journey.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Azriel.”

Before you could step out into the cool night air, Azriel shrugged off his jacket—a soft, dark leather that still carried the warmth of his body—and draped it over your shoulders. The jacket was far too big for you, the sleeves hanging well past your hands, but the warmth and the gesture itself made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s cold out,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper in the quiet of the night. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he added, “And the wind can be biting when we’re flying.”

You pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, the scent of leather and something distinctly Azriel surrounding you. “Thank you,” you murmured, genuinely touched by the small act of kindness.

With his jacket securely around you, Azriel stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you effortlessly as his wings unfurled. The warmth of the jacket and his presence eased the chill of the night, and as he took off into the sky, the cold wind seemed to matter less.

Flying with Azriel, wrapped in his jacket, you felt a strange comfort. The world around you blurred momentarily as the ground fell away, and then the night opened up before you—a vast expanse of stars and the twinkling lights of Velaris below. The city was breathtaking from this height, the Sidra River winding through it like a ribbon of silver, reflecting the moonlight in shimmering patterns. The rooftops of the city glowed softly, the night alive with a quiet, serene beauty that took your breath away. Everything became a blur of twinkling lights and darkened streets, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, soaring through the night sky, sharing a silence that felt more like an understanding than anything else.

The cool wind whipped through your hair as Azriel flew, his strong wings cutting through the air with practiced ease. Despite the speed, his flight was smooth, each powerful beat of his wings propelling you forward with a steady, unerring grace. You found yourself momentarily entranced by the view, the way the world seemed so peaceful from up here, so distant from the chaos and dangers you had faced below.

Azriel’s grip on you was firm but gentle, his warmth a comforting presence in the cold night air. You could feel the tension in his body, the silent worry that still lingered despite your reassurances. It was as if every beat of his wings was fueled by an unspoken need to keep you safe, to ensure you returned to Velaris unharmed.

The flight was over too quickly, and before you knew it, you were descending toward your apartment. Azriel landed lightly, setting you down with care. The ground felt solid beneath your feet again, but you couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of being cradled by the night sky.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, offering him a small smile. “I’ll be fine, Azriel. I’ll be back next week, and we’ll talk then.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening just slightly. “I’ll be waiting. Just… be careful, Y/N.”

“I always am,” you replied, giving him a reassuring look before turning to head inside.

As you thanked him one last time and made your way inside, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the jacket—a comforting reminder of the connection that had silently grown between you two.

As you quietly made your way up the stairs to your apartment, the door creaked open to reveal Alex waiting for you in the living room, his arms crossed and a comically exaggerated look of suspicion on his face. Stellan was by his side, watching you with calm, knowing eyes, but Alex’s expression was what really caught your attention.

“What is going on, young lady?” Alex began, his voice mock-serious. “A guy intrudes our place, you run off with him without a word, and then you come back hours later with different clothes, a MEN’s jacket, and then he flies you home? Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his over-the-top delivery, the tension from the night finally breaking as you took in his antics. “Alex, I promise, it’s not what it looks like!”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a smirk. “Oh, really? Because it sure sounds like something out of those romance stories people talk about. Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?”

Still chuckling, you shook your head, stepping further into the apartment. “I was helping a friend, that’s all. And the clothes were a necessity after… well, let’s just say the night got messy.”

Alex’s grin widened, clearly enjoying every bit of this. “And the flying home part?”

You sighed, though your smile remained. “That was just Azriel being… protective. And practical.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex nodded sagely, as if he had it all figured out. “Sure, sure. Just Azriel being ‘protective.’”

You reached out to ruffle his hair, playfully messing it up. “Enough, you little troublemaker. It’s late, and we both need to get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Alex laughed, batting your hand away but finally relenting. “Alright, alright. But you’re not off the hook, Nana. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Duly noted, Captain.”

As you headed to your room, Stellan trailing behind you, you couldn’t help but smile at Alex’s antics. Despite the seriousness of the night, his playful teasing was exactly what you needed to lighten the mood.

And as you finally settled into bed, the weight of the day easing off your shoulders, you knew that no matter what challenges the Winter Court or the future might bring, you were ready to face them—with Alex’s humorous observations always keeping you grounded.

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells

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[starlitangels]

Freeborn - Part 2

... Yup. We’re back. Major Cataclysm Spoilers Ahead! 2.0k words (Part 1)

—

“You’re not comin’ with me,” Sam said, tying his boots on.

“The hell do you mean?!” I demanded. “I heard the daemon’s voice too! I’m freeborn! I want to help! I’m a good fighter, even without my wolf. You saw to that. If there’s a chance to take out the Imperium—”

“Darlin’,” Sam interrupted. “It’s not about bein’ a good fighter. If this fails...” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “You’re s’posed to be a newblood barely outta the bloodlust who was unempowered before turnin’. If you’re too good a fighter and this fails, the Imperium might force me to hand your invocations over. Especially if they realize who and what you really were—and when you actually turned.”

“Sam. I can’t just sit here and do nothing while I know you’re wading into a fight against the entire government!” I rushed after him as he finished tying his boot and left his—our—bedroom.

He stopped at the front door and spun around, putting his hands gently on my shoulders. “Stay here. Please,” he said softly.

“How can you expect me to?” I pleaded. “You know me. You can’t expect me to just stay behind when I could help!” My fangs started poking out of my mouth. I forced them to retract. “I’m coming with you.” 

I tried to edge around him, but his grip on my shoulders tightened and he forced me back into the house. “Don’t make me invoke you to stay home,” he growled lowly.

My eyes widened and my lips parted in surprise. One foot slid slightly farther back, but I didn’t take a full step.

“You wouldn’t,” I said. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Sam challenged, silver eyes catching the light and flashing.

“You promised—”

His fingers dug into my shoulders and I felt myself get slammed into a wall. Which wall, I wasn’t sure. I could only see Sam. “I can’t lose you!” he shouted. I flinched. Still getting used to vampire hearing sensitivity after two years. “Darlin’—you are literally the only thing left on this damn planet that I have to lose. And that makes you more precious to me than you could ever imagine. If you went to that fight with me, and somethin’ happened to you, I would...” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t even know. But it’d be bad.”

“Sam...”

He met my gaze. “I need you to stay here. I need somethin’ to come home to. To make sure I even want to come home. I love you, darlin’. And I can’t bear to lose you.”

For a moment, all I could do was stare. Wide-eyed. The Maker-Progeny bond between us was coiled tight and running hot. I could feel Sam’s emotions like distant flickers against my own, over the bond. Fear, concern, determination—and love.

And he gave me that look again. The one so full of care that all my fight seemed to vanish. This one had pleading in it too.

I hated myself, but I said, “I’ll stay. But you have to promise to come home to me, you hear?”

He sighed with relief and planted a kiss to my hairline. “I swear to you, darlin’, that I’ll come home.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. He clung to me, holding me close and tight—almost like he suspected this would be the last time. A tear slid from his eye and down the channel where our cheeks pressed together.

When I pulled away, a little breathless, I gave him a small, encouraging grin. “Go kick some Imperial ass. For everything they took from us.”

He smiled. It was a wickedly pleased smile, his fangs snapping out into place. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

One more deep, desperate kiss—

And he was gone.

I growled and slammed the front door, shutting myself inside the empty house. And hating myself for doing so. It went against everything I was. Every instinct growing up a shifter in the Imperium instilled in me. I was a fighter. But I was more than that. I was a protector. I protected my pack—my family.

And the most recent, most loved member of my family had just run away from me to go fight for our future.

If Sam expected to come home to find everything perfectly intact, he was sorely mistaken.

I saw to that as I tore two of the firewood logs in half with my bare hands in quick succession. Gabe had taught me how to do it when my generation of the pack was just starting to manifest powers. David and I had gotten it down easy. Milo struggled a little. Ash a little less.

Now, as a vampire, I could have simply crushed the log in my fist.

But that didn’t feel as cathartic.

I threw the pieces back on the pile and sat heavily on the sofa. I was tempted to rip one of the decorative throw pillows in half. But didn’t. I’d find something better to break.

It took me all of twenty seconds to realize I wouldn’t be able to sit still for however long Sam would be gone. Hours, probably.

I shoved to my feet and started pacing the house, grumbling and growling to myself. Eventually stomping over to the refrigerator and finding one of the spare blood bags. I heated it up—chilled blood just tasted... wrong—and drank down the contents. Hoping it would calm down the predator instincts that hadn’t changed when I’d turned from werewolf to vampire. I was still a hunter and I was still me. Sitting idly by and doing nothing was grating.

While I was in the bloodlust, Sam had tried to find ways to let me vent my frustrations in a physical way that wasn’t destructive. Running through the woods had helped, but I’d utterly destroyed six punching bags before Sam figured that might not be the best option. Chopping wood ended with me splitting the stump that we set the logs on into pieces with how hard I’d swung the axe. Sam had realized—quickly—that I’d been strong as a shifter and becoming a vampire was an easy adjustment in that category. Maybe too easy.

C’mon, Tank, I thought to myself. Find something to do. Distract yourself for one minute. Then two. Then ten.

I bit my lip and turned in a slow circle. My eyes lighted on the door to the garage.

Sam had taken off at a run. He hadn’t taken the truck.

“Well. Time to tune an engine,” I said aloud to no one but myself.

And the picture on the wall of me and Sam.

—

When Sam got back to his house, a base line was thumping so strongly from the garage that it was shaking the picture frames on the wall. He’d heard it from miles away, but now that he was home it was nearly overwhelming. “Darlin’?” he called.

No response.

“Darlin’?!” he shouted.

Nothing.

He ran into the garage.

There. Leaning across the engine of his truck in a grease-stained tank-top and jeans, one boot extended backward for balance. Tool in hand.

Singing along to the words. “We’ll carry on—we’ll carry o-o-on—and though you’re dead and gone, believe me—your memory will carry on!”

Sam snapped the switch on the Bluetooth speaker that had been dragged into the garage.

His—former—wolf jolted at the sudden lack of noise and whirled. “Hey!” they protested, fangs poking out in defensiveness. “I was listening to that!”

“You about scared me to death is what you did. Not respondin’ when I shouted for you.”

They shrugged, fangs retracting. “Didn’t hear you over the music.”

“Is there a reason it was so loud?”

They took a deep breath. “I had to drown out my thoughts.” Sass painted their expression. “Unless of course you wanted me to come after you.”

Sam sighed. “Ah,” he said.

“Yes. ‘Ah’,” they retorted sarcastically, setting their tool down and wiping their hands on a rag.

—

“So,” I said casually, trying to calm down. “How’d it go? You don’t look hurt.”

He didn’t look injured, but his clothing had several tears in it. He’d definitely been in a fight.

A truly wicked smirk appeared on his face. “It went better’n you’d believe. C’mon. There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.” He held out a hand for me. I glanced down at the grease stains on my skin and clothes. “Doesn’t matter what you look like, darlin’. Just come with me.”

I took his hand.

We took off at a run out of the house. Despite being significantly older than me—in terms of time as a vampire, as well as in general, but we were biologically frozen only a few years apart—I could keep up with him as he ran. He should have been a decent bit faster than me, but I chalked it up to being a shifter before and already being fast.

My hand tightened around his before letting go completely. “Wait—Sam—why are you taking me to the Spire?” I heard my own heart rate spike.

We both halted. Sam put out his hands placatingly. “Darlin’, it’s not what you’re thinkin’. I’m not handin’ you over to the Imperium. There is no Imperium anymore.”

I blinked at him several times. “What?!”

“Just... calm down. It’s alright. There’s nothin’ to fear from the Imperium anymore.”

“Sam... what happened?”

“I did as you told me to. Kicked some Imperial ass for everythin’ they took from us.”

“Sam.”

He gave me a look, his silver eyes glittering in the starlight. Then a careful smile tugged on the corners of his lips. “I turned the illustrious king-imperial into a vampire, and took the throne. For Dahlia, at least. The other Mass-Makers are more’n welcome to fight for territory outside the city.”

I stared. That certainly wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I didn’t know what I had been expecting but it wasn’t that.

“What... what about my pack?” I asked. “What’s gonna happen to them?”

“Well. They’re important to you, so they’re important to me. They’ll be safe here, in the city. Protected.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders melted away. “Okay.”

Sam smiled encouragingly. “Wanna come see our new home? We’ll maintain the house when we want true privacy, of course, but I think you’ll quite like our new bedroom.” He held his hand out to me.

I swallowed, unsure why apprehension was coiling in my gut, and took his hand.

We closed the distance to the Spire.

—

I lounged casually across Sam’s lap on the throne in the empty throne room. “Gotta admit,” I remarked, “I was worried at first. But this isn’t so bad.”

Sam laughed as he wrapped his arms around me. “Knew you’d come to enjoy it, darlin’. Kinda nice to be treated with respect for once, ain’t it?”

“Is it respect, or is it fear?” I asked.

Sam met my eyes. “Fear is a kind of respect, darlin’. Probably the healthiest kind in terms of self-preservation.”

I snorted. “Who’s self-preservation? I’ve never met her.”

Sam chuckled softly and kissed my hairline. “I know.”

I leaned, my mid-back pressing against the arm rest of the throne. “So, King Samuel Collins...” I licked my lower lip and smirked, feeling my fangs elongate just a little. “Are we just gonna sit here or are you gonna...” I walked two fingers up his chest and popped the top button of his flannel. “... enjoy your consort?” I finished in a whisper.

Sam growled—playfully—and wrapped his arms possessively around me. “Oh, darlin’, I plan on enjoyin’ you in every inch of this damn buildin’. But, rest assured, you are far more than just a consort. You’re my most trusted advisor. My right-hand. The love that my damned to Hell life never deserved. And I plan on showin’ you that...” He kissed me, deep and slow. “... for the rest of forever.”

I nipped at his lower lip. “Well, come on then, cowboy,” I teased before dropping into a whisper. “Show me.”

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff @dollscircus 

[eternitas]

Iemitsu turns up and speaks as if he knows his son but lets be re hoe much does he actually know about the intimate parts of Tsunas journey?

A lot in Reborn is done without it being said out loud. We would all believe Hibari to not be a real part of the vongola if he didnt come in clutch time and time again and had that fight against Adelheid where he spoke his own respect to Tsuna as a leader. We would still believe Gokudera to be a one sided guy who only cares about Tsuna if we disnt see him care for lambo and then slowly for the other.

So whenever we dont SEE something but are TOLD "No no i swear they feel THIS" it seems more hollow. Thats why I dont really trust the whole oh Daemon did it for Elena. I think it was consolation and trying to find something good in him when we were unmistakably shown what a depravid and incredibly cruel person he is.

And that is also why I don't believe Iemitsu to really be a father to Tsuna. We just dont see him acting like one. We are just told he is one, but only ever shown the leader of CEDEF who HAPPENS to be related to Tsuna.

I know our whole talk was about how it doesnt really NEED the sappy moments but i think in that moment I would've really liked them to either have a real conversation or Iemitsu showing actual meaningful support to Tsuna (It really doesnt help that my frienss father also is someone who was even far worse and now that he is seperated from the family he whines about how he is made out to be the villain and nobody wants to stay in contact with him. I WONDER WHY!). It feels like everyone else has at least ONE moment of actual bonding with tsuna before Iemitsu ever does.

BYAKURAN GETS SHOT BY COLLONELLOS RIFLE AND STILL HAS A SMALL MEANINGFUL CONVERSATION WITH TSUNA ABOUT HOW HE HAS CHANGED, WHICH IS LIKELY PARTIALLY WHY TSUNA GOT SO PISSED AT HIS ELIMINATION!

Iemitsu berates his son, he doesnt even explain himself or anything else. He just mentally scars his son and believes that is parenting.

Meanwhile

Reborn actually talks to Tsuna and tells him where he is going wrong. He also shows it with his fight wirh Iemitsu. Also let me point out how lovingly Reborn bonks Tsuna against the head (or pulls his hair I suppose?), point is we have seen Reborn actually hurt Tsuna physidally and this almost seems playful for reborns standarts.

Yes tsuna doesnt recognize him, but also, tsuna instinctively knows even if his conscious had not caught up to it.

I think this is why Tsuna as a protagonist is so important. I called bullshit on the elena thing but Tsuna very clearly shows thst being told "oh hey your father is kinda strong and you wont beat him by being arrogant" only leads to "okay cool. Wont do that anymore, but that doesnt change that i feel resentment."

Like with the whole "I wont be a mafia boss!", nothinf about his prior opinion changed. He wants to beat his dad now but he also is still not fucking happy about any of this. He couldve said "yeah it was fun to spend time with you!" but instead he get him rightfully calling his dad out. Because if Iemitsu truly knew Tsuna

HE WOULD KNOW THAT TSUNA DOESNT FIGHT FOR FUCKING FUN!!!!!!

Also allow me to point out how proud reborn is of him?

In reborns words he basically said "ya guys better start packing", because he sees how quickly Tsuna adapted and learned from him. and reborn is someone who constantly butts heads with others and is p harsh on his pupils. But here it really feels like REBORN is the proud father who teaches his son life lessons and Iemitsu is just... SOME GUY that happens to be related.

KHR does love and care really great but it also does imterpersonal conflict very well. If you remember that actions are usually louder than words in this series, you will be able to see through the shallow explanatory talk and notice all the small ways things do or dont match up.

I think one of my favourite moments in the series is the end of the storm battle. for one i am a die hard gokudera fan and in my opinion only the gamma fight surpasses it. And on the other-

The fact tsuna who is usually so reserved and just lets dera do his thing despite telling him quietly "you really don't have to"

Gets SO pissed at Gokudera for DARING to put his life on the line for this. A piece of jewelery and an empty title..

He calls it all meaningless if that means they cant just hang out together anymore.

Dera who links his own worth as a human being to his usefulness and position as a mafiosi is told "I just want you alive and by my side" in i think one of the most direct "this is the core of the whole series" moments we get.

When yamamoto faces ken he still holds back bc he doesnt want to get injured but as soon as TSUNA is in danger he says "fuck it" and gets serious.

In the shimon arc hibari picks up on tsunas depressive state and it annoys him so he changes that in his own way.

Its how mukuro in the rainbow trials cares for a tired fran.

Its how during the ring battles the girls and mama Sawada CONSTANTLY visit Lambo to make sure he is okay.

Its also how tsuna saves him in the first place. Fuck the rings, fuck the position, fuck this whole stupid arangement of fights- he has to save his family.

These people often get violent with each other and agressive, they bicker and they fight, but when the chips are down, all they care about is each other.

Most shounen protags have some kind of dream or goal, Tsuna just really really wants a quiet life and to spend that with his friends and family. The whole mafia buisness is just what he needs to do to keep that family he gained safe. Nothing tsuna EVER does is motivated by some ulterior motive for fame or riches. Its either him being FORCED into action bc he was literally kicked into it by reborn, or its because he has to resolve the situation to keep his friends and family safe.

The Caallone has a FUCKTON of members and so does the vongola and Tsuna really really really really REALLY doesnt care for any of that because in the end his own world is very small compared to the mafia.

I have to think of that one quote "why do you want to save this planet?" -"Because I live here!" for tsuna it would be "because my family lives here."

I mean be Tsuna isn't "heroic". Yeah he cares about other people and strangers, he helps old ladies, but when something is going on his go to isn't "I have to do something!" it's uauslly "man I hope SOMEONE does something. Not gonna be me tho!"

Sorry for the long ask i just wanted to rephrase what you said basically and send it back to you

HELLO AGAIN, thank you for the ask. Don't apologize at all for length, I'm absolutely foaming reading this.

I'm so glad you get what I was going for in the post. Those moments drive me insane. "They bicker and they fight but when the chips are down, all they care about is each other" and "Because my family lives here" I FEEL ABSOLUTELY INSANE ABOUT THESE LINES. You're so so right!!! The Vongola kids bully and tease and are nasty to each other, until it comes down to it and they fight tooth and nail for each other. Exactly what I was going for. The series doesn't need those scenes where Tsuna tells Gokudera he cares about him and they're warm and cuddly towards each other, bc it comes through in his words when meek and reserved Tsuna yells at him and tells him to stop trying to die for him or for some stupid ring. And I think that's so fun!! All the other stuff you listed also drives me so insane. For yamamoto, him letting himself get injured for Tsuna's sake was so good and Tsuna's love for Yamamoto shone through there too because Tsuna saw the injury and felt such immense guilt only apologizing for ruining everything for Yamamoto. Only for Yamamoto to go "No, I'm fine. As long as YOU'RE safe" like that's so good???

The Hibari thing?? How he sees Tsuna's depressed state over it all and all he says to comfort him is "Watch me." because that's all he could understand about the situation. That if he wins his fight, somehow Tsuna will cheer up. and its just so???? GOD ITS JUST SO FULL OF LOVE. Every character in this series shows love in their own ways and it drives me maddd

Mukuro taking care of a tired child too doesn't surprise me with his backstory. He's so gentle with people that are in "his care" even if he won't actively admit it.

The girls as well I'm so glad you pointed them out!! We so like to ignore them in this fandom and thats so sad bc the series makes it really clear that they are part of this equation too. That without their support, the fighters would not have made it. Tsuna could relax knowing Mama Sawada and the girls were watching Lambo and focus on his fight. And during future, he could focus on his training. Not to mention, they're just so supportive especially after they find out what's going on. The boycott episode and its resolution are some of my favorite scenes in Future, it makes me insane that the show gave the girls a Moment to remind us that they too are both deeply loved and ALSO love the boys just the same.

You're so right about Tsuna not being heroic, hell even in Shimon arc Enma is being bullied right infront of him and its Reborn that has to be like "STOP OR SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI WILL HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!!" He's kindhearted and he's got a good moral compass.. It's hard to explain, but you basically have to be IN Tsuna's circle for you to get that sort of "I will die for you" behavior kksjng otherwise he sorta reverts back to his "who me? im just a 14 yr old boy im nobody"

Thank you for sharing Lou (Or eternitas, whatever you'd prefer!) Spreading my own brain rot back at me very nice :^)

[soulmate-game]

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[elvish-sky]

Hope {Aragorn x Reader}

A.N: So no prompts done today cause I was working on this, but I’m proud of it and will get right on prompts tomorrow! This is the completely reader-insert version! I honestly had so much fun writing it and am honored that this person wanted me to do so. I hope y’all like it!

Requested by @ask-the-elf-stuff on Tumblr

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 1,799

Warnings: Kissing, fluff, the smallest bit of angst.

****

Hope

“You’re really leaving?” You gazed into Aragorn’s eyes, hoping that it wasn’t true.

    “I have to, Y/N. The fate of Middle-Earth depends on it.”

Your head dipped in understanding, but also sadness. 

“Do not fear. I will return.” He cupped your chin with his hand, tilting your head and kissing you. It was a light kiss, nothing like the others you had shared before. This kiss was the hope that you’d see each other again.

Breaking away, you forced a smile as you hugged him, trying not to cry. Stepping back, you waved as he followed the rest of the newly formed Fellowship through the gates of Imladris. Your father stood next to you, and as Aragorn passed through the gates Elrond drew you into his side. 

“He’ll be back, hína (child),” Elrond said as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you rested your head on your father’s shoulder as you watched the man depart.

Weeks later, you were pacing your room, determined to do something. Arwen stopped short in the doorway as she saw you pack open on your bed as you shoved things inside.

     “Y/N? What are you doing?”

“I do not know why, but I have felt a pull to follow. An ache, almost painful in its strength, has settled inside me and so I knew I must follow. We have not heard from the Fellowship in weeks, Aragorn could be hurt, or someone else could be, or he could be,” your voice broke, “dead.

The elf nodded in understanding. “The ache is telling you to be with the one you love.”

She then clasped your hand. “Y/N. Look at me.”

You looked at her, unshed tears of worry clear in your eyes.

“If he was dead, you’d feel it. And I know as your sister I should be telling you not to go, but I cannot help but notice the pain you’ve been in these last weeks. So go, find him.” She spread a map out onto a small table nearby, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you just carry that everywhere?”

She shot you a look, and you quickly clammed up, peering over her shoulder as she pointed things out. 

“After crossing the mountains visit our grandmother in Lothlorien, the Fellowship had planned to pass through there, and she will know where they are.” 

You took it all in, remembering the route to Lothlorien from visits to your grandparents you had made before your mother went west. 

“Thank you, Arwen.” You smiled up at your sister.

She clasped your wrist before pulling away, placing her hands on your shoulders as she looked into your eyes. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

You nodded, shoving the last things into your pack before slinging it over your shoulders with your bow and quiver, daggers sheathed on your thighs, hugging your sister one last time before leaving your room.

   You strode down the hallway, dressed in leather hunting clothes as you made your way to the gates of Imladris. You had stopped by the kitchens to gather food supplies, making sure they thought you were only going for a hunting excursion. 

Entering the courtyard, you saw your father standing in the center, clearly waiting for you. Silently cursing Arwen, as you had hoped to slip away unnoticed, you made your way over to him.

“I should not let you do this.”

You frowned at his words, drawing breath to protest, but before you could Elrond spoke again.

“But you are free to go. I feel the ache and have felt it every day since your mother departed. I know that nothing but being with the one you love can ease that pain, and it would hurt me to know you are experiencing it. Go to Estel. I give you my blessing.” 

You hugged your father before turning and mounting your horse, brought from the stables. Turning to wave to your father one last time, you leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go, Daeroc. Let’s go find Aragorn.” The horse broke into a trot, and you left Imladris behind.

Weeks later, you led Daeroc into Lothlorien, waiting for the sentries to appear. One dropped down from a tree, and you smiled at him, recognizing the face.

“Haldir,” you greeted him with a smile.

“Y/N. It is good to see you again. I assume you are here to see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn?”

You nodded, “Yes. I have not seen my grandparents in a long time. But before we go to them could you find someone to take care of Daeroc?”

Another elf came into view, nodding to you as she took the reins from your hands. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her.

Later, you walked into the courtyard, bowing to your grandparents standing on the stairs above. 

“Y/N, my daughter’s daughter. What brings you here?” Galadriel smiled at you, descending the stairs with her husband to greet you, each clasping your wrist. 

“To see you, of course, and seek news of the Fellowship that I assume has passed through here.” 

Your grandmother smiled. “It seems you are in luck, for they are here as we speak.”

Your eyes widened. “But they should have been long gone by now. I wonder what has caused the delay?”

Celeborn’s face softened. “Then you do not know.”

“Know what?” You were beginning to grow quite worried. “What has happened?”

“They could not make it through the pass of Caradhras, so they turned and went through Moria, costing them the life of Mithrandir.”

You gasped, heart aching at the grief that must have caused them and the grief you now felt. 

“May I see them?” All you wanted now was to see your friends and the man you loved.

“Of course.” Galadriel beckoned you to follow her, and you did, softly conversing with your grandmother and updating her on the lives of her family in Imladris, as well as others she knew.

Stepping into the clearing, you turned to thank Galadriel, watching her fade from view behind you for a moment before continuing. 

There he was. Tall and handsome still, even grimy with dirt and dust from his travels. You debated casually walking up and greeting him more sedately, but watching him you just couldn’t hold back. All your elvish instincts left you, and you sprinted towards him, leaping into his shocked arms as kissing him for all you were worth. He kissed you back for a moment, and then pulled away, the surprise on his face clear.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you.”

His eyes widened. “You did?”

You smiled at him. “Of course I did, meleth.”

He smiled back at you, and drew you in for another kiss, hands holding you up as your legs wrapped around his waist. Deepening the kiss, he moved so your back was pressed against a tree and his hands were free to slide up your back, tangling in your hair as you lost yourselves in each other.

Sometime later, you sat with the rest of the Fellowship after the nighttime meal, talking. It was good to see them again, you had grown fond of all of them, even the dwarf, during their time in Imladris. But of course, the only person you really had eyes for that night was Aragorn, who sat next to you with an arm around your shoulders. 

Legolas had seemed puzzled with how comfortable you were with affection, it was rather un elf-like. You had explained to him that because of your father’s past, he was slightly more affectionate than a normal elf, and showed it. You hadn’t missed the wistful look on Legolas’ face as you spoke and recalled what you knew of his family, feeling sorry for him. 

Later that night, you sat by the dying embers of the fire alongside Legolas. Aragorn had gone with the hobbits to wash up, and Boromir and Gimli were sleeping, so it was just you and the elf.

“Legolas?” The older elf looked at you. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, and you continued, “I was just wondering, do you know of something like an ache? It began right after the Fellowship departed Imladris, and only subsided when I arrived here. What does it mean?”

He smiled. “Y/N. That was the bond between your soul and Aragorn’s, pulled taught with your fear of losing him. Now that you are reunited, it has gone because you are together. It is every elf’s greatest dream and worst fear to have that feeling.”

You smiled. “Have you?”

The pain in his eyes told you that maybe that was not something to be asked of others.

“I am not sure if it is in my destiny to ever feel that.” He gazed into the distance.

The two of you sat in easy silence for a long time, after that. 

“Y/N.” You turned to see Aragorn beckoning to you, and with a nod to Legolas, you rose.

“You do not have to come with us. It will be a journey of great peril, and I do not want to put you in that much danger.”

You gazed at him earnestly, “Aragorn. I shall be there when the crown is finally placed on your head. I shall be with you until the end.”

He smiled at you again and clasped your hand as you walked through the towering trees.

You had left Lothlorien the day after with the Fellowship, having officially joined up. Lots had happened after that, including almost dying with most of Middle-Earth, but months later, all was finally well. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the ring in Mordor, the forces of Mordor had collapsed along with the Black Gate, and today was the coronation of King Elessar, also known as Aragorn. 

You watched, standing next to Gimli on the dais, as Gandalf lowered the crown onto Aragorn’s head.

“Now come the days of the King!” Gandalf declared before Aragorn turned to face his kingdom. Everyone cheered as he stood there, silencing quickly as he spoke. His words were wise and sincere, and you couldn’t help but fall in love all over again. As petals began to fall, he started singing, the words quickly fading as he turned to you. 

You walked down to meet him at the bottom of the steps, gown trailing behind you. Once you reached him, he grabbed your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist as he dipped you into a spectacular kiss. Unlike the one you had shared in Imladris, this was not a kiss of sadness. This was a kiss of hope, peace, and promise. As the cheers rose around you again you knew that everything you had hoped for had come true.

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16

[jasontoddiefor]

Hi! I just wanted to tell you how much I love your little pack bonding story (watch the time go). Seeing a fic that's not sexual with A/B/O dynamics is something I absolutely love but rarely see. So thank you for making my day just a little better

Thank you!!! I’m glad you like it Here, take some more! :D

Ahsoka rushed back to the campsite as quickly as she could. The battles on this side of the planet were completely done. They’d won, even if their victory had come at quite the high price. She’d wanted to stay to help with the bodies, the injured, and the thousand other things that had to be done in the aftermath of a battle, but Rex had sent her back to the main base.

The 501st wasn’t even supposed to have gone on this mission. They‘d been on the way back to Coruscant for restocking, not that the Separatists had cared. They had just seen another easy target and decided to attack a planet that was utterly worthless from a strategic point of view and then they had to interfere. Somehow, those battles always turned out to be the worst. They’d been at a major disadvantage already and then Anakin—

Ahsoka accelerated the speeder.

She knew that Anakin’s heats had been irregular even before she had become his Padawan. They’d hope they would settle once she had presented, but that hadn’t happened either. And then, of course, he had to go into heat in the middle of the campaign. Appo had told her he’d had to leave the fighting after his fever got too much to bear and Ahsoka just wanted to check in on him, make sure that he was alright and not hurt.

The 501st’ main base was in an old city that had been hit fairly early by the Separatists and was full of refugees happy to finally get help. Of course, some where also angry that they’d arrived so late, but Ahsoka was used to that by now. Not everyone could see the good the Republic did, they only saw what they hadn’t done.

As soon as Ahsoka arrived at the camp, she parked the speeder and began running through the camp of half-destroyed houses and tents. The locals eyed her warily, but the clones just raised a brow and smiled at their not-so-little-anymore Beta commander rushing off to find her Master.

Fairly in the middle of the camp where Ahsoka knew they kept most of the injured and younger children, Ahsoka finally found the place where they’d hidden away her Master.

“He’s inside,” one of the locals said with a smile, pointing at the door.

“Thank you,” Ahsoka remembered to reply before rushing inside.

The scent of heat was easily detectable. It was sweet, reminded her of the honey treats Anakin was so fond of making, the kind that burned your tongue from the spice incased in them if you weren’t too careful.

Anakin sat in the middle of the room on a couple mattresses, wrapped up in one of Obi-Wan’s old coats. A couple of her own were thrown in there and, of course, a good ten children were sleeping around him. Two toddlers were draped over his lap and he cradled a newborn that couldn’t be older than a week.

“Hey, Snips,” Anakin said quietly. He tried to raise his hand to greet her but stopped when he saw one of the sleeping children move. “I’m alright, Ahsoka, no need to be distressed.”

He sounded so casual, like nothing was wrong, and Ahsoka wanted to shout at him and hug him at the same time. “Yeah, but I heard you were in heat and I didn’t know whether you needed my help or not and I felt awful. I hate this.”

Logically, Ahsoka knew that her fledgling beta instincts were driving her insane. She was pretty sure she’d prefer being an omega or alpha to a beta. At least they didn’t have to deal with this constant aggravating nagging need to ensure that everything and everyone was exactly where it was supposed to be. She’d nearly made one of the shinies cry last week because she’d been unsettled by the way he stored his blasters even though there’d been nothing wrong with it.

Growing up sucked.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologized and with a sweet suggestion in the Force, got one of the children to keep sleeping as he made some space for her. “C’mon, there’s enough space for you.”

Sighing with relief, Ahsoka kicked off her boots and shrugged off her armor and made herself comfortable next to him. It didn’t take long for one of the kids to lay themselves across her too.

“Feels like being back in the crèche,” she said.

Anakin laughed lightly. “Yeah, it really does. Not quite sure what I would have done if the people of this planet didn’t deal with heats the same way we do in the temple. When the troops carried me back here, they didn’t even hesitate to set this up and get their children here. To be honest, I think they were pretty thankful. The kids took well to it and calmed down somewhat. And my heat’s almost worn off too. A couple more hours and I could have gone back to fighting, but I heard you already took care of that?”

Ahsoka straightened under his praise. “Yeah, the troops are busy with the clean-up, but we’ve secured our position.”

“Well done,” Anakin said and pulled her close with one arm so she could rest her head on his shoulder, inhale his scent. Even if she was no longer a child, she was still his kid, and it was just as calming to get this confirmation that he was here as it had always been.

She suddenly felt so heavy, all the exhaustion of the past days catching up to her.

“Go sleep,” Anakin muttered. “You’ve earned it.”

He said a few more words, but Ahsoka already didn’t hear them anymore, having fallen asleep.

[holylulusworld]

His butterfly

Summary: Dean claimed you - what will happen now?

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Omega!Jody x Omega!Donna

Characters: Sam Winchester, Ruby

Warnings: language, arguments, love-hate relationship, enemies to lovers, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, a not so cocky Dean this time, mentions of infidelity, mentions of the first time (nothing graphic), implied oral sex (fem rec)

Sequel to: Broken Butterfly

“Let me help you,” Dean opens the door to the bathroom for you, helps you step inside the showers, and rummages in his bag to find shower gel. “Sorry, I only got guys stuff.”

“Should do the job, shouldn’t it?” You snicker watching Dean hurry under the stream. He is adding some of his shower gel onto a washcloth to gently clean your body. Carefully Dean runs the fabric over your shoulder, glancing at the mark he left.

“Do you hate me now?” One arm wraps around your waist when he buries his face into your neck to lap at the still stinging bite mark.

“Don’t lap at the wound. We need to…,” Dean shushes you, sliding his tongue slowly over the wound, and oddly, the pain is gone.

“Let me, sweetheart. I know a few things about omegas, our bond, and dynamics. My salvia will help to heal the wound quicker.” You smile at his words, tilting your head to grant him better access. “You did not answer my question.”

“I don’t know how to feel about your claim, Dean. We were good together back then but now we fight all the time. Your words sting and the misogyny, I cannot live with that kind of man,” you answer honestly, sighing deeply at the mess Dean made.

“I…I said those things to rile you up, not to hurt,” unlike his usual cocky-self Dean grumbles behind you, still lapping at his claiming mark on your neck. “I would never do such a thing to you, Y/N. I wanted your attention.”

“Acting like an asshole is not the way to get an omega’s attention, Dean. Why didn’t you act like your brother?” Dean growls when you mention his brother, even presses his body closer to yours.

“You’re mine, not Sam’s,” possessively Dean purrs against your throat, lapping at his mark. “My omega, no one else’s. This butterfly is mine to keep.”

“Gosh, Dean. Stop acting all out.” You shiver at the feeling of his swelling cock against the crack of your ass. “I mean…Jesus you are hard again.”

“Can’t help it, ‘mega. Close to you, I feel like the young alpha, a pup.” He whines, nuzzling his cheek into your neck. “I never forgot about you or our first time. I was so nervous, but you guided me, even though, it was your first time too.”

“I was scared and nervous too,” you smile at the memory, slowly grinding against Dean’s swelling length. “You were gentle and careful, and so young. I loved the whines; you sounded like a puppy.”

“Back then, I was a puppy, sweetheart. You were the one turning me into a man, an alpha only for me to stray around and look for other omegas. I regret being a young and dumb alpha for years. I just didn’t know how to approach you after the break-up.”

Dean groans when you move your hand to the back of his neck, to bring him close enough for a messy kiss.

“I want to feel my alpha, now…” Your order lets a smirk appear on Dean’s lips and he knows – by claiming you he is in for a treat. “Dean, stop playing with the washcloth and satisfy your omega.”

“Son of a bitch, I claimed a brat,” you grin, pressing the palms of your hands against the tile wall. “Let me just prep you, butterfly.” Dean’s lips ghost along your shoulder and you wish there was more time for foreplay.

“Dean, we’ve got no time. In not half an hour we need to attend the meeting and explain why I have to…fuck me,” faster than you can blink Dean runs his fingers up and down your slit, moaning behind you at the slick coating his digits.

“Always so sweet for me,” his hand sprawls over your stomach, pressing you back against him. “Beautiful and feisty.” Nibbling at your earlobe he slips the tip in, listening to the tiny whimpers leaving your lips. “Soft and hard. Strong and so vulnerable sometimes.”

“D’…” He slides inside, holding your body against his when you start to tremble. “Feels so good, alpha.” You address him with his presentation, this time not to mock him but to tell him you accept your bond.

“You feel even better, Y/N. So tight but warm and wet,” you whine, hearing Dean’s praise. “You are made for me and I am made for you.” Open-mouthed he kisses your skin, moaning against you.

It is a deep growl leaving his chest when he starts to roll his hips bringing you out of your haze.

Dean takes his time, like the first time you were together. “God, you can’t knot me now, Dean. We got to…” He slides back out to turn you around, help you to sling your legs around him. “What?”

“I want to watch your face when you cum for me, omega,” his throaty purr let all resolve to give him hell melt away. His cock slide back inside and you are too far gone to care when screams erupt from your mouth, letting the alpha lose it too soon.

“Fuck, no…I need to bring you over the edge first,” one arm slung around your body Dean moves his hand between your bodies to flick your clit, slowly rocking his hips. “Please, baby. Need to feel you cum.”

“Dean, it’s fine,” you watch the alpha warily. His face flushed, eyebrow knit together he looks at your crotch, sighing deeply as he begins to soften. “It was nice, baby. I do not need to cum every time.”

“You have. I’ll make it happen…”

“We are going to be late…” Legs shaky from Dean’s assault you watch the alpha look up from between your legs. Chin plastered with your juices just like his plump and swollen lips he grins.

“I made it. Damn, look at the mess I made between your legs.” Proud Dean looks at the sheets underneath you. “Did it feel good?”

“Dean, stop fishing for compliments. I can’t feel my legs, so yes, it was damn good…” He nods, looking at your sex again.

“One day I want you to have my baby,” your eyes round at Dean’s confession but you remain silent. “I mean if you want some.”

“I never thought about having kids. Maybe I like becoming mother, teaching the girls to become angry amazons…” You giggle when Dean crawls back up your body to kiss your fiercely, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“I think that was a yes…omega…”

“When do we get your things?” Dean rushes after you, tries to get your attention while you check on a few points on your agenda. “Sweetheart?”

“I never said I’d move in with you, Winchester,” you smirk, patting his chest before you straighten your back to prepare for the storm that will come the moment you open the door to the conference room.

“Wait-what? No, no…you are my omega and I want you to live with me.” Eyes focused on the mark he left Dean purrs to make your change your mind. “Please?”

“Better,” you pat his chest, pecking Dean’s cheek to earn another low purr. “You’re such a good little pup.” Dean’s mouth falls open when you open the door, looking over your shoulder, expectantly. “You coming, my strong alpha?”

Ruby’s eyes narrow, just like Jody’s and Donna’s when you walk into the room, a fresh claiming mark too prominent on your neck.

“He…he forced himself on her!” Ruby snarls, jumping over the table, only stopped by Sam who holds the angry omega back. “Let me go, I’ll kill him.”

“How could you, Winchester!” Jody grits her teeth, ready to attack the alpha who claimed you.

Dean looks around the room. Angry eyes are focused on him, even the ones from his fellow alphas. He swallows thickly, letting out a noise sounding like a wail.

“Dean and I have to tell you something important,” you clear your throat, grasping for Dean’s hand. “Last night Dean and I had a long and fruitful conversation. We wanted to unite our packs and decided it’s for the best to mate.”

Sam chokes on air whilst the omega he still holds back snarls into Dean’s direction, not believing a single word leaving your lips.

How could you admit Dean and you gave in to your instinct followed by a careless claim on your alpha’s side?

“Dean claimed me and when the bond strengthened, I am going to do the same to set an example against misogynism.” Dean huffs next to you, knowing you want to punish him for his alpha behavior. “My alpha is man enough to see we need a change.”

“Who will take your position, Y/N?” Ruby gasps when you hand her the clipboard, giving her a warm smile. “Me? But I am horribly at negotiating.”

“Correct,” you smirk, patting Ruby’s hand. “That is the reason I trust you, Ruby. I know you will give them hell.” You glance at Sam who awkwardly glances at Ruby’s mating gland, purring low in his throat. “I mean, Sam is a great partner.”

“He is…” Ruby clears her throat, turning her attention toward the conference table. “You heard Y/N. We will return to our tasks and cheer for the happy couple.”

“What was that about claiming me?” Dean whispers in your ear whilst you dig your nails into his hand. “Y/N…”

“Well, fair is fair, Winchester. You bit me, I’ll do the same,” you grin now, patting his chest. “You’re lucky if I do not leave a mark on your dick.”

“You wouldn’t…” Dean follows you like a puppy when you walk toward the place reserved for guest listeners. “Omega. You wouldn’t bite my cock…right?”

“I do not know yet, alpha,” you pat the seat next to you, still grinning. “I will decide later.”

“I can be a good alpha, Y/N.” The alpha takes your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Promised.”

“We will see…Winchester.” You lean back in your chair, looking at Sam who discusses the next point on your agenda with Ruby. A smile crosses your lips watching the couple fight over the next decision.

Dean sits next to you, watching you the whole time, a smile on his face. He believes he got it all by biting you but – he is terribly wrong.

What he does not know is that you made him yours - not the other way around.

It took you years to push Dean to finally claim you. The alpha has no clue that from now on, you will rule his life…

A/B/O Tags

@gublergirls​

-----------------------------------

SPN Forever Tags

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--------------------------------------

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags   

@spnfamily-j2

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@bluecornflowers​​

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A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 6.2k / 28.5k

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, Din Is In A Cult, angst with an eventual happy ending i swear

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Eight: The End

Nia and Anella ran for each other, crashing into one another in a fierce embrace.

Nia and Anella ran for each other, crashing into one another in a fierce embrace.

Anella held onto Nia as if in fear that she might slip through her fingers again. Both of them talking through tears over the other.

“I’ve missed you so much! I was starting to think I wouldn’t find you–”

“Niæna! I thought you were–Niæna, cyare’se–”

Loved one.

They stopped talking at the exact same moment to listen, making them both laugh and wipe away tears.

Anella cupped Nia’s cheeks and pressed her forehead to hers, frowning in a joy so bright it had to hurt.

“Me'vaar ti gar, ba’buir?” Nia whispered, sniffling.

How are you, grandmother?

Anella nodded slowly, swallowing hard before speaking in a rough voice. “Ner bu’ad. Yaimpar. Ori’sol gedetyar.”

My granddaughter. Returned. There is much to be grateful for.

Watching their reunion made something deep inside Din ache. He had never felt like more of an outsider.

He stepped back once, twice, hoping to let them share this moment as long as they wanted to without an audience. But–

“Ke’mot!”

Halt!

Even if it hadn’t been the exact order used by his training instructors, the tone Anella used would have stopped a runaway Star Destroyer. Din looked back, shoulders automatically hunching to brace for whatever was coming next. Anella still had an arm around Nia, but was giving him a very familiar looking study.

“Is he with you?” she asked Nia.

She smiled. “Yes, he’s with me. He’s the reason I’m here.”

Anella looked slightly mollified. “Do you have a name to go with all that beskar?”

“He goes by–”

“Din. Din Djarin.”

For half a second, he had the same feeling as when he gave Nia his true name on their first meeting. WHY? But the warm and open look in Nia’s eyes immediately quenched any doubt he might have had.

Anella looked between the two of them then snorted. “Come, let us leave this drafty high rise and you can explain. You too, Din-Din Djarin.”

Huh. It’d been a long time since he’d had relatives.

Anella took them to her small apartment many thousand levels down from the twin-spired penthouse. It was cramped, and there was some sort of betting ring happening on the street corner, but they could still see the sky, so better than most on Coruscant.

Inside was about as luxurious as being aboard The Razor Crest, which made Din feel a lot more at ease, truth be told. Anella managed to find an extra crate for Din to sit on as she only owned two chairs, but it didn’t feel too tight at the table.

Anella was a small woman, slight and barely reaching his chest. But she still had a commanding Presence that made him continually straighten his posture every time she re-entered the room. The long burn scar through her whitened eye probably helped, but even then…

Nia hadn’t stopped smiling since they arrived. “Ba’buir, sit. We’re fine.”

Anella grunted disbelieving and tossed two ration packs their way. “If I had known you were coming, I would have gotten the good ones. But I at least have this.” She placed down three metal cups on the table and brandished a bottle half-filled with golden liquor.

She filled the cups with the very strong smelling booze and then lifted hers. “K'oyacyi.”

Cheers. Literally, ‘stay alive’.

“K’oyacyi,” Nia repeated before sipping. Din lifted his glass, but did not drink.

Anella gave him an odd look. “I can assure you, this place is safer than it looks.”

“Din doesn’t remove his helmet in front of others,” Nia explained before he had to.

A knowing look crossed through Anella’s eyes that turned to a pointed glare towards Nia, who avoided it by paying very careful attention to opening her ration bar.

“I see. Well, it will keep just fine,” Anella said before taking Nia’s hand in hers and giving her a soft, concerned look. “Now tell me, my Comet-fire, what has happened since I saw you last?”

Nia let out a long breath. “A lot, but… I’m not even sure when that was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a control chip put in my head,” Nia said, making Anella’s face harden and her grip clench. “Din made sure it was removed, but it took… everything. I wasn’t even sure of my own name when I woke up.”

Anella’s face was disturbed, but she nodded and sat back. “Tell me what you know then. And I will clarify.”

“I remember Mandalore. My parents and you, our home. I remember you raising me, training me–training us. We found the school. Ba’buir, it was attacked–”

Anella held up a hand “I know this. Continue.”

Nia kept going. “I remembered the Vod’oya after we found the headquarters. Going through the mission log brought back a lot of good memories.” She smiled for a moment, but then it disappeared. “But there’s gaps. In the records themselves. We have a contact seeing if it can be recovered, but haven’t heard anything yet.”

So far none of this seemed to surprise Anella. “And then?”

Nia’s face grew very carefully blank. “I know I killed Phasia,” she said in a small voice. On instinct, Din reached out and took Nia’s other hand. He could feel Anella’s gaze rest on him for a moment. “I don’t… know why, but I remember doing it. Ro saw me shoot her, she told me.”

“You found Ro?” Anella asked, sounding actually surprised now.

“Yes, she was… angry. I would be too.”

“What brought you here then?”

Din spoke up, making them both look his way. “I had a bounty, some years ago, for Phasia. I delivered her to that building. Nia remembered being chipped there when we arrived.”

“I remember a man. Human. He wanted to know where the school was…” Nia’s face threatened to crumble. “And I told him. I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Because you were chipped,” Anella reminded her, her voice fierce with determination. “Do not take guilt that is not yours, Niæna.”

She didn’t look like she quite agreed with her, but she let out a breath. “We’ve been looking for eight months, and there’s still so much we don’t know. Please, anything will help.”

Anella nodded and considered for a moment before speaking. “I hope you have re-discovered it, but your gut instinct is… uncanny. As a child, it was unsettling.” A wry smile twisted her mouth for a moment. “But as you grew older, and especially with the path you and the others chose, it gave me some measure of peace. So when you came to me a year ago and told me that you felt one of the Vod’oya had betrayed the group, I trusted you. But I told you that you would need hard proof to convince the rest. And you had it. The collection of missions the Vod’oya had completed all under false pretenses, all proposed by Phasia. You showed it to me not long before… before it all ended.

She finished her drink and set the cup down. “The owner of that building is a man named Terreck Basslan. He is rich, which makes him powerful. Even with your proof, we weren’t sure how he’d gotten his hooks into Phasia–” She looked pointedly at Din. “But it was clear that she was the turncoat. Through her, Basslan was using the Vod’oya as his own personal army. The seven of you could take out his enemies, remove his competitors, or just cut down anyone in his way. I am sure he lined Phasia’s pockets with more credits than she knew what to do with for her assistance.

“When you told me, I thought it best to disband, but… you wanted to know why she had betrayed the sisterhood. I told you to be careful. She had kept up the ruse for years; she was probably deeper in than even we knew.” Her face grew even more somber. “And then I was woken up very late by Kolo, who told me that Phasia was dead. And you were missing.

“I went after you immediately. You made it to the spaceport before I could get to you. I followed you, tracked you to that building.” She shook her head, a grim light in her eyes. “At the time, I hoped you were dead. That would have been better than most of the fates that waited there.”

“I got lucky,” Nia said, squeezing her hand.

“Yes,” Anella replied, looking at Din. “By the time I returned to the school, the Empire had already come through. Basslan must have told them where we were; Mandalorians are not technically wanted, but far from welcome. They killed some, took most. Where and for what purpose, I do not know. I buried the dead and burned the stormtroopers in the woods. Set out to find my students.”

“You think Basslan knows where they are?” Din asked.

“I think Coruscant is a good place to hide when you still need contacts. I have a scanner nearby; it logs every ship that comes and goes from Basslan’s.” She smiled slightly. “My curiosity was sparked when the same pre-Imperial ship that landed at my school three weeks ago showed up here. Though the Mandalorian was more a surprise than your survival, Comet-fire. Where did you find him?”

Nia laughed slightly. “He found me. On Tatooine. When I was chipped, everything felt foggy. Except for this… compulsion. Kick the guard off the barge. I did, and then he showed up out of nowhere.”

“And what brought you to Tatooine, Din?”

“I took a quarry and had my own… instinct. Go to the Dune Sea, and follow the barge.”

Nia smiled at him. “Though the next thing I remember is waking up to a stormtrooper swinging a staff at me.”

“You wouldn’t stay on the ship,” he replied, making her laugh.

Anella was looking sharply between the two of them. “I see.”

“We’re Matched,” Nia added, resting a hand on his arm.

“Good. Glad you have figured that out yourselves.” She refilled the two empty glasses and sat back in her chair. “Are you bonded yet?”

Nia’s confused frown reflected the one on his face. “No…?”

“It will come in time. What clan are you from, Din?”

“I don’t have one. I was a foundling, raised in the fighting corps.”

“Outside of Keldabe, right?” Anella asked, though it seemed she already knew.

“Yes.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Nia asked, pulling the conversation off track. She nodded to the corner where a few bags were packed.

“I was, yes. I have received a tip on where my students may have been taken. Was going to investigate when you two arrived.”

“I want to come with you,” Nia said.

Anella held up a hand. “No. I do not know yet if it is true. If it is, I will leave word at the school. But you need your evidence back. Prove yourself to Ro and find the others together.”

Nia nodded, though it was clear she didn’t like the idea of leaving her grandmother again.

They stayed up talking, reminiscing till late in the night. Not stopping till Nia could barely keep her eyes open. Anella wouldn’t hear of them returning to the ship, making a few spare beds out of the blankets and furniture she was leaving behind.

Nia curled up on the couch, immediately dropping into sleep before she’d even managed to pull a blanket over herself. Din watched Anella drape a quilt over her and smooth her hair, something deep inside him aching again.

Anella caught him staring from the table, jerking his head back to look down at his still full cup. However, instead of retiring herself, she sat down across from him and refilled her glass.

There was a quiet minute as she sipped and studied him carefully. She and Nia really were related.

“Tell me, Din,” she said in a low voice. “What are your intentions towards my granddaughter?”

He didn’t know how, but he suddenly felt that every answer that came to mind was wrong.

“As long as Nia wants me by her side, that is where I’ll be,” he said finally. True in spirit, but not his full hopes.

She huffed in amusement. “Spoken like a true Mandalorian.”

Her choice of words gave him pause.

“Because it seems to me like you have already chosen her,” she continued.

Kriff, he’d hoped he was more subtle than this.

“Not formally…” he admitted. “But… I am… settled.” He looked to where he could see the top of Nia’s head. “I do not know if she agrees with me.”

“What of your tribe? Do they agree with you?”

Din looked back at her, frowning. “Nia is my Match, what is there to argue with?”

Anella chuckled into her teacup. “Since when has that stopped Mandalorians?”

Under his helmet, he frowned. The idea had not even crossed his mind…

“You know, Nia’s mother was of your tribe. The Faithful Ones up the mountain,” she added.

“Really?”

She nodded once, looking at him closely. “When she and my son chose each other… her tribe cast her out for choosing someone who was not faithful.” A black pit opened in his stomach. “It was difficult for her, and admittedly, I had my doubts at first about the wisdom of my son’s choice.” A wistful smile filled her eyes. “But before long, she made me as proud as if I had birthed her myself. It was through her foresight and her sacrifice that Nia and I survived and escaped when the Empire invaded our village.”

“Nia never told me.”

“Nia does not know. Her mother wanted to leave that part of her past behind her. And she did…” She drained her cup and stood. “I may be biased, but I think she was happier for it.” She patted his shoulder as she passed by. “Good night, Din Djarin.”

Din finished his cup and settled for the night, leaning against the couch with a long sigh. Nia, still asleep, turned and threw her arm across his chest. He slipped his glove off and held her hand, the usual something flickering beneath the surface as he drifted off.

The next morning, Anella saw them back to The Razor Crest, not before giving them a small case of ration bars and the quilt Nia had slept under. She probably would have foisted more, if Nia hadn’t gently yet firmly assured her they weren’t in danger of starving.

“One last thing,” Anella said, making Nia suck in a breath and Din bite back a chuckle. She reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped, rather flat package, handing it to Nia. “You should have this. It is time.”

Nia unwrapped it and both their mouths dropped open. It was a beskar cuirass, battle-worn and painted grey and white.

Nia looked up at her. “I cannot accept this–”

“I cannot wear it anymore. It is right that you should have it, cyare’se.” Anella ran a hand over her beskar, thumb rubbing at one of the scuffs. “It will need to be fitted to you. And deserves new paint. Perhaps a new color if you think it fitting.”

The color of a Mandalorian’s armor was symbolic. Grey meant mourning a loved one, while white meant a new start.

His own red set was in honor of his parents. Perhaps it was time for a new color on his own as well.

“I will take good care of it,” Nia promised solemnly, her hand pressed over the iron heart in the center.

Anella nodded. “I know this.” She rested a hand on her shoulder and waved Din in to rest the other on his, looking between the two of them. “Look after one other well. Mandalorians need each other, now more than ever.”

They looked at each other, a warm smile passing between them. “We will,” Nia promised, not looking away for a moment.

Anella patted Din’s arm and kissed Nia’s forehead one last time before letting them board the ship.

“Ret'urcye mhi,” Anella called, waving from the landing pad.

Maybe we’ll meet again. A Mandalorian farewell.

Nia watched her from the cockpit, waving back as Anella grew smaller and eventually disappeared from view.

Din was setting coordinates for Nevarro when a message came through. Peli’s voice was crackly but clear.

“You two are in luck; I was able to recover most of the data. Come back to Tatooine when you can–and don’t forget the rest of my money.”

He immediately plotted coordinates for Tatooine. Unfortunately, Coruscant being Coruscant, it was actually almost two full hours later till they made the jump to hyperspace and he could leave the flight deck.

He found Nia down in the hull, putting away the armor cleaner that usually only he used.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, tucking her now shining beskar into the armory. “Yes… Part of me wishes we didn’t have to be apart, but we’ll see each other again.” She smiled back at him. “She liked you, you know.”

He chuckled. “I liked her too.”

Her eyes shone, warm and open. “Din. You… you have saved my life in so many ways. Without you…”

The look in Anella’s eye came to mind – I hoped you were dead – making him pull her into his arms. Safe, she was safe now.

She leaned back enough to look at him. “It means so much to me that you like my clan. Maybe… the next time we see Anella, I could ask if she would let you join. You could claim clan Vard’on when people ask. If you wanted.”

“A clan of three,” he said, trying it on for size and finding it a perfect fit.

She smiled, so much brighter and more beautiful than the stars that he just had to kiss her.

Din slipped his helmet on the next morning and opened the bunk door. Nia was already up, doing the final meditation of her stretching routine, completely still and her back straight as a saber.

He admired her form, the slope of her waist and the absolute control over her body she commanded. By the Mythosaur, he was beyond merely lucky to have a Match like her.

“You’re staring, my absence,” she said, without turning around to see him.

He smiled and went to sit behind her, pulling his helmet off before tucking his face into the safety of the crook of her neck.

Sea air and wildflowers.

“Absence?” he asked, interrupting the end of her meditation in more ways than one.

She relaxed back against him. “When you’re helmeted… I can feel the space where you should be, rather than actually you. You’re my favorite absence.”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the skin behind her ear.

A contented hum echoed from her chest as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him closer.

They sat there in the quiet perfect ordinariness for a while. That feeling of Something hurtling towards them returning. Though this time, it arrived.

Connection.

“What is this?” she murmured.

Pure and powerful.

It went beyond star bursts and comet fire.

It was… the birth of a galaxy. The miracle of Something from Nothing.

And at the same time, it was simply just her. And him.

Devotion flowed through his hands, tempered with loyalty and admiration. Strong and fierce. Familiar, but decidedly not his.

“Nia,” he whispered, head swirling with the rush.

“I thought the bond was just… a metaphor. A fairy tale…”

Surprise and awe joined the cocktail before simmering down into an amusement that sparkled.

This was her, Din realized after a moment. It was Nia. She was feeling all of this, and through where he touched her, he felt it too. Was she feeling him? How did she not drown in all these emotions?

Concern flooded the riptide.

“Are you alright?” she asked, a hand slipping up to cup the back of his neck. Every place she touched him, Awareness flowed, nearly overwhelming. “Din?”

He nodded, finding his footing slowly but surely. “Yes. I… I feel you.”

Concern ebbed, replaced with shimmering adoration.

“Din Djarin, you like me,” she teased, curling against him.

He had to laugh. That was too small a word for everything he could guess she felt from him.

“I do.” He wrapped his arms all the way around her, holding her tightly and basking in her. Without any effort at all, the words slipped out, soul-deep and earnest. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise detonated.

She breathed a giggle. “Grandmother warned me that Mandalorians move fast. I just assumed she was talking about sex.”

He chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“I know…” Thoughtful consideration welled up.

She had to feel his nerves, his longing for this.

Instead of answering, however, she turned to face him, eyes already closed without any reminder. Her hands reached out for his face, and he guided them to his cheeks. She pulled him close again, pressing their brows together.

“Yes.”

Star bursts and comet fire. Coming from both him and her.

A smile so bright it splintered into a laugh bubbled up from within him. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling too, eyes still closed.

He nearly asked her to open them. Breaking his Oath seemed almost worth it to see her eyes with his own in that moment.

But something deep recoiled at the thought. So instead he kissed her, soft and sweet.

“When?” she asked, lips still brushing his.

He kissed her again. And again. And again, moving slowly up her jaw, fingers brushing through her curls. “Now?” he asked, only half-joking.

She laughed. “Really?”

“Mhi solus tome–”

We are one together. The first line of the vows.

She gasped and pulled half back, but he reeled her back in, laughing and nowhere near done kissing her. Her surprise and amusement bubbled.

“Grandmother would never forgive you if you married me on the floor of your ship.”

He brushed her cheek with his. “Would you forgive me?”

“I’d have to think about it,” she teased with a grin he happily kissed away.

“Where should we go then?” A kiss to her forehead. “Naboo?” A nibble to her chin. “Coruscant?” A rub to her nose with his. “Mandalore?”

She laughed. “Yes, reclaim Mandalore for me, and I’ll marry you by the lake outside of Keldabe.”

“De ner haat.”

By my honor.

Still smiling, she kissed him once more and then relaxed against him, head on his shoulder, a hand stroking through the hair by his ear. Her happiness sparkled under his skin everywhere she touched him.

“I don’t care where… but I would like to have my eyes open. When we marry, I want to see you.”

A thin curl of worry smoldered in his throat. “Will the helmet be enough?”

She was quiet for a long moment, considering again. “Yes. I will never ask you to break your Oath for me, de ner haat.”

The worry immediately extinguished. He kissed her forehead. “Vor entye.”

I accept this debt. Or thank you.

“Of course, ner riduur.”

My husband.

He smiled and held her tighter, the edges of his person threatening to burst from their shared joy too large to be contained within just himself.

“Din Djarin of clan Vard’on, chosen of Niæna, has a nice sound to it,” she said, smiling too.

“Yes. It does.”

They arrived in Tatooine the next day, Peli extremely happy to see her money. And also them.

Nia flipped through the recovered data, the proof of Peli’s hard work evident in the relief in her eyes. “It’s here. This can all be traced back to Terreck and Phasia,” she said before tucking the drive away.

“Thank you, Peli,” Din said, offering a hand.

She looked surprised then shook his hand. “Eh, it wasn’t that difficult. And tell you what, next time you come to Tatooine, I’ll get rid of that dent on the back side of the ship for you. Half-price.”

Now with the evidence in hand, it was time to reach back out to Ro.

Nia left another puzzle box on the doorstep of her house, hoping that it hadn’t been abandoned.

But even if Ro was still around, there was no guarantee that she would answer.

However, about a week after they left the message, they got a holo request. Nia looked back at him from where she sat in the captain’s chair, face twisted with worry. He gave her an encouraging nod, and she accepted the call.

Ro appeared, her semi-translucent face completely neutral.

“Ro, I’m glad you called,” Nia said, offering a slight smile.

Ro nodded once. “Your message said you can explain what happened.”

“I can, yes. Phasia… she was working for someone else. Someone bad. And I can prove it. I swear by the Manda’lor. I swear by Anella.”

“Fine, fine. Bring your proof and I’ll listen. But I want to meet with just you. Leave the buckethead behind.”

Nia looked his way. He pulled off a glove, brushing fingers against her hand out of view of the camera. Her worry flowed through the contact, but changed to gratitude as she felt his understanding.

“Alright. Tell me where, and I’ll come alone,” Nia promised.

“I’ll send coordinates.” But instead of hanging up, Ro paused. “If you… after we clear the air… it might be nice to… catch up.”

Nia’s whole face brightened. “Do you want to go camping? Like old times?”

“You remembered,” Ro said with a small smile.

“I did, yeah. Finally.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

Since Nia was going to be with Ro for a few days, Din decided he’d be better off finding something to do with his time rather than just wait. Luckily, Ranzar Malk had a job that fit very neatly within their schedule.

And it was only slightly illegal.

“Why do you work with Ran?” Nia asked as she adjusted the straps of her bag over her shoulders.

Din picked up a few extra ration bars from their supply in the hull wall and slipped them into her backpack, as well as a flash grenade. Just to be safe. “He pays. And we need the money.”

She turned around. “The Guild also pays.”

“He pays more.”

He was wearing his gloves so he couldn’t feel her thoughts when she threaded her fingers with his. But he could see them plain on her face anyway.

“You’re disappointed,” he said.

She shook her head. “No. I understand survival. But… I don’t know, hopefully someday we can choose between the right thing and the job.” She sighed and squeezed his hands. “Just please be safe. Don’t let Xi’an stab you.”

“Don’t let Ro stab you,” he replied, making her smile.

“I promise.”

This was the first time in nearly nine months of being together they were going to purposefully part for more than a few hours. As she made to step away, he pulled her back in, close enough to rest the brow of his helmet on hers.

“Wherever you go, I go,” he whispered, even as he reminded himself that they weren’t physically joined at the hip.

She smiled softly and touched his helmet as if she was cupping his cheek. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one apart – the second line of the marriage vows.

Heart surging up into his throat, he reached for his helmet before he could change his mind. Automatically, she closed her eyes. “Wait. Don’t,” he whispered, something deep inside him shaking.

Her eyes opened slowly, surprise drawing them wide as he reached up again. He lost sight of her as he tipped the helmet up just far enough to kiss her good-bye, gently yet meaningfully.

It wasn’t quite an Oath break, right?

Her fingertips brushed over his jaw, his lips. The awe tingling through the connection made him smile, the first one she’d ever seen.

She gasped and pressed a kiss to the bare spot in his facial hair where a beard stubbornly refused to grow. “You have a beautiful smile, Din Djarin,” she whispered, a fingertip brushing his dimple.

He lowered the helmet back into place and she came into view again, her warm smile still on her face. “Thank you. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Ret'urcye mhi,” he replied, leaning over and opened the hull door.

Sunlight flooded the room as Nia grabbed her staff from its usual resting place. Ro was waiting just outside of the treeline, hands folded behind her back and her own bag at her feet. Her expression softened as Nia came into view.

Nia jogged down the ramp, stopping one last time to wave back at Din, before running to join Ro. They spoke for a few moments before Ro grabbed her bag and they fell into step, heading down the path together.

Din watched them go till Nia disappeared between the trees, already counting the minutes till he could kiss her again as he closed the hull door and flew away.

As Ran’s quick, easy, and not-all-that-illegal job turned out to be none of those things, Din promised himself this was the last time he’d work with this crew. The two of them could make it by with just the Guild from now on. Dodging fang and knife attacks from your supposed partners was not worth the pay bump.

Ignoring offers for drinks with most of the crew (and far more than just drinks with Xi’an), Din immediately grabbed his share and jumped into hyperspace. Ran’s poor planning had made him a few hours later to meet Nia than he’d originally hoped.

Din half-expected her to be waiting by the treeline as he landed in the exact same spot he’d left her in two days ago.

But she wasn’t there.

That was fine. He knew where they were planning to camp, not even half a mile down the path, near the river.

Maybe he could surprise her, he thought as he headed down the trail, fallen leaves squishing underfoot. Huh, they probably got rained on quite a bit.

He heard the babbling of the river first. And soon after the path through the trees widened with the bank, revealing a near panoramic view of the river bend.

It’d be the perfect spot to camp. But he didn’t see any signs of fire pits or sleeping rolls in the softened earth.

No sign of Nia or Ro either.

What he did see, drew him to a full stop.

Nia’s staff laid abandoned in the mud.

He stared at it for a long moment, before looking around. “Nia?” he called, loud enough to be heard in the nearby vicinity. But there was no answer.

He wrenched the staff from the mud, the weapon half-buried as if… as if it’d been left for some time.

“NIA?” he yelled again before searching for the story in the river bank. However, the heavy rain had washed anything useful away, leaving only rivulet trails and puddles behind. Not even his visor could identify footprints.

A black pit opened up in his gut, large enough to swallow him whole.

He ripped off his helmet, breath fogging slightly in the air, and looked around wildly with his own eyes.

“NIA,” he bellowed, voice breaking as it echoed between the spaces in the forest and across the water.

Silence was the only reply.

Nia was gone.

It was several weeks later that Din was back in the Vod’oya headquarters, this time alone. He set up the holo recorder on the table and activated it, stepping back to the foot and trying to pick a place to begin.

“Anella, I have… Something’s happened.”

He looked at the glowing light of the recorder and knew that this wasn’t the right way to do this, for so many reasons. But fear more than Creed kept his helmet on his head.

“Nia’s gone missing,” he said, face screwing up from the stabbing pain of it. “She met with Ro, they were together for two days, and… and she wasn’t there when I returned. I don’t know if Ro did something, or if someone took them both, or…

He shook his head, just barely holding together enough to get out the words. “I have searched everywhere I can think. Ro’s house is abandoned. No one’s been through the school but me. Even Basslan seems to have gone underground, his staff haven’t seen him for months. I’ve thought about putting out a bounty for Nia, but… I don’t want her getting hurt.

“I’m never going to stop looking for her, de ner haat. But I don’t know what to do. And I’m out of credits. When you get this message, if you want to reach me, you can find me on Nevarro. Leave word at the cantina or with Greef Karga.”

He made himself make eye contact with the glowing lens, as if it would make a difference behind his beskar barrier. “I’m sorry, I…” He sucked a shaking breath. “I’m so sorry, Anella.”

And he ended the recording.

There was one last place he hadn’t gone yet for help.

But now with nothing left, and him nearly ready to believe he deserved it, he returned to the Covert.

Visored gazes felt heavy, pressing in on his armor. Did they know? Would they hate him for losing what so few were lucky to find?

He ducked his head and didn’t pause till he reached the armory, sitting down in front of the forge. Hoping – praying – that this would fix… anything. Something.

The Armorer put down her hammer and sat across from him. Even through two barriers of beskar, her gaze was leaden. “What is it you seek?”

Din dropped his view to his lap, shoulders bowing under the weight of Everything. “...My Match. She was taken,” he finally admitted, breath cutting out of him unevenly through his meager remaining control.

“By who?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I have searched… everywhere.” His control snapped, throat tightened. It was like he suddenly couldn’t breathe for the weight of his cuirass. “She’s… she cannot be found. Even by me.”

“Did she see your face?” she asked calmly.

Her question, in light of everything he’d just told her, everything he’d been living through, everything he’d lost, scalded and immediately scarred.

He stared at her for a moment. “What does it matter?”

“It matters.”

No. No, it didn’t. It DID NOT MATTER.

Outrage making his hands shake, he wrenched off his helmet, throwing it to the ground with such force it bounced and rolled away.

But the Armorer saw his intent and turned before she saw his face.

It just fueled his rage. He wanted her to see, to take this away from him too.

“She was my Match!” he shouted, standing to his feet. “How was she, above every other living thing in the galaxy, still forbidden from knowing my face?”

The Armorer tipped her helmet slightly, but didn’t look away from the opposite wall. “This Is The Way.”

“It was not The Way for other Mandalorians! She was clan Vard’on; her ancestors were there to ride the Mythosaur. I met her clan! I saw their faces!”

“Some Mandalorians have abandoned the true ways. But you have not yet answered my question. Did she see your face?” she asked again, completely unfazed from his outrage.

He sucked in several shuddering breaths as the cruel truth welled up in his throat.

Nia was his Match. She was bonded so closely to him he felt her emotions. She had agreed to marry him. She wanted to be one when they were together, to be one when they were apart, to share everything, to raise their children as warriors, and yet–

“No. She never knew my face.”

The only sound was his low gasps as he wept for all that had been stolen from his care, stolen because he hadn’t been vigilant enough to protect it. Reckless, careless, and now–

Matchless.

He dropped back onto the bench, head in hands as the truth ran its course through him, leaking out drop by drop, till he was Empty.

Only once he’d grown quiet again, did the Armorer stand and walk calmly to where his helmet had landed. Never once looking at him.

“Even in your hardship, you have been given a blessing.”

Din stared down at his hands, empty and disconnected. “What blessing?” he asked, bitterly.

“The galaxy can take your Match. It can take your parents, your planet. And one day, it will take your life,” she said calmly as she circled around to stand behind him. “But it cannot take your belief.”

She set the helmet down on the bench next to him and continued, “Hold fast. And do not surrender what can never be taken from you, Mandalorian.”

He stared at the helmet for a long while.

If he walked away right now, he would truly have No One. Nothing.

And he would deserve it.

He rested a hand on the top, and the emptiness between his lungs cauterized to a permanent hole. Ragged, but not bleeding. Not anymore.

He picked the helmet and slipped it over his head, seeing the world only through his view screen once more.

“This Is The Way,” the Armorer said.

“This Is The Way,” he repeated.

After all,

What’s a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

End of Part I

Interlude I ; posting soon!

taglist: @loversandantiheroes ; @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @sarahjkl82-blog ; @thirstworldproblemss ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @i-belong-in-fandoms ; @gallowsjoker ; @nova646 ; @darnitdraco

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Secrets - 2

Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: You hid your pregnancy form your ex-boyfriend, Ransom, and managed to keep your secret hidden for six years. What you didn’t know was, how secrets have a way of revealing themselves.

Word Count: 3564

Warnings: just some swearing

A/N: I really just used this chapter as an excuse to rewatch Knives Out huh

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

Your “little” secret, the one you had tried your very best to keep hidden, was out. There was no running away now, no amount of lying would save you out of the confrontation that was headed your way. And believe me, you had tried to come up with something, fabricate a lie that would give you enough time to pack up and leave with your little girl. You cursed yourself for believing the bullshit of hiding in plain sight. The only lie you had come up with was maybe tell Ransom you cheated on him, but there was no way he would believe that after you nearly had a full breakdown upon running into him. That, and of course the little matter of Mary looking near identical to Ransom.

  You paced back and forth all around the living room, careful as to not step on any of the toys scattered around. Or the damn Legos. Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the wall, obsessively checking the time every few minutes. Knowing the whole ordeal wouldn’t be okay for a little child to witness, you had remembered to text Ransom to meet some time after ten, when Mary was safely tucked away in her bed. You just prayed he would be able to keep his voice down enough for her to stay that way, but you were that most likely wouldn’t be the case with Ransom. After all, he had a flair for the dramatic. The sound of a car door snapped you out of trance, you ran to open the door before he had a chance to ring the bell.

  Throwing open the door with your heart just about beating in your throat, you saw him. He looked the same more or less, aside from the slight creases you spotted forming on his forehead. He still was the man you once had loved despite everything and everyone. Loved, as in past tense. Because you totally were over him and had been for a while now. You had more important things to consider, a daughter to think of. You were a fool for falling in love with Ransom Drysdale, but those days were gone. You gestured for him to come in, unable to meet his eyes properly.

  He looked around the living room, it was small by his standards of being raised in fortune. His gaze drifting from the toys all around to the pictures on the walls, there were plenty of Mary’s baby photos that Ransom remained focused for a full minute. You exhaled slowly, the bundle of nerves knotting in the pit of your stomach. He finally looked at you. You raised a hand.

“Before we begin this… discussion, Mary’s sleeping upstairs so I’m asking you to keep your voice down.” You sat on the loveseat, motioning for him to take the armchair across you. Ransom’s eyes flicked towards the stairs for a split second. He sat down, not even bothering to take off his coat.

  “I can’t believe you.” The words came out of his mouth slowly, accusingly. Maybe you deserved it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t just say you’re sorry. How could you hide this from me? I get why you hate me and I don’t care but how could you keep my daughter away from me, all these years? What if I hadn’t decided to stop at a random grocery store, then what? Were you ever planning to tell me?” Ransom spitted out, a kind of fire that you never saw before flicked in his eyes. You were too familiar with angry Ransom, but not this one. Not like this.

  “Ransom, I don’t hate you but you have to understand, you’re not exactly cut out to be a father. And we didn’t exactly part on good terms. I wasn’t about to put my child through that.” You felt bad, for not allowing Mary to meet her dad, for not allowing Ransom to bond with his daughter, but at the end f the day you had made a decision. You had made your bed, now might as well lie in it.

  A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “You don’t know that.” You noted the slight falter of his voice. “Just because my parents fucked me up doesn’t mean that I would be a bad father. Hell, Y/N, you never even gave me the option.” He shook his head, his disheveled hair swaying along.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

You opened your mouth to apologize again almost instinctively, but stopped. Straining your ears, you recognized the familiar pitter patter of a pair of small feet coming down the stairs. Mary stood on the last step of the stairs; her bunny clutched between her arms. She looked between you and Ransom through her long lashes, yet another thing she inherited from her dad. Ransom shot to his feet.

“Hey honey, what’s wrong? Let’s get you tucked back in.” You rose form where you sat and headed towards the little figure after sending Ransom a warning look. It would have to wait.

 You picked up Mary with no protest on her part, the mop of tangled blonde hair resting against your shoulder as you carried her upstairs. You saw Ransom follow you quietly from the corner of your eye, his thin coat now left discarded on the couch. Entering the small room that matched the state of the living room with the toy situation, you turned on the nightlamp, casting soft purple hues on your faces. Mary was already practically asleep as you gently placed her down, pulling the covers over her small frame. You placed a small kiss on her forehead.

 Ransom watched this whole scene unfold in front of him from the doorway as he leaned on it, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. There was this weird sensation, this warmth in his chest that sent every part of his mind into a confused and slightly panicked state. He had never in a million years thought he would have a child, let alone feel whatever he was feeling towards that child. In a way, he knew you were right. He wasn’t made for being a father, and he originally had no desire of ever staring a family when the one he grew up in was such a hot mess. But now, this child had appeared out of pure luck in his life and he felt a tug towards her. To give her what he never got from his parents.

 If someone had told Ransom the feelings he would have as he watched the woman he loved tuck in their daughter, he would have told them to fuck off. That it wasn’t funny. Indeed, it wasn’t, Ransom couldn’t even make fun of this dumbfounded state he was in.

After you were sure Mary was completely asleep, you got up as slowly as you could to not disturb her. Ransom followed you back to the living room. You took your previous positions, the tense air almost giving you a headache.

 “I’m in.” He spoke after a while, breaking the silence with soft words. His blue eyes rose to yours.

 You shook your head. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

 “I-”

  “No, listen to me,” you cut off, “this isn’t something you just get to decide on a whim. This is an actual human child, who has feelings and all, not some toy that piques your interest. Once you are in you’re in for life. No take backs.” You whisper-shouted, not trusting that Ransom was aware of all the responsibility parenthood brings.

 “You listen to me.” He pointed a finger at you. “It was you who broke up with me, and it was you who couldn’t even be bothered with a call to let me know you were pregnant with our child, Y/N. I fucking know that there are no take backs. But you should have given me the choice of whether I wanted to be a father or not.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I would have been in from the very start.”

 You leaned back, his words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Didn’t seem like you cared much about me,  you were seen with that model barely two weeks after we broke up.” You shot back weakly, the hurt feelings of that time washing over you.

 He clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Believe it or not, nothing happened with her. It was just a show. I have a reputation, dear Y/N.” A cruel smirk appeared on his face for a quick second before disappearing. “In fact, nothing happened with anyone since you dumped me. Sure, sex here and there but,” he shrugged, “I cared.” Ransom tried his best to act nonchalant, to keep up his image, but couldn’t help the words that slipped out. He was surprised at himself, how easily he was talking about his feelings, but a distant part of him still remembered how simple it was for him to talk to you.

Doubt still lingered in your eyes, finding it hard to believe his words. Ransom always had a way with words. This was the man who never even could bring himself to utter the words ‘I love you’ and yet here he was, talking about how he cared and all. You shook your head.

“Now I know you had my number, you could have called if you cared.”

“Seriously, Y/N?” I’m sorry for honoring your wish of,” he mused, tapping his chin in mock thought, “what was it? Ah yes, never wanting to see my jerk face again.” His lips smiled but his eyes remained cold as ice.

 “Ransom.” You pleaded, the heartbreak from over six years ago felt as if it was just yesterday, you felt your chest tighten. He watched your face intently.

“You wanna know I never called? Or tried to get back together?” He got up, pacing along the room. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m not stupid. I always knew you deserved much better than me. It didn’t matter how I felt or whether I missed you or not, I knew you would be better off.” He stopped in front of the biggest picture on the wall. It was a picture taken on Mary’s first birthday, showed her trying to blow off the candles while you held her on your lap, smiles on everyone in the picture. His jaw tightened.

He tilted his head. “Now you know.” He muttered, quiet. Almost… sad.

“Can you, from the bottom of your heart, promise me? That you’ll be here.” The lump formed in your throat made it hard to get the words out, you couldn’t believe this was happening. In the hours you spent pacing and imagining how the conversation would go, this turn of events was the last thing you thought was possible. You thought you knew Ransom, you probably knew him the best, but you couldn’t recognize the man standing just a few feet in front of you, his eyes still fixed on the frame.

“I know I was a dick and hell, I still am. But,” he finally looked at you, “I promise. I promise to be here and do my damn best for Mary… and for you.” His voice trembled ever so slightly, never could you remember seeing Ransom like this. Not once in those two years you knew him. You stood up; shoulders slumped and tears prickling your eyes, threating to spill at any moment. You stopped barely a step before him.

Neither of you dared to move as you stared into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation taking place and making up for the lost years. You never realized how much you had missed him. You reached up to stroke his face, your fingers aching to touch him, to feel him. Your fingertips glided over his clean-shaven jaw; Ransom closed his eyes at your touch. You gulped, dropping your hand to rest on his chest, not daring to do more. His hand came to rest above yours, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“I’m here, Y/N. I swear.” His words heavy on his whispering lips, he gently tilted your face to meet your eyes. He chuckled softly upon seeing the tears welling up in your eyes. “Why the tears?”

“Shut up.” You sniffled. “I… I wanted to tell you Ransom. But I wasn’t sure if— if you’d want this. Or if you would end up hating me more. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could handle that.”

“I understand.”

“And with your family too, even the thought of dealing with them just gives me a headache. Though I guess it’s unavoidable now.”

He groaned, a deep sound of annoyance from the back of his throat. “Those people can eat shit, they’re not coming remotely close to Mary.”

“Your mom wouldn’t be happy if you didn’t tell her. Or Harlan.” You mused; he knew you were right. He still hated the thought.

“Let’s not think about them right now.” You were suddenly too aware of the closeness, of the placement of his hands, the familiar touch sending tingles down your spine.

“Yeah? What should we think of then?”

He just gave you a look before leaning in and kissing you. Maybe thousands of times he had kissed you before, you would think you would be used to it by now, yet it felt so new, so unfamiliar due to the time apart. Your heart leapt out of your chest, beating wildly, your whole body cursing you for not reaching out sooner. The feelings you had done your best to tame snapped out of their cages at that moment, never to be trapped again. You deepened the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I missed you, angel.” He pulled back; his words barely audible.

“We have a lot to talk about, Ransom.” You met his gaze, reluctant. You lead him by the hand towards the loveseat. You both sat, holding each other close, not ready to let go yet.

“First, there is the matter of introducing you to Mary. Properly, I mean.” You sighed.

“Has she ever asked about me?”

You bit your lip at the memory. “Once. A couple of months ago, we were watching some Disney movie when she asked me why she didn’t have dad. I just told her you were away. She never asked again.” You remembered the shake of your hands when Mary asked you that question, looking at you with wide blue eyes. You remembered the whirl of your mind as you quickly tried to figure out what to say. You remembered sobbing quietly into your pillow when Mary was finally asleep that night.

You looked at Ransom. “It was so, so hard.”

“If you had only told me.”

“I know.” Your eyes fell on one of the dolls laying on the floor. “Should we talk to a therapist?”

Ransom scoffed. You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m just wondering out loud. No need for the attitude.”

“I should just meet her. I don’t know, play with her. I wanna get to know her, Y/N.”

“She’s a great kid. She’s… a lot like you, and not just the looks. Wicked smart, and has the sweetest heart. Her current favorite animal is bunnies, she is very excited to start school next semester and she will talk about that for hours.” You laughed. “She hates carrots, and is allergic to strawberries. You can pretty much bribe her to do anything with chocolate chip cookies. You’ll love her.”

“I already love her. She’s my kid.” A genuine grin spread on his handsome face.

You talked for hours on that couch, with mostly you doing the talking. Ransom wanted to know everything he could, from her first words to her entire list of likes and disliked. Your heart swelled at his interest and the way he kept asking you questions.

It was a little after the clock struck one and a million yawns from you, Ransom got up.

“You should sleep.” He grabbed his coat.

“Would you… like to stay over?” You pressed your lips together.

Ransom smirked. “Day one and you’re already trying to get me into your bed? Wow, Y/N.”

“Not like that,” you huffed, “we don’t have a guestroom but the couch’s pretty comfortable.”

He flashed you a smile. “Where are the sheets?”

------------

 After a night filled with tossing and turning brought by the fact that Ransom freaking Drysdale was sleeping on your couch downstairs, you opened your eyes to the sun filtering through your window. It wasn’t the sun, however, that woke you from your dreamless sleep, it was the smell. You followed it down and into the kitchen, confused, and came to a halt at the scene in front of you.

 The cabinets were open, and the sweet smell was stronger, but the strangest thing bay far was how Ransom was standing in front of the stove.

“Are you cooking?” You rubbed your eyes, making sure you weren’t still asleep.

“Pancakes,” he showed you the box, “you said it’s Mary’s favourite breakfast.” Ransom flashed you a smile. “Cute PJs.”

“How come I never once saw you cook before? Fatherhood really changes a man.” He chuckled as he flipped the pancake. You could get used to this. Ransom turned to you to say something before his attention turned to a spot behind you, eyes slightly wide. You turned to look, and saw Mary to no surprise.

The little girl focused on Ransom, striding towards him with determination.

“Are you my dad?” She looked up to him, her words sending Ransom into a coughing fit.

“What? Mary, honey, what makes you say that?” You gulped, rushing to her side before kneeling down.

“He looks like me.” She shrugged at you and turned back to Ransom. “Are you?” her eyebrows raised; she crossed her arms. Ransom kneeled as well; every move uncertain. Nervous. He looked at you. You gave him a slight nod, might as well tell her.

“Yes.” He nodded. Mary squinted her eyes at him, before nodding back. Her serious face broke into a smile before she leapt forward, her small arms tightening around Ransom’s neck. He swayed back at the surprising force, his wide eyes snapping to yours. After a moment of shock, he hesitantly hugged her back, his hands ever so gentle on her back. Pulling yourself up, you moved towards the window, not wanting for either of them to see the tears in your eyes.

Six years, you had secretly let yourself imagine this exact moment. In those rare instances you allowed your mind to wander over the possible scenarios, one question would repeat in your mind. How would Mary react? Would she be distant, angry? Would she cry? Be disappointed? Hate you for not telling her sooner? Would she even want to meet her dad? You would agonize over these unanswered questions time and time, the whole thing feeling too far away sometimes. Yet here it was, right in front of you, all of your questions answered. The smell of burning snapped you out of the moment.

“Shi—shoot.” Ransom pulled back, mad at the pancake for breaking the moment. Mary gasped.

“Pancakes! I’ll go get Mr. Chuckles!” She darted out, leaving a bewildered Ransom behind. He turned to you.

“That went better than I thought.” He shook his head, swallowing, he was slightly ashamed of the tears in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your voice quiet, your smile small.

Mary was back in a second, excitedly babbling about how much she loved pancakes and how waffles were a close second. Ransom flashed her a smile, his eyes twinkling with pride. You grabbed plates and set the table, stealing glances at Mary’s happy face and the identical look on Ransom’s. Your family.

“But daddy,” she turned to Ransom, whose heart skipped a beat at the word, “where were you?”

Your mouth fell open. “Honey—”

“I was away.” Ransom cut you. “But I’m here now, princess. And I swear I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned at his gentle but reassuring words, satisfied.

“Okay. Oh! You have to meet my toys!” She rose up, ready to take him up to her room and make sure he memories all the names of her toys.

“How about you finish your breakfast first?” You motioned at the untouched stack of pancakes sitting in front of her.

Rest of the breakfast was filled with Mary talking to Ransom between bites of pancakes, asking him a ton of questions and grinning. Ransom’s gaze never faltered away, he listened to all of her ramblings and answered every question. You watched the two of them, unsure whether to be amazed at Mary’s excitement or this shift in Ransom’s character. Where was the man who drove you up the walls? Where was the cocky, selfish jerk everyone knew him to be? He turned his gaze to you upon feeling you stare, winking you before turning back to your daughter.

All the baggage, all the worry you carried within you melted away, leaving no trace behind. For the first time in six years, you felt yourself completely relax.

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Sorry for any mistakes, I was super excited to post this so I might have missed some stuff. A thrid part might come if you guys are interested 👀

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[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 03

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild angst, a sprinkle of jealous werewolf!Jaebeom.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Jaebeom’s POV.

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Masterlist

I like being with you.

The phrase vividly repeats itself as I blindly lead us to the park, my head in the clouds. So much so, in fact, she has to stop in her tracks and pull me back because we have walked past the entrance.

“Jaebeom,” she struggles to draw me in, firming her grip on my arm and weakly pulling on it, “we’re here already.”

It takes a second to register what Y/N says, but after a few haphazard glances around to see where we are, it does. “Ah, right.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Nobody’s ever told me that.’’ Like a lovesick puppy, I bite down on my bottom lip. ‘’That they like to be with me, I mean.”

“Surely I’m not the first.”

“I think Jinyoung, a friend, might have said it.” I shrug, resigned in the fact loneliness has been a steady companion.

The packs in the woods rejected me if I didn’t refuse to join them. Too savage, too beastly, too ambitious, too bloodthirsty. Those are the prime reasons I have been on my own, although one in particular resonates in the blurry mess of vague memories. 

I am too monstrous.

“But I,” halted in the middle of the gravel path, I turn to her and rest my forehead against hers, “like being with you too.”

Her heartbeat speeds up as her scent gains a floral, roseate undertone. A flush stains her cheeks, the temperature of her body heightened. In a moment’s notice, she has turned into a beautiful spring flower. No, not a flower. Y/N is more than that.

Like a she-wolf in spring. 

In season. 

That’s what she looks like.

So pretty. Mine.

I have to pull away before I sweep her off her feet and mate her against the first tree we come across. We don’t even need a tree, a simple bed of grass will suffice. After all, I still want her to be comfortable.

“Did... Did you dye your hair?” Flustered, looking like a lobster, the pretty lady pulls away. However, the growl that erupts from the throat as she moves away brings an interesting change to her scent.

A thick heady tone creeps into it, which definitely puts the girl in the other role the other ego wishes her to play.

A bitch in heat.

An image of her looking as she does now but on my bed flashes by. Tears are brimming on her lashes like crystalline raindrops as pearly teeth bite down on a finger in the futile attempt to mute meek high-pitched squeals of pleasure. She’s lying sideways, the soft skin of her leg on my shoulder while my hips lose control in her warmth.

“J- Jaebeom?”

I suck in a sharp breath, though it does not prevent a pleased growl from escaping. My sight grows hazy with the fantasies of instinct as the world falls away. “Yeah?”

“Your hair... Did you dye it? It was blonde before.”

“My... my hair?” The weird question pulls me out of my reverie, blinking in wonder as to where it comes from. Nevertheless, the senses quickly sharpen as I tighten my grip on the reality of my temporary humanity again. “Right, my hair. I did! I did dye it because... because I thought the blonde didn’t suit me.”

“For what it’s worth,” like a shy schoolgirl, Y/N fumbles with her fingers, “I like this better. This is going to sound weird, but it makes you look more like- I mean, it suits you better.”

“Thank you. But what does it make me look like?”

“Never mind.” A dismissive hand brushes the half-finished remark off as a mere mistake.

“What? What do I look like?” I lean forward, barely holding in the chuckle at her crumbling composure. Notwithstanding, apparently this is the most effective way to get her to talk. “Don’t be shy.”

“Like a- You know, a- You’ll think me stuck in some emo or late teenager phase.”

“Just say it, Y/N. I won’t stop pushing until you tell me. I won’t judge you either. So, tell me.”

The word takes my breath away.

“Wolf,” she finally answers. “It makes you look like a wolf.”

I can’t suppress a smile at the compliment, buzzing with excitement and tail swishing back and forth. Wait, it isn’t my tail that’s causing the low sweeping noises. 

It’s merely the wind.

Human. Gent... Gentleman. For her. Her gentleman.

“Please say something.” The pretty lady’s heart rate picks up, her scent growing alarmingly anxious like when we had our second meeting on the street.

No. No, don’t be like this!

“Good. I am.” 

“What do you mean?” Brows furrowed in confusion, she looks at me blankly. 

“What... oh, uhm, I- I think it’s a good ex- mirror. Likeness! It’s a good likeness. Me and a wolf.” I stick up a thumb in confirmation. Hopefully, it won’t come across as ridiculous as I feel I look.

Her eyes light up with the amber sunlight, her voice as bright when she answers with an adorable giggle. “I think you mean a good comparison.” 

“I do,” I mutter, ashamed at the faulty imitation of human behaviour and tired of the storm of words wreaking havoc in my head. “That’s what I meant.”

“Shall we go find somewhere to sit?’’ Her hair dances on the light breeze as she looks around. ‘’I’m kinda overdue for a cup of coffee.”

“And food. You have to eat, Y/N.”

“Jaebeom...”

‘’Let me take care of you.” I lean in, gaze focused on her lips as I run my tongue over them. The taste of honey and peaches is reminiscent of spring, when the bees in the forest get busy and the trees in the orchards on the outskirts of the town are ripe with blossom. 

If I’m still here by then, I’ll take you there.

Of course, the thought is translated horribly. “Taste nice.”

“I- I’m glad you like my lip balm.” Cheeks as ruby red as the leaves beneath our feet, she carefully traces her mouth, fingers shaking.

Then she clears her throat and tries to steady her composure, but I’ve evidently caught her off-guard. Which is also noticeable in the small tug on my sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“Are you upset?” I ask, keeping a close eye on her as we walk down the lane towards a big open field of grass.

“No, it’s just that... when you licked me earlier, it wasn’t on,” she lowers her voice to a barely audible and unintelligible murmur though my hearing allows me to still hear her as clear as day, “the lips. It’s almost as if, you know, you kiss... kissed me.”

Kiss?

Just then we pass a couple with their lips pressed against each other. The contact lingers for a brief second, as fast as lightning.

And just as fast the meaning of it for humans dawns on me, rising from the ever-diminishing pocket of humanity inside my brain.

“Would you mind if I did?”

Face pale, she rapidly turns to me. Y/N parts her lips to say something yet decides against it and settle for something else. “Let’s start slowly. Get to know each other first.”

I’d kiss you. You only have to ask.

But we barely know each other. Humans who don’t have a close bond don’t kiss. At least that piece of information has stuck.

We take a right onto the big field and settle down in the grass beneath a tall willow. I’d rather have we sit huddled together or that she sits on my lap so I can keep her warm, but Y/N sits next to me yet far enough away to not touch at all. The displeased whimper and whine get lost in the unpacking of the sandwiches, ignored under the ruckus of unfolding paper.

Notwithstanding, the dissatisfaction evaporates like snow before the sun when a small hand gives me the two venison sandwiches. Restraining myself to not give into the hunger pangs, I accept the food as if she were handing me a weapon. A long metal blade. A sword, I believe it’s called.

However,  the careful control doesn’t last long since the first taste of the spiced meat encourages the ravenous part of me to devour the sandwich in one gulp, if possible. And I would have tried had it not been for the breathless giggle at my side.

Nibbling on the straw, Y/N has a strangely tender look on her face as she watches me eat. A wonderful expression that colours a rosy shade of pink when she notices I’m staring right back at her. “Sorry. It’s just... just that I like seeing you eat. You literally wolf your food down with such a happy expression I can’t help but feel happy.”

Don’t talk with your mouth full. Jinyoung’s told you that more than once.

Like this morning, when he sighed in exasperation like a tired father during breakfast. Henceforth, I chew the food with my mouth closed, swallow and wipe my mouth on a napkin before answering. “I’m a messy eater, though. I don’t think it’s- What’s the word? Ap- Appetizing? It’s appetizing, right? Right, appetizing to watch.”

“I don’t mind.” Like a rabbit, she holds her vegetable sandwich between her tiny paws and takes a small bite out of it. “Just be careful. You don’t want meat juice and sauce on your clothes.”

Eats like a bunny. Cute. So cute.

“I won’t make a mess,” I murmur, taking care to actually keep my word while sneaking glances at the way she eats. It’s controlled, more nibbling than biting. All the same, relief and contentment mix in a calming way that’s visible in her relaxed composure. Even her scent loses more of the sourness of anxiety. But I’m just glad she’s eating.

We watch other humans as we eat, sitting in comfortable silence. A little ways away, two old people, a male and a female, sit on a bench and feed the pigeons together. Once there is no more bread left - multigrain, judging by the scent - their fingers entwine as they close their eyes to soak up the sunlight.

A soft whine unintentionally rises in my throat, longing after the dream of experiencing that very same moment myself together with Y/N someday.

‘’Are you-?’’ The question doesn’t register, hardly penetrating the dullness washing over me. Ears gloomily drooped down, I continue staring at the old couple.

Can that be us one day? How long is the road before we get there?

‘’JB?’’

‘’Hm?’’ Slowed down by the heaviness making a numb statue out of this body, I turn my head.

She holds the unfinished sandwich up I had in my hand a second ago. ‘’What’s on your mind?’’

‘’Nothing.’’ I take the food from her little paw. ‘’Thank you.’’

She doesn’t believe me, but resigns in the face of the unspoken message I don’t want to talk. Instead, she sighs and sips on the straw of her coffee.

“What do you do?” I ask by the time I’m finished with the first of the two sandwiches. Y/N knows what I do for a living and it’s the best question I can think of to try and get to know her better. Also, it might lift the heavy silence that fell over us until the elderly mates left. 

“I’m a journalist for Pack. It’s a travel magazine and a great way to see the world. It’s amazing how much is out there, how many cultures and perspectives exist. However,” hands tucked between her thighs, lashes avert to the ground, “as you may have noticed, I’m not the spontaneous sort, which is why I don’t like working alone.”

Pack? As in, a pack? Although, you said travel so it’s likely... pack stuff? Packing up! That’s it! Putting stuff in bags and going somewhere.

If only it was possible to travel with her someplace far away. Go see the world together so she doesn’t have to be alone. Then again, there is no way to run from myself nor guarantee any form of safety on strange grounds. 

I’ve become too unstable.

Despite trying to hide it, the jealousy I have for who she works with shows in the unintentionally venomous ring in my voice. “Who do you work with?”

“A colleague of mine named Kunpimook, but he prefers going by BamBam. He’s the social and truly adventurous one, so basically I just always happily tag along. Plus, his photos are superb. We’ll be leaving for Bruges the day after tomorrow to take a look at the local chocolate business.”

‘’Is there anything between you two? More than work?” There is no way I’m letting another male anywhere near her because he could take advantage of her. Especially after all this time, working together and thus winning her trust.

I don’t care if we barely know each other. I won’t have it.

I have to keep her safe.

As Y/N’s gentleman.

Her wolf. 

“There’s nothing between us. He’s more like a brother than anything else and he thinks the same about me.” Her breath quickens as she notices the blazing distrust in my gaze. “W- Why are you looking at me like that?”

Instead of giving an answer, I sniff her to make absolutely certain this other male doesn’t have or has tried already to create the bond with her that I want despite what she said. 

Nothing.

Nothing but summer citrus, autumnal blackberries and juicy peaches.

Good.

To calm her down, I lean in to nuzzle the scent glands in her neck while purring and manipulating my own scent to put her at ease. The tenseness in the palms on my shoulders relaxes, her breaths come at a more regular interval and the rigidity flows from her body.

You’re safe with me.

A gentle force pushes me back, growing stronger as I fight it by wrapping my arms around her waist. A low growl erupts as the resistance persists, though it dies down at the sound. I’m not letting her go.

Not now. 

Not yet.

Until a voice like a shy robin stammers in discomfort. “Jaebeom, can- can you let go?”

“Have you calmed down?” It’s an unnecessary question. 

There’s a better word for it. Sup... supper? No, that’s not it. Super... something with an ‘f’. 

Superfluous! 

It’s a superfluous question because the nervous shivers have stopped. All the same, I don’t want to let go.

I can’t.

I won’t.

Yet I do as something blurry flashes by in my peripheral vision. Almost bumping my head against her jaw, I jolt up and stare ahead in tender awe.

Free of the troubles of the world, a brightly smiling pup runs by with outstretched chubby paws. A bit ahead, there’s another giddy pup. The two must be chasing each other.

A child.

A child is chasing another child.

“What are you looking at?” She follows my gaze, which is fixated on the two children giggling and play-fighting with each other. They stop when hearing their mother call, rise to their little hind legs and run to her.

“One day, I want pups of my own.” The dreamy words roll off the tongue without a thought nor consideration for reality. What they see is what could be. 

A dream of someday. 

“Pups?” The word sounds like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit even though she struggles to make it fit regardless. 

“Yeah, pups. You know,” I nod in the direction of the two siblings, “like those over there.”

A frown mars her lovely face, but it fades into gentle correction. “Children, JB. They’re called children.”

I tilt my head to the side, struggling to understand and make my own puzzle piece fit. “I’m certain someone’s offspring are called pups.”

“Humans,” she gestures from me to her, “like us, call them children. Babies when they’re younger than those toddlers you were watching.”

“I still think pups sounds better.”

I let go of her. Nevertheless, sust to be sure Y/N stays warm, I hook my arm through hers and keep her against my side. Instinctively, she snuggles up to me like on the way here.  

The content sigh goes accompanied with an ironic remark. “Are you really a wolf or something?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, until I check my body and see no paws nor a tail. “No! I mean, no, I’m not. It sounds adorable, though, don’t you think?” I bite my lip, growing warm with another cheesy yet affectionate remark. “But you did say I look like one.”

“I stand by what I said, especially now.” She giggles, murmuring something under her breath I’ll only tolerate when she says it. “Weirdo.”

Yours. Your weirdo. Your wolf man.

“Have you ever thought about getting them?”

“I actually don’t want children. I’m not too keen on the idea of raising a child and I don’t think that will ever change.” Unaware of the gravity of her statement, she sits up a bit, takes a sip of coffee and finishes her half-eaten vegetable sandwich. 

Not... not even with me? Then again, you barely know me and I will likely forget you even though I don’t want to. Would you change your mind if the pup might be the only trace of me before I disappear?

“How about you?”

“I’d like to one day, but...” I trail off, choking on the truth. Her words have created a stone in my stomach which makes me nauseous and unable to think. 

“But what?” She places a bunny-like paw on my back, rubbing gently as she averts her gaze and speaks in a remorseful tone. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“I have this...” Fumbling with my fingers, I speak up despite the paralyzing speechlessness. No word seems to accurately describe what’s going on nor is it credible enough to describe the truth. Nevertheless, she has to know what’s going on. 

I want her to.

I trust her. 

So I try and tell her my story. “I have this condition. I have trouble remembering things and it’s been getting worse.”

“Is it something like dementia?” Out of a lack of a better explanation for this side-effect of lycanthropy, I merely nod in confirmation. A grim paleness colours her attitude, lips pulling into a straight line as she’s now suffocating with words too. “Do you have medication? Anything to help fight it?”

I fish the small bottle of pills Jinyoung gave me this morning out of my pocket. With a thumb over the ingredients, I show it to her. “My friend’s a doctor at the university. He’s put me on these, but I have a feeling they’re not as effective anymore as they once were.” I put the bottle back. “I do want them, though not with the way I am. They deserve better than a father who’d forget them eventually if he even remembers them at all in the first place. Moreover, my partner would have to take care of me as well as the pups. I just… I don’t want to be a burden.”

“I’m sure,” our gazes meet as our fingers entwine, naturally weaving together like beds of moss on the bark of a tree, “they would gladly care if they know about your condition.”

I rest my forehead against hers and lower my voice to a hopeful whimper. “You know about it.”

A mistake. 

“We’ve just met.”

“Right,” I murmur and withdraw though I hold on to her paw a little tighter. 

She’s right. We’ve just met.

I’m still a stranger. A stranger in a world strange to him.

“Yet,” Y/N takes in a shaky breath before she continues and transforms the burden of loneliness into a storm of butterflies, “I’d stay. For now, can I stay by your side like this?”

“Of course.” In an impulse, I pull her into my arms and on my lap. Her hair smells like argan oil, sweet yet pleasant like summer. “Never doubt that. Never think I don’t want you to.”

Despite the joy, tears sting in my eyes at the realization I’m no longer alone, surviving like a floating ship in unknown waters. Of course, there’s Jinyoung, but he can’t be there in ways the pretty lady can. 

Y/N is my anchor now. 

“Don’t go.” I can’t suppress an ugly sob, gripped by fear at the vision of ending up alone in spite of the promise. To go back to the way I was, on the brink of being lost forever. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” she murmurs into my hair, lovingly running her fingers through it to calm me down. “I’m here, Jaebeom. I’m here. Until I can’t anymore.”

For a little while, we sit like this beneath the willow. The world shrinks and fades into a blur of autumn shades in October, its sounds gradually becoming nothing more than indistinguishable white noise. 

They rise in volume again when I’ve stopped crying, the reality filtering in by sharpening the song of robins and nature dressed in warm tones of red and gold.

We exchange numbers. As she types hers into my phone, she promises to send me daily reminders to take my medicine and threatens to spam me with them until I send a confirmation. Guess I finally have something to look forward to aside from Jinyoung’s cooking.

Coming back was a good decision after all. I want to try for you. Until I can’t anymore.

“And you can call me whenever you like too,” she shyly remarks as we switch back our devices.

My ears perk up as a delighted buzz leaves me trembling. “Really?” I yelp, my tail quickly swishing back and forth. My nerves are on edge with delight, limbs ready to pounce on her. But I don’t.

Because I am human.

And I don’t want to give off the wrong impression.

But your body tells me something else. No! Not without your consent.

“Yes, because I... well, aside from being with you, I like... your... your voice.”

“I like yours.” I lean in and run my tongue over her lips like before. Does that count as a kiss? 

“And I like your scent,” I add, purring as I trace my fingers over her arm to her wrist. 

“Uhm, Jaebeom, what- what are you doing?”

I press it against my nose, drunkenly nuzzling it while trying to conceal my panting. “I’m scenting you so they’ll know you’re mine.” To strengthen the claim, I leave a stronger imprint of my own scent on her by giving it a firm lick. Even her skin tastes of spring. “You smell really nice.”

“I’m glad you, ah, like my perfume, but,” a strange panic creeps into her voice after a pained squeak when I sink my teeth into her flesh, “JB, I think you should stop. People are watching.”

“Let them.’’ The taste of iron floods the senses, raising the beast within further to the surface. Notwithstanding, I fight the urge to pin her to the ground for a proper mating. So all I do is help the healing by licking the ridged skin of the shallow wound. A wolf’s saliva works as a disinfectant and anti- ant- health advancer. ‘’I want them to know I’m your mate.”

Besides, how else am I supposed to mark you?

“Mate? What? JB, are you okay? You’re starting to make less and less sense.” A small warm palm cups my cheek, initiating a lock of gazes. Frantic with concern, she searches for a reason as to what I’m going through in my gaze though I doubt if she will. “You’re burning up.”

I weave my fingers through those on the side of my face, a wistful smile on my lips. “I’m forgetting myself again. You wouldn’t understand when I’d say I’m slowly fading and not just forgetting as I told you. And it’s gotten worse because of you.”

“Be- Because of me?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” To assure her it’s not as grave as she thinks, I close my eyes and hum in pure content. After all, I could lose my humanity a lot faster in a less pleasant way. At least it’ll be slower now that I have something to fight, to live for. “You don’t understand the significance of it and I don’t want you to.”

“You’re talking nonsense. You’re not going anywhere soon. Let’s go home before your fever gets any worse.”

Our fingers disentangle, mine gliding over the indentation I’ve left behind on her wrist before I wrap my arms around her waist. Her heart races in my ear when I rest my head on the softness of her breasts, her breath falling still in an instant when I place her hand on my head. Hopefully, Y/N will catch on to what I mean by it. “Yeah, it’s definitely getting worse, but I looked forward to this. This park outing. So can we please stay like this for a little longer? A nap might make me feel... bet... ter.”

The wish is granted, because she runs her hand through my hair. Hesitantly at first, but quickly setting a pace for herself that lets me rest tranquilly.  

In the sky above, the moon looks down on us. If I wasn’t sleepy, I would howl to it and sing a wolf song. Instead, I purr and bask in my mate’s presence until I lose conscience. “Hm, nice.”

I love you and always will. My love will never change. I swear so by the moon.

[ofbardsandmonsters]

Fill for square N3 - “free space” for the @stb-bingo. read it on ao3 here

This is fill number 5 for me AND it gives me my first BINGO!!

***

“Do you have your inhaler?”

“Yes.”

“What about the backup inhaler?”

“Ned has it.”

“Did you pack clean underwear?”

“Dad, come on. Of course I did.”

“How many pairs?”

“Dad.”

Tony holds up both hands, smiling at Peter, who scowls back. But Tony refuses to be sorry for worrying about his only son going on his first overnight field trip. It’s been just the two of them since before Peter was even born. And this would be the first time they’d been apart more than a few hours in fifteen years. So even if he wasn’t an omega, Tony feels like he’d be entitled to a little parental panic.

Peter’s phone beeps, and he glances at it before zipping up his backpack and slipping it onto his back. “Ned and his parents are here.”

The elevator opens without prompting, and the two Starks ride it down to the ground floor. Tony can see the Leeds’s car sitting at the curb, and Ned jumps out of the car as soon as they approach. The two boys perform some complicated handshake that even Tony’s genius brain can’t follow. He rolls his eyes, smiling fondly at the boys’ obvious bond, and goes around to the driver’s side to finalize details for picking up the boys at the school in a couple days with Ned’s father.

He’s standing on the curb with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, watching the Leeds’s car drive away, when his assistant Darcy comes up beside him. The beta’s got a tablet in her hands, a sight that always means it’s time for him to actually do some work. And with Peter gone for the next several days, she won’t be letting Tony get away with using him as an excuse.

“Kiddo all packed off? Gonna be weird without him underfoot.”

Tony snorts. “You love having him underfoot. You spoil him almost as much as I do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis. My mistake. What’s on my agenda for this morning?”

Darcy follows him back into the tower, pulling open his schedule on her tablet as they walk to the elevator. “You have three meetings before lunch. R & D requested you for a demo at 2:30. Tonight is your monthly visit to Maria Stark House, Colonel Rhodes is meeting you there at six to help serve dinner.”

The last item on the agenda makes warmth spread through his chest. He had established the Maria Stark House for Omegas during his pregnancy with Peter, and once a month he goes over to help cook and serve dinner to the residents and their children. Most of the men and women living there have been recently separated from their alphas, whether by death or by choice, and have no support system to catch them. Many are in various stages of pregnancy, and some come with small children clinging to them. The Maria Stark House provides support and housing either until the baby is born or until they’re back on their feet.

It’s his pride and joy, other than Peter of course.

As he and Darcy approach his office, Tony can see a tall figure in what appears to be military dress through the frosted glass of the windows. “Darcy, why is there someone in my office already?”

“That would be your 8:00. The new army liaison? He’s been waiting a little while, but I told him you had a personal matter that needed attending to and he seemed perfectly content to wait.”

Tony groans, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling before scrubbing his hands over his face. “Rhodey just had to go and get that promotion. Couldn’t be happy spending the rest of his career as our liaison.”

“Do I need to remind you how much you cried at the ceremony? I’m sure I could get JARVIS to project the video on the nearest wall if you just—”

“Nope! No, I’m good, thank you Darcy. But you know how I feel about the military. Bunch of puffed up alpha assholes with an overinflated sense of importance.” Obviously his assistant didn’t know the full story behind Tony’s disdain for anyone in a uniform that wasn’t Rhodey, but she understood nonetheless.

“I’m well aware of your feelings, Tony. But if you want to continue providing tech and armor and medical supplies to the military, then we need a liaison. Just go in, get to know the guy a little, and then I’ll swoop in and save you and send him on his way. Okay?”

Tony sighs, deflating a little as he nods.

“Good. Now, before you go in there, hold still.” Tucking her tablet under one arm, Darcy steps into his space to straighten his tie and smooth out wrinkles in his jacket that only she can see. Then she slides her fingers into his hair to tousle the silvering strands. She steps back with her hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork before nodding in satisfaction.

“Want to tell me what that was about, Miss Lewis?”

“Captain Hottie in there is an entire buffet. And you’ve been starving for way too long, boss man.”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the younger beta. “Darcy, I cannot sleep with our liaison. Pepper would string me up by my toes, and Peter is too young to be without a father. Besides, no hotshot army alpha is going to want to waste his time on an aging omega with a teenager.”

“You’re not aging, Tony, jeez. You’re thirty-five.” Darcy’s blue eyes soften, and she reaches out to squeeze his arm. “Look, I know Peter is your entire world, yadda yadda yadda. We all love him. But you deserve some happiness too.”

Before he can respond, she turns him around and nudges him toward his office door, slapping his ass with a resounding crack. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger!”

He glares at her over his shoulder, watching her stalk off on her criminally high heels, probably on her way  to torture some poor unsuspecting interns. When she disappears around the corner, he turns back to his office and takes a fortifying breath. Whoever this guy is, Tony isn’t going to let himself be intimidated. He’s Tony Stark. And Stark men are made of iron.

The door opens silently as he steps inside. “Sorry to keep you waiting, captain. I had something that needed to be sorted and it couldn’t wait, so I—”

The other occupant of the room turns around, and it feels like time stops. Between one breath and the next, Tony’s twenty years old again, a positive pregnancy test in his pocket and excitement to share the news with his alpha swelling in his chest. Excitement that dies a swift and fiery death just minutes later when the alpha breaks his heart and walks out the door.

The very same alpha standing across from him in full military dress, hands in his pockets, shifting nervously.

“Hey, Tony.”

Even after all this time, Tony still knows Steve Rogers’s face better than his own. How could he ever forget, when he’s spent the last fifteen years seeing those features reflected in his son’s face? A son that he’s spent nearly two decades raising alone.

Tony does the only logical thing.

He bolts.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy finds him twenty minutes later in the hidden corner of his workshop that only a select few people have access to. He hears the click of her heels first, before she comes around the corner and inputs her code. The glass doors to the restricted area slide open, and she spots Tony easily where he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, knees tucked up to his chest. She crouches until they’re eye to eye. He’ll never figure out how she manages to execute a perfect squat in those heels.

“Hey, boss. Did the meeting with Captain Hotpants go that bad? JARVIS said you turned tail and ran almost immediately. What gives?”

Tony drops his head against his knees, trying to hide the way tears have started to gather in his eyes at just the mention of Steve. But he knows Darcy’s not going to let it go, and no one else sees through his lies and misdirects the way she does. So he tries to form some kind of coherent response, but all that comes out is, “Peter’s father.”

“What does that worthless nothing have to do with this?”

He clears his throat, gathering his courage to actually look his assistant in the eyes. “It’s him. The-the guy. The liaison, it’s… he’s Peter’s father.”

Darcy rears back like he just punched her in the gut, and she stares at him in wide-eyed shock for a minute. Her features soften as she shifts onto her knees and reaches out with both hands to grip his shoulders. “Oh, Tony. Wow, what a shock. That is some kind of wild—”

A strange look crosses her face before she picks her tablet up off of the floor and starts scrolling through it. As she reads, Darcy’s face slowly changes from confused to startled before her pretty features twist into a mask of rage. It’s a look Tony very rarely sees on her face, and it makes him sit up straight.

“Darcy? What is it?”

He hears a low growl, and that’s how he knows she’s really pissed off. Betas don’t growl like omegas and alphas do, not unless they’re pushed over the edge. His instincts kick in, helpless against the clear distress of someone he cares about, and soft soothing noises emanate from his throat.

It takes the younger woman a few minutes to compose herself, but eventually her scent shifts from furious to simple anger. She takes a breath, and then hands Tony the tablet. It’s open to the file on Steve they’d received from the army rep that had arranged the appointment to SI military liaison. He browses it, but nothing that could explain her anger pops out. When he looks back up at her, confused, she taps on a note at the bottom.

“He requested this position. I didn’t think anything of it when I read the file the first time, just assumed he was a career guy who was sick of combat and wanted something more cushy. And the rep said he thought Rogers was a perfect candidate. Tony, if I thought for even a second that he had an ulterior motive I would have made sure he couldn’t get within even a thousand feet of the building, I swear.”

Tony doesn’t respond at first, too busy reading and rereading the rep’s note. Captain Rogers entered his own name into the running for this assignment before we could even gather a list of acceptable candidates, but it is my personal opinion that he would make an ideal candidate for army liaison. Why in the hell had Steve suddenly decided he wanted a position that would force him to work alongside the omega he had abandoned fifteen years ago?

He was damn sure going to find out.

“JARVIS, is St… Captain Rogers still in the building?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Rogers is still in your office.”

“Good, keep him there.”

He pushes off the wall and stands up, Darcy following with a whole lot more grace, and he hands her back the tablet. She watches him straighten his jacket and do his best to smooth out his hair that’s gone wild from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it.

“Tony, are you sure it’s a good idea to confront him right now? You’re upset, and I don’t need the entire building gossiping about another one of your shouting matches with an alpha.”

“I’m good, I’m fine. I’m going to walk in there, calmly, ask him what his game is and then tell him to get the fuck out. Piece of cake.”

Darcy’s entire face practically screams how much she doesn’t believe anything that he’s just said, but she doesn’t try to stop him. What she does is give JARVIS specific instructions once Tony’s out of earshot.

“JARVIS, blackout mode in the boss’s office as soon as he shuts the door.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony’s entire plan to be calm and mature goes out the window as soon as he walks back into his office and sees Steve standing there.

“Tony—”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Fifteen years, Steve. You walk out of my life like I meant nothing to you and I don’t hear from you for fifteen fucking years, and now you think you can just waltz in here like everything’s cool and just expect me to work alongside you? What the fuck, Steve?”

“No, Tony, that’s not—”

“I thought this was just some weird cosmic coincidence, the universe playing a joke on me. But you requested this position. Why? What the hell is your game?”

“There’s no game Tony, I wouldn’t—”

“Is this about Peter? We didn’t have to go through all this song and dance. I would have let you see him.”

“Peter? Your son, Peter? What does he have to do with—”

“Oh, don’t play stupid, Steve. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Tony, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I be interested in your son?”

“Just because you’ve been off playing soldier for his entire life doesn’t mean you get to pretend he isn’t yours.”

Steve freezes, then sits down in one of the plush chairs across from Tony’s desk like he’s a marionette who’s just had all of his strings cut. He’s paler than normal, making his bright blue eyes stand out. “He’s… mine?” Steve’s always been a pretty terrible liar, so Tony knows the shock on his face is real. He sits down behind his desk, feeling similarly off-kilter.

“Of course he’s yours. I haven’t, um… I haven’t been with anyone else since… well, you. Raising Pete on my own was a full time job, I didn’t really have time for dating. He’s not really a secret, so I just assumed you knew he was yours.”

Across from him, Steve slumps in his chair, his gaze going far away. But after a minute or two, he seems to shake himself and he shifts forward, blue eyes locking on to Tony’s. “If I had known, I never would have let you go through all of that on your own, you have to believe me. I… why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Tony sighs, breaking eye contact. “I was going to. The day you… the day you left, I had the test in my pocket. I just… never got the chance. When the media got wind that I’d had a child and the news was everywhere, there was no word from you. So I assumed you wanted nothing to do with us.”

Steve looks stricken, and he scoots to the edge of the chair. Both hands reach out, almost like he wants to reach for Tony, but his strong fingers close around the edge of the desk. “Jesus. Tony, god, no. If I had known that Peter was my son, our son, nothing could have kept me away.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. Trust me, I remember everything I said. I’m never going to stop hating myself for hurting you like that. Every time I close my eyes, I can see that devastated look on your face. Tony, I’ve missed you every minute of the last fifteen years.”

“Then why—”

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you!”

Tony flinches back like he’s been slapped, and he’s not sure which of them is more surprised by Steve’s outburst. But his surprise quickly twists into anger. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“No, Tony. It’s not. You were so far out of my league, in every way possible, and your father took every opportunity he could find to remind me of it. And I was able to brush it off for a while, but it kept building and building until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Steve, I never thought that. You were everything I wanted and—”

Steve is out of his seat and around to Tony’s side of the desk before he can even think about what he’s doing and whether it’s appropriate or not, his instincts leading him as he recognizes the scent of distressed omega. He sits on the edge and reaches out to tug the smaller man up and against his chest. Surprisingly, Tony goes without resistance.

“I know. I know and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep him out of my head.”

“You should have talked to me.”

“I know.”

“My parents died a year after you left, Steve. Why didn’t you come back?”

Steve sighs, pulling the omega tighter against his chest until his scent starts to soften into something less harsh. “I couldn’t. The idea that I needed to be a better alpha for you was so deep into my brain that I couldn’t shake it. I had to keep pushing, keep working towards higher ranks until I felt worthy. And… part of me thought I would never reach it, not after the way I’d treated you.”

He feels a sharp jab to his chest, and Steve leans back a little to rub at the spot and pout down at Tony, who’s glaring at him.

“You were always worthy, you big stupid alpha. All you had to do was love me to be worthy. I was the one who was lucky that you took a chance on such a messy, broken omega.”

Steve lets out a fierce growl that echoes through the room. He shifts his hands to cradle Tony’s face. “There is nothing messy or broken about you. And I know I don’t deserve it, but if you’d let me, I will spend every minute of the rest of my life showing you.”

Tony shudders at the promise in the alpha’s voice, and he presses his face against Steve’s chest to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. “I shouldn’t. Pepper’s gonna kill me. Rhodey’s gonna kill you. And Peter will be an orphan before he turns sixteen. But…”

He looks up at Steve, and lets his hands come up to twist in the material of the alpha’s  starched green jacket. “I don’t wanna do this without you, Steve. I’ve done it alone for fifteen years and I can’t anymore. Not if there’s an option to do it as a team. It’s gonna take work, and you have to give me time to trust you again. I want to, but you have to show me that you won’t hurt me again, Steve.”

Steve tugs him close again, leaning down to press a kiss into his dark curls. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Brilliant, strong omega. Raising a kid i running a company, all on your own? You’re perfect. How did I ever give you up?”

He can feel Tony trembling against his chest, so Steve shifts them around until he’s sitting in Tony’s ridiculously large desk chair and can pull the omega into his lap. Tony lets out an audible sigh, and Steve chuckles when he feels nimble fingers start unbuttoning the large buttons on his dress coat. He doesn’t resist, letting the omega push it off his shoulders and tug it free of his arms. When the coat is off, Steve wraps his arms around Tony and hugs him tight to his chest.

“This better, Tony?”

The brunette nods, and it isn’t long before Steve’s ears pick up the sound of Tony purring softly. The grin that splits his face makes his cheeks hurt.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Steve basking in the warm, comfortable scent of happy and content omega. This was more than he ever could have hoped for. When he requested the assignment to SI as the army liaison, he had only dared to hope that Tony would talk to him. Never could he guess that he would have Tony curled up against him like this, especially not after his initial reaction to seeing Steve after so long. And now, he thinks there’s only one thing that could make this better.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I… Peter. Can I meet him? You don’t have to tell him who I am right away, I just… I want to get to know him if I can.”

Tony tries to sit up, but Steve tightens his hold, and he settles back down with an amused huff. “Of course you can meet him. He’s your son too, and he deserves to know both his dads. He’s in DC on a field trip for a few days, but I’ve already got a couple days blocked off in my schedule when he gets back. The three of us can spend that time together.”

“You’re sure? I don’t want to get in the way—”

“You won’t be. You’re going to love him, Steve. He’s so smart, and strong and brave and good. He’s the best parts of both of us. JARVIS, give us some pictures up on the wall, please?”

A slideshow of pictures projects onto the empty wall across from them, starting from Peter’s birth and slowly moving year by year. Steve can’t help the tears that form as he watches the little boy, his little boy, grow up.

“He’s beautiful, Tony. I can already tell what an amazing job you’ve done with him. I can’t wait to get to know him. And get to know you again.”

After the pictures, JARVIS starts up some of the home movies Tony’s taken of Peter over the years. Gradually, Steve can feel the omega growing more and more relaxed against him. He loses track of how much time passes before Tony speaks again.

“You’re fired, by the way.”

Steve barks out a laugh, looking down at Tony, whose eyes are still watching the video currently playing on the wall. “What do you mean, I’m fired?”

“It seems unprofessional for you to technically be an SI employee if you’re going to be sleeping with the head of the company.”

One large, calloused finger hooks under Tony’s chin and tips his head back so Steve can meet his eyes. “Tony, I want to make it clear that this isn’t just about sleeping together. When you’re ready, after I’ve groveled and worshipped you and done everything I can to earn back your trust and your love, I want to be your alpha. I want us to be a family. Permanently.”

Steve’s declaration is so serious, so clearly heartfelt and earnest, there’s nothing stopping Tony from melting completely. He surges forward, capturing Steve’s lips in a kiss that’s fifteen years overdue. The alpha startles and freezes in shock, but he returns the kiss before Tony has even a fraction of a chance to second guess it.

The kiss only lasts a handful of seconds, but it leaves both of them dazed and grinning like fools. Tony settles back down against Steve’s chest, and together they watch the memories that Tony had captured play out on the wall, the room overflowing with the scents of warm and happy alpha and omega.

Darcy comes searching for Tony an hour later when he doesn’t show up for his second meeting of the morning. JARVIS directs her to the office, where she finds the two men deeply asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“JARVIS, snap a picture of that, please.”

“My pleasure, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy still plans to threaten the good captain, viciously, with her sharpest pair of stilettos. But her love for Tony goes far beyond the care of an employee for her boss. Tony is the older brother she never had, and his happiness—and Peter’s— means more to her than the joy she derives from threatening alphas bigger than her and watching them cower.

With a swipe of her finger, she clears the rest of Tony’s schedule, and heads down the hallway to her own office to await the email from Pepper requesting an explanation that she knows will be on the way before too long.

When her computer dings, she sends off her response with just one sentence.

I promise you, it’s worth it.

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Different but the Same (pt 4)

tw: Cursing 

Word count: ~2.4k

Rating: R18+/M

Omegaverse AU, Rating: 18+/M

Pairings: Iwaizumi x fem!reader, Ushijima x fem!reader

Summary: An unexpected encounter at the Inter-High tournament tossed you into a whirlwind. Being tugged between two males, two different packs, who will reign supreme in this battle for your heart?

Masterlist | prev | next

Ch 4: Seijoh’s Omega

“Iwa-chan, is everything alright?” The ace was drinking his water, the team scattered across the room as they took a break. He raised his eyebrow at his best friend. Iwaizumi simply grunted, bringing the bottle back to his lips. 

“You’ve been really quiet today, Hajime. What’s up?” Mattsun joined the group now, tilting his head at the disgruntled ace. 

An exasperated sigh. “Ushiwaka got (Name) to be their fucking manager.” A choking noise echoed in the room as Oikawa spluttered water everywhere. “Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi scowled, wiping his face with the towel that was draped over his shoulder.  

“She’s doing what?” Oikawa wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring the mess he just made. “Since when?”

Iwaizumi sighed, looking over to their underclassmen. Kindaichi was practicing his serves. At the next court, Yahaba and Kumini worked on setting and spikes while Watari practiced receiving them. “Yesterday. Apparently Shiratorizawa has this new Omega program and they have to manage a club. Since she didn’t have one, the volleyball club requested her or some shit.”

“And you’re letting her?”

His head snapped back to the group of third years. His closest friends. Their closest friends. “She’s her own person, I can’t stop her from doing whatever she likes.” 

“Yeah, but aren’t you worried about—”

“Of course I’m fucking worried.” Iwaizumi interrupted Makki. A scowl darkened his face. “She’s literally my mate, I don’t want her surrounded by a bunch of other alphas that could try and steal her away.” 

Mattsun wiped the sweat from his forehead. “At least it’s her birthday soon. You guys will finally be bonded and you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“If I can mark her in time.”

“What do you mean?” A confused look crossed Makki and Mattsun’s face. Oikawa’s face darkened in realization. 

Another grunt left the ace. “Her birthday is on a Tuesday. We were planning a romantic weekend for when we’d do the marking. If anything happens to her before that…” He trailed off, the aggressively bitter scent filled the gym. The others stopped practicing as they looked over in alarm at their senpais. 

“Hey, it’ll be fine. She’s a smart enough girl, she won’t let anything happen to her before then.” Mattsun’s hand clapped his back. “You trust her right?”

“You know I do,” he grumbled. “I just don’t trust those idiots she’s with.” 

“Didn’t you like one of them though?” Makki tilted his head.

“Tch. I don’t like him. I just don’t hate him. It’s their old setter turned pinch server, Semi.” 

Mattsun clicked his tongue. “I’d hate to be benched as a third-year.” 

“Good thing you’re here and not at a school like Shiratorizawa.” Makki laughed. 

Mattsun frowned, stretching his shoulders. “Didn’t that setter from Karasuno get benched for Kageyama? It’s his third year too.” 

Oikawa scowled at the mention of his kouhai. “Alright, that’s enough of a break,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. The boys all muttered their ascent with Makki giving Iwaizumi another reassuring pat as they made their way back onto the courts. Iwaizumi glanced at the door to the gym. 

“Oh, (L. Name)-kun, what are you doing here?” Iwaizumi’s head snapped up at the sound of her name. A familiar (h/c) head poked its way into the gym. She sent the coaches a sheepish smile. It was a hot spring day of their second year; the pack and coaches were used to her presence.

“I know you guys are busy practicing, but I was hoping to drop off a present to the boys.” 

Coach Irihata let out a deep chuckle, waving the Omega in. The noise of the ball brought Iwaizumi’s attention back to the practice match, though he couldn’t help but keep his ears pricked to pay attention to their conversation. “You’re always welcome to stop by!” She stepped in, holding a tray. “What have you brought us today?” A rosy glow settled on her cheeks. It was normal for her to bring her onigiri for the team, and even the occasional bento. 

“Well, since it’s been so warm, I figured I’d bring some watermelon.” The whistle blew as the last point was earned.

“You’ve always had perfect timing, (L.Name)-kun.” Coach Mizoguchi laughed. “Boys, come over and greet our guest! She’s brought you a gift. You guys can have a fifteen minute break now.” The team made a half-circle around the coaches and the friendly Omega. Each greeted her in their own various ways. Iwaizumi couldn’t stop the grin that forced his lips up. 

“For all your hard work,” she dipped her head, presenting the tray.

“Oooh watermelon!”

“You’re the best!” 

“This is why you’re my best friend.” 

“Shut up Mattsun, she’s my best friend.” Oikawa stuck his tongue out.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat. “I do believe she’s my best friend.” They all laughed, as each member took a piece of watermelon. Each person settled off in their own groups. Iwaizumi mingled, sticking beside Makki as they both bit into their watermelon. The Omega was floating around, checking in with all of his pack-mates to see if they wanted any more watermelon. 

“Oh, Watari-kun, are you okay?” Her worried voice caught his attention, drawing it away from a conversation about their rivals. Watari was flexing his fingers, wincing. “Lemme tape that up for you, okay?” She carefully wiped the watermelon juice from his fingers as she pulled a roll of athletic tape out of her bag. With tender movements, she wrapped them up. “Is that ok?” At his nod, she finished it off. “There we go. Please let me know if you’re having any trouble with it, okay?” 

“Thank you (Name)-senpai!” 

She just ruffled his hair, offering another piece of melon. “Anytime, Watari-kun! And you don’t have to call me senpai.” His cheeks flushed as he looked away. Iwaizumi’s heart warmed at the interaction. His mate was literally perfect. Seeing her kindness towards him was one thing, but seeing her demonstrate it to her unofficial pack-mates? To know that she went out of her way to prepare them food and bring them treats like this...His entire body hummed; it felt like he was falling in love with her all over again. 

The loud noise of the ball making contact with flesh snapped him out of his thoughts. He shook his head, blinking furiously as he concentrated. The ball was soaring back towards him. “Chance ball!” It bounced off Watari’s forearms, sending it back to Oikawa. 

“Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi’s feet moved before he could think, instinctively jumping in the air as he slammed the ball back down into the other side. He landed softly, grinning and high-fiving Mattsun who was beside him. Glancing back to the bleachers, another memory bubbled to the surface.

It was just any other warm summer day later that same year. They were in the middle of a training camp, and it was their break time. Iwaizumi was relaxing on the bleachers, pulling his lovely mate into his lap. She squealed as she fell into it, almost losing her grip on her rice-ball. A playful scowl crossed her face as she shouldered the Alpha, only for her jaw to drop when he took a big bite out of it. “Hajime!” She exclaimed, smacking him. “You have your own.” A soft pout replaced the scowl. He jokingly leaned forward as if to eat the rest only for the Omega to shove the entire thing into her mouth. 

“You guys are so gross,” Makki rolled his eyes, eating his bento while standing in front of the couple. Mattsun just elbowed his friend, eating his own onigiri. The Omega had prepared bentos and another tray full of her onigiri for the team. 

Iwaizumi laughed loudly at his mate; her cheeks were puffed up like a chipmunk as she struggled to chew. He couldn’t resist pulling her in closer to press a kiss onto her lips. A strangled noise escaped her as she choked. Iwaizumi chuckled, grabbing his water bottle. “We get it, you’re happy and in love,” Mattsun dead-panned. Oikawa made a noise of disgust besides the couple. “Thank you for the onigiri, (Nickname)!”

The Omega paused, gulping the water that Iwaizumi had offered her. “Of course, Mattsun! I love you guys, and I’ll always be here to take care of you all.” Her smile caused the alphas’ eyes to glow and their scents to warm up. 

“About that….” The group turned to Oikawa who stood as he spoke. One arm was tucked behind his back. She cocked her head to the side, glancing at Iwaizumi only to see him beaming back at her. “You’ve been unofficially a part of the pack for awhile now.” He pulled out a teal and white bag. “Consider this your official welcoming gift.” She hesitantly pulled the tissue out, letting the jacket fall onto her lap. Her embroidered name caught the light.

Tears welled up in her eyes as her head swung around to look at them. “You guys…” Her voice cracked. She stood up quickly letting the jacket slip only for Iwaizumi to catch it, before she threw herself onto Oikawa. He held her close, rubbing her back as she squeezed him tightly. “Thank you so much Tooru.” 

Oikawa stuck his tongue out at Iwaizumi. “Guess she’s mine now, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up Trashykawa.” 

“Ow!” Oikawa rubbed his head as Iwaizumi smacked the back of his head. The Omega tugged the rest of the alphas into a hug. Iwaizumi gently pulled away, draping the jacket over her shoulders like a cape. 

“Welcome to the pack, sweetheart.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to her head.

The scrimmage ends with a blow of a whistle. Iwaizumi shook his head, rolling his shoulders back as he released the tension from all the spikes that he was doing. “Will (Nickname) be going to the Shiratorizawa training camp too? Or will she be with us?” His head snapped to Mattsun; his bottom lip was beginning to feel sore from all the gnawing. 

He grunted, eyes glaring at the opposite wall. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it yet.” 

“She can’t be with them! She’s in our pack,” Oikawa scowled, crossing his arms. His scent singed their noses as they all reacted to it. Mattsun threw him a dirty look, Makki took a slight step back, and Iwaizumi forcibly slapped him on the back.

“You act like I want her to go with them too,” Iwaizumi scowled. “It’s her graduation requirement, I can’t have her not graduate along with us. If they force her to go because of it, we can’t stop her.”

The sound of the door sliding open caught his attention, but not as much as the scent that followed. He whirled around, eyes widening. Clothed in a familiar teal-and-white jacket was a sorely missed sight. “Hi everyone!” The ball dropped to the ground as he darted over to her. “Hi babe,” she purred as his arms snaked around her waist, pressing her to him as he twirled her around. Iwaizumi buried his face into the crook of her neck, rubbing his neck against it as he let out a soft purr. Faintly he could hear the coaches call for a break. 

“What are you doing here?” He mumbles. 

“Don’t hog her, Iwa-chan!” Arms wrapped around the couple as three scents washed over them.

“Oi, fuck off!” Iwaizumi growled, tightening his grip as he swung his head to glare at his pack-mates. 

“We missed ya, squirt!” Makki ruffled her hair.

“Are you really leaving us for Shiratorizawa?” Oikawa spat.

“I’m guessing Hajime told you,” the Omega sighed as she attempted to withdraw from their embrace. The others let go, taking a step or two back. Iwaizumi refused to move from his position at her neck. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to manage their pack until we graduate, but they promised to protect me. I promise, nothing will happen or change besides that.” She pointed to the door where she had set some bags. “I brought bentos!” 

At this, the rest of the pack swarmed over. The others had been standing to the side waiting patiently to greet her, but they obviously couldn’t resist the prospect of her cooking. “Thank you, (Name)!” Kindaichi cheered as he brought the bags over to the rest of the pack. She patted his head with her hand before she wrapped her arms around Iwaizumi’s neck. Her mate pressed a kiss to her uncovered scent gland. 

The food was quickly distributed, and Iwaizumi dragged her over to the bleachers. “You didn’t have practice today?” He asked as he pulled her into his lap, arms wrapping around her. She opened the bento, twisting so that she was perched perpendicular to him in order to feed him. 

“I took the day off. I figured I would take some time to visit the pack before I couldn’t do it as often.” Their eyes roamed the gym together as he breathed in her soothing scent.

“I’m going to miss having you here,” he muttered, biting the offered piece of agedashi tofu. 

“And I’m going to miss being here with you.” She watched as Makki and Mattsun made fun of Oikawa, who had grains of rice and a bit of sauce on his cheek. “And the rest of those idiots,” she added as an afterthought, stifling a giggle. 

One of his hands felt the soft material of the jacket. “You look better in this jacket than that one.” She giggled at his words, placing the empty bento box down so that she could burrow herself into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. They sat in silence for a moment longer before the coaches called for them to practice to resume. 

With a loud sigh, Iwaizumi pulled her into a searing kiss before he plopped her back onto the bench. She waved at him, beaming as she pulled out her textbook. He made his way back to the courts, stretching his arms as he felt his shoulder muscles flex. Oikawa came to stand beside Iwaizumi as they both surveyed the Omega. 

“We can’t lose her.”

I know. 

AN: Enjoy the Seijoh fluff!

Taglist: @sawamooora  @kriswu46 @pantasticalcat @shadowkunoichi @awuariyuh @4lfalfagarlic

Please feel free to message, comment, or shoot an ask if you’d like to join the tag-list!

[fe-husband-heaven]

Thanks to popular demand ;) Part two is here!!

Ehuehuehue of course, with the quote I think lands them on the list!

Part 2! Of Heroes I think have a thing for the Summoner:

Henry:

"You won't die, will you, Summoner? If you died, I'd have to invent a horrible new hex for whoever killed you. So just...stay alive, OK?"

Henry is genuinely sweet. So long as you're not on the wrong side;; He gets attached if you're kind to him so he's at your every beck and call rather quickly, even if you say he doesn't have to do your chores, he insists on it.

ZHDBDDH he's extremely protective, not in an overbearing fashion but more that anything that messes with you, messes with him. He's learned to keep his face in an eternal smile but he prefers to see that yours are real :')) Sweet boy

Henry and The Summoner end up just being known as that duo. As in Do Not Separate. (Mostly because leaving Henry alone to his own devices is asking for trouble) but also, Henry just likes having you with him during his shenanigans nyaha

Raven:

"Glad to fight for you. Long as it doesn't get in the way of...well, never mind." "Need me? Just say so."

"But now, none of that matters. I've come to my senses after watching you at work here. Does any of that make sense? If not, forget I said anything. I'll still fight hard for you."

Veterans of this blog...yall know know. This man is the start of it all djxjdj

Homeboy gave up his revenge, choosing instead to fight for you rather than a past that's haunted him.

Raven's a bit of a bodyguard, with his resting angry face, he scares off anyone who might approach you whenever you're with him. And he can be quite impulsive so if he thinks someone's upset you, he's out to pick a fight.

Hnnnnghgh my boy💖💕💖

Ephraim:

"I will fight. To bring peace to this world, and for your sake, too." || "You know, I like you. And I feel I can trust you completely."

"I will protect you. Just believe in me and follow my lead." || "I'll protect you. I don't want to lose anyone else."

"I'm thankful that the two us can spend this winter festival together. It means a lot to me."

Ephraim💙💙💙hnnnnngh, I love him so much!! And he's constantly going and on and on about how he's going to protect the summoner. A loaded statement considering how much he already has to protect ;)

Ephraim is a bit oblivious though, he has no clue he likes you himself. And he won't know until he's made to think about it by someone else. It's just something he's never worried about.

But his behavior makes it clear to others. Ruffling your hair, escorting you nearly everywhere and even having you nearby as he sparred with other heroes. It seems as though him and the summoner are inseparable!

He's just as protective as the Henry and Raven but Ephraim runs off of his instinct to protect you rather than than being pissed off at someone who upset you.

Yarne:

"You always look so busy. Why don't you take a break and pet my fur? I hear that it's pretty relaxing."

"I'm not big on danger, but I don't want to see you go extinct, either. On the battlefield, you stay behind me, OK?"

like Libra, HIS ENTIRE LVL 40 CONVO: "Hey, Summoner...Did you notice? I didn't jump when you spoke to me. I heard you coming. Lately, I catch myself listening for your footsteps, wondering where you're going...If you ended up getting attacked, summoners would go extinct! And I'd be pretty lonely. If you're ever in danger, shout my name, or just make a loud noise. I'll hear it and come running! Thanks to you, I've gotten plenty strong. Now I can protect you! Thanks for giving me the courage to help."

Bro...the footsteps thing is so cuuuute! The fact that he recognizes them...aww! ++Offering up his fur to be pet?? Absolutely superb-

Yarne's fear of going extinct is always something he's struggled with but he's willing to push through it to keep you safe. He's a sweet man who places the summoner's safety at the same level as his own. And that's why I think he absolutely deserves a spot on this list!

Lucius:

"I feared that you'd lose respect for me if you knew the truth—or would even be repulsed. I do such good works that I shouldn't allow myself to care, but when it comes to you...I do. I put myself in your hands. Will you like or loathe me? But know this, you will have my loyalty."

Lucius is so sweet and caring and very supportive of the summoner, my poor boy doesn't even care about whether or not you'd shun him, just that you know he'd support you regardless.

dndnxnx I can definitely see him falling for the summoner but feeling no need to divulge it to them juuuuuust yet. He's very much content with simply being near the summoner so he doesn't think all that much about revealing any feelings.

Of course, he's incredibly attentive so if the summoner falls for him...he'll know. But even then, he'll wait for them to come to him. Patiently. As long as he has to.

Valter:

"I will master you. Someday."

"You are mine now. Entertain me! More!"

"I do take what I want. I'll take whatever I desire. From anyone. Knowing this, you have made use of me. And you have granted me much power... I cannot understand your actions. Do you intend to control me? Or do you long for me to be your master? Either way, you have become my finest prey. I will not permit another to sate their bloodlust on you...Just me."

I said the ones who have a thing for the summoner, not whether or not it was a BAD thing cjcnfnfnxn

Hoo boy. Possessive and obsessive is the name of the game in this wheelhouse;; though it's a little strange when it comes to Valter. He has a very calm demeanor (most of the time) when speaking to the summoner as opposed to his manic state in batttle.

My reason for putting him on this list is the clear "This one belongs to me." attitude cjfjdjd I have a feeling that he has no issue getting to use his lance against any of the summoner's "admirers"

Gaius:

"Here to beg more candy off me? I'm not sharing this one, though— it's my favorite right now. Packed with sweet, sweet honey...Hm? You don't want candy? You got work for me, then? ...No? Wait, you're not just here to spend time with me, are ya? 'Cause that'd make you a big ol' marshmallow. Only softies try to build relationships up for their own sake. And here you are—soft as cotton candy. Heh. I changed my mind. Take the honey candy. No reason���just my way of saying thanks."

Isn't this SO cute?? Gaius, the king of all things sweet and sugary, giving his favorite candy to the summoner because they just want to spend time with him....how cute!!

He's such a softie for them and it's adorable! If anyone's being led by the nose here, it's Gaius. But without the summoner knowing how positively melt able Gaius is💖💖💖

Gaius isn't a mean guy by nature but I think him giving away his new favorite candy is a clear sign of a particular fondness.

Narcian:

"I'll make you regret that you picked a fight with me, Narcian! One day I'll make you kneel. Then I'll pet your head like a little kitty—and keep you at my side forever! Ha ha ha ha!"

Is this one surprising to yall? jddjdj its really just the kitty at my side part that makes me think it heheheh. Narcian thinks of Narcian first and such, he is deserving of the best.

And of all the fleas that drown in his brilliance, he has deemed you the best in suiting him. (ꈍᴗꈍ) Isn't that lovely?

In his lvl. 40 conversation, he mentions that the summoner has said he's full of himself so...this is 100% a dynamic of the summoner being tired of his crap and the guy who thinks this summoner belongs to him fjfjfjfj

Shigure:

"I'm glad you've come to see me. Do you want my company on a mission? Or perhaps to just look for a rainbow. I do enjoy being by myself, but spending time with you is also quite relaxing. Perhaps it's because... You're not the chatty type. I have grown fond of you. I hope you'll remember me even after we one day part ways. Nothing would make me happier than if every time you glance at the sky or hear a song, you think of me. Perhaps it's a bit selfish for a mere Hero to ask for such a thing from a Summoner, but it's simply how I feel. And I thought you should know."

"I don't like singing for an audience. Unless, of course, that audience is you. You are often in my thoughts."

"Would you walk with me sometime? You could tell me more about this beautiful world and about yourself as well."

So I counted, and Shigure has asked the Summoner like 5 times if they'd like to go somewhere or do something with him fjfjfjdn And he's asked them not to forget him, it seems that he wants to remain imprinted in their thoughts.

There's a bit of a calm but melancholy air in this dynamic sometimes. But it switches to a light environment when he speaks about going for rides on his pegasus with the summoner. :') Dhdjfj isn't it a cute idea to go on a flying date??

Shigure is sweet and is even willing to sing for the summoner, so long as they are the only one to be his audience. He's got no qualms about sharing his voice with the summoner and its "Got a thing for the summoner" worthy (ꈍᴗꈍ)

Chrom:

"Aren't you cold? I wouldn't be much of a Hero if I let our summoner collapse. Here, take my cape."

"If you're ever in trouble, just call for me. Wherever you are, I'll come running with the wind at my back."

"You spend time with me. You're by my side, cheering me on. You make me stronger. That...makes me happier than you can guess. I'm truly grateful. I'll do what I can to do the same for you."

Hxhxhx im a sucker for the "Take my coat" trope. He's so supportive and an absolute sweetheart, baring his heart out to the summoner. He speaks a lot about how nothing will ever break his and the summoner's bond too!

He mentions it constantly! In fact, in his lvl.40 Bunny Version Conversation, he paints (a bad) portrait of the summoner on a festival egg and writes a poem on the other side about how much he values the summoner's presence.

He's absolutely intent on displaying how much he cares about his bond with the summoner and it's a very sweet dynamic. He's eager to show how much he cherishes them and that's the easiest way to end up on this list xjxhxhxh

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XIV]

Word count: 6,791

Warnings: vulgar language, angst (everyone saw it coming)

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

__________________________________________________________________________

“Y/N, are you awake?” Mallory asked.

I closed the book and peeked my head up from beneath the covers to look at her. Light attacked my eyes and I squinted for a brief moment, gathering the covers under my chin.

“Did you really need to switch on that light?” I sat up on the bed and blinked. “This one was doing its job just fine.” I pointed at the reading light next to me.

“You’ll grow wings and turn into a bat any day now.” She laughed, and I glowered. Turning into a bat could very well be a possibility. I hadn’t asked Dracula about that. There was a lot I hadn’t asked, and a lot that he probably wouldn’t tell me now. “A joke, Y/N. You still remember those?”

“Not sure I do,” I scoffed. “You look great. Are you going out with Sean?”

Mallory’s blonde locks laid in large curls around her shoulders – an hour of carefully applied curling iron, I’d say – and her makeup was soft in such a way that her eyes looked more almond shaped than round and innocent like they usually did. A beige trench coat covered her outfit but her legs were on display. Mallory favoured mini dresses so I presumed that was what she had on underneath.

“No, he’s being annoying, it’s just me and the girls. And don’t you change the subject. I don’t feel good about leaving you here.” She sighed. “You’re my guest and I’ll leave you here to go party? That’s not right, but if you come with… It’ll be fun, come on. I’ll wait for you if you go get ready. We’ll drink and dance, and maybe you’ll find someone else.”

Someone else to end up bitten by Count Dracula. Another lesson, like Mallory was, to remind me that I was his.

“No rebounds,” I muttered. “I’ll be fine. I don’t feel like dancing.” She frowned. “Mal, I’m incredibly thankful that you’re letting me stay here but you don’t have to feel like you need to cater to me. We lived together during uni. Don’t think of me as a guest, more like a flatmate, a very brief one. I’ll go back home in two days time”

Staying with Mallory was more her decision than mine. Days ago, she’d bought a last minute train ticket from Gloucester and returned with me to London when the Sun was still up in the sky. When the taxi dropped me off at my house, Mal asked the cabbie to wait and strolled up my stairs on weak knees and packed my bags for me, saying that I needed her. I simply watched as she threw my outfits and shoes inside a large suitcase. While I waited, listening to her go on about broken hearts and that’s what friends do, I’d noticed that my bedroom’s window was open; I didn’t remember leaving it like that. Maybe I was being paranoid but being paranoid was a better choice than being stupid and I’d afforded enough stupidity for a lifetime, so I let Mallory harbour me. Dracula had unlimited access to my house since I had invited him in and closed doors and windows were no hindrance to him, as he had proved. Mallory was my best bet of avoiding him and staying safe, for now, and I could keep an eye on her to make sure she would be truly okay.

Mallory acted like usual, her ramblings, her chipper attitude, her easy laughter at the silliest things. Mallory, as before. Mallory, my best friend from college. Mallory, who had a scar on the side of her neck just like mine and, therefore, wasn’t at all like before. All she’d asked me on the following day after the wedding was how we got all the way from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester and how much she had had to drink. As a test I’d asked how she’d gotten hurt and she looked at me, bewildered, and said “I got hurt?”. When Dracula told me she wouldn’t remember anything, I didn’t expect her to not remember a single thing. I’d prepared a lengthy explanation but threw it away in favour of Mal’s bite-induced amnesia. Even when I went to change the bandage on her neck, she barely acknowledged me and simply stared ahead with empty eyes. She didn’t seem to notice the bite when she looked in the mirror, but every day before leaving the house, without a fault, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as if covering it was instinctive. A useful little trick in Dracula’s sleeve, I presumed.

“Tomorrow marks ten days, right?” She asked and I nodded. She motioned for me to scoot over and flopped down on the bed. “Can I just say that it’s weird that he gave you an ultimatum?”

“I was the one who asked for time.”

“Still weird. I mean, it must have been a huge fight. You said he was massively pissed.” She trained her large eyes on me, like one of Diana’s cats did when it wanted food. “And I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N. I thought you’d open up if you stayed with me. You cried the whole trip back from Gloucester and now you won’t shed a tear. You won’t talk about him. You’re sulking, and you never sulk. For a day maybe, yeah, you’ll sulk and throw a pity party like you did when you broke up with Paul a few years back, but then you’ll make yourself busy.”

Back in Gloucester, during breakfast at my rented flat, Mal, with a wound on her throat and face as pale as her hair, insisted for me to tell her what had happened and why I couldn’t stop crying. I’d told her what I could: that I’d lied to him about something, he found out and did something terrible and wanted me to explain myself in 10 days.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal.”

“No, you never want to talk but that’s how you’ll heal. You’re on a rinse and repeat cycle of going to work, picking at your food, and then holing up in my guestroom with that poetry book. Where is it, by the way? Did you finally throw it away?”

I retrieved it from under the covers and set it on her lap. The book was warm to the touch. It slept with me, under the pillow or over my chest. Two days after the wedding, Mallory and I went to grab something to eat at a book cafe near our office. The cover, a large red rose overflowing from a jar as moths and butterflies decorated the edges, caught my eye and when I read the title announcing it to be a collection of Russian poetry, I instantly knew I had to have it. To find in those pages the tranquility I found inside Gloucester Cathedral; a moment in which I was wholly unreserved and Dracula had put his relentless pursuit of me on pause. A perfect memory in which I could have lived in forever.

“I thought you liked French poetry better,” Mallory said as she picked it up and opened it at random. “Why are you so obsessed with this book, anyway? Let’s see.” She took a deep breath and spit out the words on the page so fast that they barely sound like verses. “ I love you, I love you and as I rage at myself for this obsession, and as I make my shamed confession, despairing at your feet I lie, blah blah blah, my one reward for a day’s anguish comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. Okay, that part was nice.” She nodded in approval as her eyes skimmed down. “I dare not ask for love with all my many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy. God, that’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“You found it!” The pages ruffled when I snatched the book from her hands.

“Found what?”

“But if feigned love, if you would pretend, you’d easily deceive me. For happily would I, believe me, deceive myself if but I could!” I completed as I read through the last lines. “You found it, Mal, you’re brilliant.”

“I just opened the book.” She shrugged. “Were you looking for this poem in particular?”

I nodded as I tried to read it from the start but my brain was foggy from sleep and the words weren’t making much sense.

“Oh my god,” Mal said and I looked up at her. “This has to do with Dracula, doesn’t it?”

“He recited it to me once. He told me it was Pushkin–”

“So you bought the book.” Mallory drew her eyebrows together.

“Well, I couldn’t remember the exact words to google them and I was curious– stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you watch Pride and Prejudice.”

She giggled.

“Your ten days are up tomorrow. What are you going to tell him?”

I closed the book and let it rest near my knee. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I can help.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

The bond wouldn’t let me utter a word about the true issue surrounding the Count to her; I suspected the loophole I’d found with Renfield and Zoe was because they already had previous knowledge of Dracula’s nature.

Mallory took my hand.

“I wish you’d cry, at least I would know what to do.”

I squeezed her hand as my eyes fell on her neck. A crystal choker covered the bite. She should be the one crying because she didn’t remember, because she had a gash at her throat that she didn’t recognise and because a monster of a man had attacked her. I should be the one taking care of her, not the way around. That’s why I’d bargained with Count Dracula in the first place.

“I do cry but only when I wake up,” I confessed. “The tears just come out of nowhere as soon as I open my eyes and then dry up when I realise I’m awake.” My voice wobbled at the last word and I slapped the pillow next to me. “Oh, now they come. Shit.”

Mallory laughed at my frustration and made me lay my head on her lap. Tears fell in soft thuds to the duvet, running over my nose and eyes as Mallory smoothed my hair.

“It’ll be okay, lovey. He’ll understand if he likes you, whatever you did he’ll forgive–”

“He won’t, Mal.”

“He will, he’s gotta. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He was horrible. I don’t know how to begin to forgive him or if I can forgive him. He was nice to me and now I know that’s what mattered, that he was nice to me and only to me–” But he wasn’t nice just to me, he was also nice to Lucy. My chest constricted. “I don’t know if any of it was real or that he actually cares that he hurt yo– me,” I corrected. “He wants me as one wants precious jewels but that’s all it is. He wants to possess me.” The words were strung together between sobs. I barely understood myself so I knew Mal didn’t either but she still rubbed my shoulder to soothe me. “Why am I crying now? I’m done with crying and I don’t want to.”

I slammed a hand on the bed again but instead of the soft duvet, I found the book’s hard surface, and it hit me why I was crying.

From the moment I bought the book, I held onto it as if my life depended on it, skimming through pages during work breaks, sneaking glances at it during lunch, reading it faithfully yet slowly so it wouldn’t end too fast in search of that Pushkin stanza. I’d buried myself in Russian poetry, those biting words that hung on the edge of everyone’s lips, unsaid but that rang true, so I wouldn’t have to dwell on what to say. Perhaps those words would become mine and I wouldn’t have to say anything, not now or ever, and by some magic Dracula would understand. Then Mallory found the verses and I realised I still didn’t have the words. What did I have left to hold onto now that I didn’t need to search for Pushkin’s poem? The sweetness I searched for amidst the sting of my bitterness was gone and that moment in the cathedral wasn’t worth anything if Dracula killed me tomorrow.

Ten days wasted on poetry and in a moment that I would never have again. I wasn’t even sure if my voice would work when I tried explaining it to him. All I had planned was that I would tell him somewhere public in the hope that he still had enough scruples left to not kill me in front of witnesses.

“Diana called your phone when you were sleeping,” Mallory informed me as my sobs subsided. “Taking naps all afternoon and sleeping early won’t help you come up with an answer, you know.”

“It’s the only time when I don’t have to think about him.”

“You don’t dream about him?” She stopped playing with my hair for a second when I nodded and I felt a tug on a lock of hair. The slight resistance told me she was braiding my hair.  

“Just once since the wedding. I dreamt that he was driving and we were holding hands but then–” my hand was nearly crushed in his grip as he raised it to his mouth and tore my wrist open. Blood trickled down to his lap and a scarlet jet stained the windows. I smiled the whole time as he consumed me. “It wasn’t a good dream. Did you get Diana’s call?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about you, told me you only answered one of her calls since you came to stay with me. You have over 10 calls from your cousin, too.”

“My cousin?”

“Yeah, don’t you have a cousin in Manchester named Zoe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I hadn’t spoken with my cousin for over two years and her number was saved only as ‘Zee’. “Did Zoe call when I was asleep?” I asked in a neutral tone. I ignored every call from Dr. Van Helsing and if Mallory had answered the phone thinking she was talking to my cousin–

“No, but she must be worried about you. Give her a call back,” she said.

“I will,” I breathed, relieved. Eventually, I would talk to Zoe and tell her that I was done with her – that is, if I survived Count Dracula. With that, rose the question of why Zoe was still alive. Wouldn’t Dracula have killed her?

“Diana said she’s going up to Glasgow for work in a couple of days and that she wants to see you before that. I told her we could all grab lunch Thursday.”

“All right.” I sniffled and started getting up slowly so Mallory wouldn’t accidentally pull my hair. “I’m getting in the way of your night out, Mal.”

“Did you actually think I was going out?” She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s Monday, Y/N, we have work tomorrow. More importantly, I would never leave you here and go drinking.” I frowned as I gestured at her made up face. “I’m wearing PJ’s under my coat. I got ready in the hopes that you would suddenly change your mind when you saw me leaving the house and decide to actually move your arse out of bed,” she explained. I snorted. “A-ha, that was a near laugh!”

“That was a shit strategy. And you knew it wouldn’t work since you didn’t bother to change clothes.”

“Well, I tried everything else.” She jumped out of bed and peeled off the trench coat, revealing butterfly print pyjamas. “Come to the living room. We’ll order hamburgers and watch something.”

She was already leaving the room as I slipped out from under the covers.

“No rom-coms!”

“I wouldn’t torture you like that!” She yelled back from the living room. “Is Harry Potter good enough for you?”

“Great.”

It was familiar enough for me to repeat the lines in sync with the character and keep me distracted. Tomorrow I would figure out how to tell Count Dracula. As I made the bed, I grabbed the book from under the pillow and fingered through the pages. Pushkin’s words didn’t jump out at me and I hadn’t memorised the page number when Mallory found it. For the best, probably.

I set the book aside and went to the living room when Mal called my name.

__________________________________________________________

“L/N, can I see you before you go?”

Talbot’s voice made Mallory and I stop on the way to the lift; my mobile chimed inside my purse and my fingers tightened around the purse’s strap. Another chime reached my ears as I turned back to meet Talbot with Mal on my heels. Whether she had followed me because a partner was summoning me and it was a good opportunity for her to be noticed or because she was fairly acquainted with my phone’s chimes and particularly what they meant today, I didn’t know, but I was glad to have her at my side anyway.

Golden orange sunlight refracting through a window hit my face when I stopped before Talbot and I forced myself to breathe properly. I still had a couple more minutes, an hour if I was being optimistic, before the sun went down and I had to meet Dracula, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to it; he had been texting me since four in the afternoon.

“Yes?” The word was strangled.

Talbot’s severe face didn’t seem to notice my anxious tone and simply nodded at Mallory before settling his cataract ridden eyes on me.

“Do you have anything on your schedule tomorrow at 3pm?”

“No, I don’t think I do, sir. Why?”

“I need you in court.” He handed me a thick manila folder he had hidden behind his back.

“A new case?” I took the file automatically. “But sir, I’m already flooded with them. And court tomorrow? I won’t have the time to prepare–”

“Of course you’ll have time to prepare. You’ll have the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow until three. Pulling all-nighters is part of every good attorney’s job.”

I smothered an offended huff.

“I’m aware, sir.” I paused, and my phone chimed again. I could feel my pulse on my throat. “Unfortunately, I have a commitment tonight and I can’t take this case. Mallory will gladly take it in my pla–”

“I’m sure Miss Nowak would do a wonderful job,” he considered her briefly “but this case can only be taken care of by you. It was originally Miss Grisham’s, your colleague, but she had to go under an emergency surgery yesterday – wicked things, spleens, don’t you think? – and the Judge on this case refused to reschedule a court date.” He scoffed. “Apparently, Grisham had already been granted several reschedules and Judge Llewellyn won’t have it again, which is precisely why this case must be yours. As I understand you have a win inside Llewellyn’s courtroom, which might bode well for you– for us at the firm. Llewellyn is notoriously a difficult man and I hear he’s been mouthing good things about you. No one in this office has ever won before him, except for you and Renfield.”

My phone started ringing loudly and I gave my purse a thwack as if that would shut it up. Talbot eyed my purse.

“Sir, like I said, I have a personal engagement that I can’t dismiss. It’s best that I don’t take a new case. Give it to Mallory, she’ll do as good a job as I would and then this firm will have three lawyers with wins before Llewellyn.”

A new case meant I would have to prepare an opening statement, not to say I would have to spend countless hours studying every small detail to not be stomped to the ground by the prosecutor. The remaining sunlight only gave me a few more minutes to work out my own closing statement – the very last closing statement I would do in my life, perhaps, considering it was entirely dependent on Count Dracula’s verdict – if I took that case I would have to neglect it in favour of my own troubles.

“You’ll take it.”

“Sir, I can’t–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, L/N,” argued Talbot. “If your engagement has anything to do with your phone’s incessant noise–” as if by command, the tune stopped “–then turn it off. Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. This case cannot.”

Rage built up my chest; I could swallow it down before it reached my throat but the lump there wouldn’t let it pass as easily as it would allow it to burst out. And I didn’t want to swallow it down so more rage could merge with heartache. I’d had enough with rage and I wouldn’t let Talbot bully me into something that I couldn’t do in the benefit of his own interests.

“Any lawyer here would be happy to do it. I can’t,” I said as I offered him the file back. He opened his mouth to protest and didn’t accept the manila folder. “You don’t understand, you absolute c–”

“She’ll take it,” Mallory intervened, squeezing my arm and interrupting whatever name I was about to call him. One of Talbot’s eyes twitched as he evaluated me and he rose his chin, nodding at Mal for the interruption.

“I see Nowak has managed to keep her sense. I hope she’ll teach you some.” He gestured towards the lift. “You may go. Do not disappoint me, L/N.” He turned on his heel and disappeared inside his office.

I started stalking after him, picturing his outraged face when I threw the file on his desk, but Mal jerked me back.

“Are you crazy?” She shook me. “You almost called a partner the c-word–”

“You can say he’s a cunt, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, looking around us as if to check if anyone had heard that. “Being angry won’t solve your crap, and you can’t just shrug off work because of a relationship. Focus. Dracula is just a guy but this is your job. If he’s right for you he’ll understand.  It’s not like he’ll die if he waits one more day so you two can talk.”

I stared out the window. My phone chimed, and then started ringing. The sun was still up and I wagered it would stay that way until I went home. As soon as it was dark, Dracula would be there. I could propose a meeting spot but I’d made enough demands – he had said so himself. He was done making concessions for me, and if I said one thing, one thing that didn’t please him, that sounded off to his ears, he would probably tear open my neck and leave me to die by myself on the quietness of my home. There were plenty of things in my speech that needed adjustments to prevent that, several things, actually, that I wasn’t sure I had worded properly. And I hadn’t rehearsed anything, either.

“You know you’re not mad at Talbot,” Mallory said, as though she knew I was pondering the situation. “Dracula will understand.”

My phone stopped ringing and then started shortly after.

“He won’t stop calling until I answer him,” I said. But I’d already made my decision. I’d made it the moment Mallory said I would take the case.

“Then turn off your phone. You’ll concentrate better. I’ll even help you,” she offered. I glanced at her. “I can see in your face that you’re dreading going home. You can stay at my house one more night, or how many more you want, and I’ll help you study your case. You’ll worry about Dracula tomorrow after the court session with Llewellyn , okay?”

Working this case was a perfectly reasonable excuse not to answer his calls and texts. It was good enough for me but I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for Dracula. It would give me more time to work on what to say, although I had the feeling that nothing I said would ever be good enough for him.

What did matter if he had to wait one more day? I was dead anyway.

“Okay,” I finally said. Mal smiled at me. I didn’t have the strength to retribute it.

“Text him and say you’ll see him tomorrow.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. The name ‘Count Dracula’ blinking on the screen made me frown. I pressed the button next to the screen until it went fully black.

“My phone battery is dead for all he cares.” I dumped the phone back in my purse. “Let’s go, Mal. Quickly. He’ll come here looking for me when he realises I’m not picking up.”

______________________________________________________________

Count Dracula tilted his head as he watched the man crawl between tables, shoulders clumsily bumping into a table leg as he tried to hide. Sobs escaped his mouth. Dracula pushed one of the bodies at his feet with the heel of his shoe as the man shrunk into the darkness beneath the table. The man’s ragged breathing made the Count’s bloodstained lips twitch. He made a show of looking around the blackened interior of the pub, putting weight into his strides so the floorboards would creak as he stepped over another body, pretending that he couldn’t see him in his hiding place.

This game of hide-and-seek never failed to amuse the Count but it wasn’t as fun in an enclosed space such as this. It made him miss his castle. If it was his castle, he would throw the man into one of the dungeon’s cells to play with him another moment. But here, in a London pub where he had already engorged himself until his cheeks were ruddy, he only had so much time before sunrise. He wasn’t thirsty anymore and he would have to go home soon to rest his head again, only to be assailed by dreams of Y/N.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dracula declared, throwing his head back. The low ceiling had beer stains. The cleaning staff, the one dead at his feet, must not do a very good job of cleaning the place. “You can come out.”

A whimper came from under the table but the man made no attempt to reveal himself. Dracula waited for a few seconds to give him a chance and then crossed the distance between them and lifted the table. Wide brown eyes filled with mindless fear stared up at Count Dracula in a skinny face.

“Get up,” the Count demanded and discarded the table to the side, leaving the man without his illusion of protection. “Come sit with me.” He took a seat at a table at the centre of the pub and snatched a napkin from it. Red gloves of blood left stains on every white napkin he touched. The man – boy, from the looks of him – just watched and Dracula flicked dark eyes toward him. “Now.”

Slowly, so very slowly, the boy stood up and took small steps toward the table. He threatened to snap in half like a twig from all his shaking. Count Dracula motioned for him to take a seat as he wiped his face and hands with napkins. The boy sat.

“I think…” Dracula began. “No. What would you do in my place?”

“W-what?”

“I gave her ten days. Today is Tuesday, the tenth day, and she wasn’t at her house. She won’t answer my calls and my texts. She was at her office today but left early according to–” what was the woman’s name? Caroline? Christine? Camille? Ah, Chelsea. She’d slipped him her number before he left the office at Canary Wharf. He would have considered keeping it, if only to feed from her, but Y/N wouldn’t like that. Ten days could stretch into twenty or a month if he fed from Chelsea. “She’s avoiding me. What would you do?”

The boy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to formulate an answer. He glanced at the parade of dead bodies around them and then back at Count Dracula.

“Um, who is– hm. W-why is she av-voiding you?”

Dracula nodded, smiling lightly. He was impressed that the boy had managed to restrain his fear for a while but he knew very well the boy was merely entertaining him until he started bargaining for his life. They always did.

“I did something,” said Dracula.

“This kind of something?” He gestured with his head toward the body closest to them and then his face turned red and shuddered.

“No.” He frowned. “Worse, I think. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. What matters is that she’s avoiding me. I gave her ten days and she said we would talk. She said she knew not to flee. I can hunt for her but–” He threw the used napkins on the table, giving up on making himself presentable. There wasn’t any point to it with six bodies strewn metres away from him. “I don’t want to hunt what’s mine. She should come willingly.”

“Yeah,” the boy drew out. “But maybe she needs more time? I don’t know what you did, man, but if it was worse than this–”

“I bit her friend,” Dracula admitted.

The boy gaped.

“I– I’m sure you had a good reason to.”

“Are you?”

“I only mean–” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I… I don’t know?”

Count Dracula tipped in his chair and balanced himself so he could lever his feet on the table and cross them. Black leather shoes with small rounded dents at the tips shone at him. He hadn’t worn another pair since the wedding, when Y/N’s heels left those prints there. He didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he couldn’t remember Y/N’s smile with the same clarity that he could remember her face stricken with black tears.

“Did she cheat on you?” The boy tried.

Dracula laughed mirthlessly.

“In a manner, but she assured me that she had stopped.”

“So, uh, why did you kill her friend?”

“I didn’t kill Mallory. I bit her, that’s all.” He’d bitten her without Y/N’s explanation, which he still didn’t have. “Do you think I exaggerated?”

“Um– uh, no?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” The boy rubbed his nose. “My name is Trent.” Dracula’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand the relevance of that. “I’m only 19. I live in Whitechapel with my parents and sisters. I’ve got three cats–”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dracula glared at him. And then chuckled. “Oh, are you attempting to sensitize me about who you are so I won’t kill you? I’ve seen that on TV. People have been using that trick for centuries, too. It’s never worked on me. In fact, I think it’s kind of fun. First name basis is important, isn’t it? Makes things more intimate when I kill you.” He bared his teeth at the boy in a grin. “I asked you a question, Trent.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The words echoed. Y/N had said the same. Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. Maybe it’ll change again if you answer me.”

Trent shook violently again and started rocking back and forth in his seat.

“I forgot what you asked me.”

“Do you think I exaggerated?” Dracula repeated. The boy looked around them. “Not about this. I know you might believe this is a bit much but it helps me not to think. However, I’m in need of a good talk now. So amuse me, Trent. Do you think I shouldn’t have bitten Mallory?”

“Uh. This other girl you've been talking about… Do you fancy her?” Trent’s thin eyebrows arched, trying to summon a serious expression. Dracula merely bobbed his head. “And you said she’s, huh, yours.” He looked at Dracula and he nodded again. “From what you’re telling me, you want her back. If she’s avoiding you, maybe she’s scared?” His eyes widened as if he realised he’d said something wrong. “Or, or, or! Or maybe she’s waiting for an apology?” He shrugged. “Did you try talking to her, eh, before you bit this Mallory bird?”

The Count ignored the last question.

“She owes me an apology.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” the boy agreed. “But don’t you think you oughta apologise, too? I mean… uh. I don’t know. I’ve never been cheated on but I don’t think biting someone is the right way to go about it.”

Maybe not.

Maybe if he had asked Y/N about it, he wouldn’t have to wait ten days to speak to her. If he had, she wouldn’t have cried. It could have been a terribly simple explanation and she would have kissed him again. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone on a murder rampage for the last days to keep memories of Y/N from permeating his every dream and thought.

Or, and it was just as likely, it wasn’t simple at all. She had learnt how to lie to him. He was certain that she could have lied about everything. It could all have been an act to fool him – the sudden interest in the taste of blood, her questions about his life before a vampire and after, her rare ability to see through him sometimes, the gleam in her eyes at the cathedral… The kiss. But the utter betrayal in her face, the acrid smell of fear, how her voice trembled as she wept, those weren’t false. When she said yes to him, covered in her friend’s blood with her dress ruined and hair in shambles, he knew she had spoken the truth. She had no other reason to lie after what he had done. And now, he found himself doubting if everything else was not all lies.

It didn’t matter.

He had destroyed it. And he knew that if he could go back in time to fix it, he would have done it all the same. She confused him. She had made a fool out of him like no one else had in half a millennia, and she would make a fool out of him for the next millennia as well. Despite what she had done, she was his, whether she liked it or not. He was willing to wait a few more days for her to come to him.

Count Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose again.

“Thank you, Trent.”

The boy’s heart drummed, his blood streaming inside of him in rapid currents. Dracula could hear the noise it made, like a wind howl against a window.

“Are you gonna let me go?”  

“Yes, I will.” He flashed the boy a quick smile. “Although you haven’t been much help, I’m feeling merciful right now.” Trent exhaled a shaky breath and started getting up. “One last thing” – the boy looked up at that, watery brown eyes filled with alarm again – “you didn’t say… what would you do in my place?”

“Uhh–” he paused, panic flaring up and making the drumming in Dracula’s ears become louder. “Show that you care? Apologise if you want her back. She’ll apologise, too.” Dracula just stared. “Or do something nice for her. Especially nice.” Trent sniffled. “That’s what my dad does when my mum is mad at him, and it works.”

Trent waited as Dracula nodded, and then started shuffling across the pub in a slow pace as if he was doing his best not to draw attention.

He eyed the dents on his shoes and felt Y/N’s lips on his. He couldn’t wait five or ten years to feel them again and in order to have that, he would have to make amends. But then he thought of all the lies again and the taste of Mallory’s blood pouring down his throat and all the memories that came with it. A pungent reminder of how unreasonable he had become since meeting Y/N.

Trent was almost at the exit door.

“On second thought!” He called, planting both feet on the slippery red floor. The boy turned around to look at him and Count Dracula bared sharp teeth as he stood up from his seat. “I feel like having dessert.”

The boy ran.

His fingers brushed the doorknob but didn’t manage to grip it. Dracula blocked the way. Trent squealed and his entire body trembled in such force that the Count thought he could hear his bones rattling. He smiled at that and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to stop him from scuttling away.

Trent was as pale as a sheet, so much so that it was difficult to make out defining features on his face, but the shapeless, quivering thing on his face was most definitely a bottom lip moving as his teeth chattered.

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick, as a thanks.” Dracula stroked the boy’s cheek, pointed nails grazing the skin, and he shuddered. “Truly, you gave me quite the idea. But you see, it’s almost dawn, and I need a last bedtime snack to clear my head. You just so happen to be nearby.”

“Please, I–”

“No, no, no, no. Begging won’t get you anywhere and I’ve heard enough of ‘please’ tonight. I’ll make it quick and you won’t beg. Are we agreed?” He cocked an eyebrow. Trent shut his eyes and nodded. Dracula patted his face. “Good boy.”

Dracula turned Trent’s face to the side. He was met with no resistance as he lowered his head to tear through the soft flesh on the boy’s neck. Trent stopped trembling as Dracula’s teeth slashed deep and blood flowed inside his mouth. Memories started materialising but he ignored it and allowed himself to be swept away until nothing else invaded his mind except the taste of blood, its warmth cascading over his body and leaving him no choice but to be inundated with unrestrained elation.

He swallowed hurriedly and, in no time, the flow became sluggish and he began taking it less urgently. If he drank too fast, he would miss it. He waited for it to come as one waits for the first rain to pour, waits for it to wash remains, and to bring restoration. Ecstasy flitted across his deepest thoughts only to be replaced with perfect numbness. Sublime anesthesia and a brief glimpse into the true death he would never feel.

The emptiness he sought, the complete erasure of all thoughts, was the one thing that brought him relief and wiped the image of Y/N’s face. Her rancour and her grief that turned those eyes cruel to cut through him when she saw him with Mallory but, worst of all, the resignation that made her voice docile, almost cowed when she begged him for time. It touched something in him. Something that made him desperate to get rid of it, so abnormal was this sensation, that his only solution was to engorge himself with blood.

Only she had this effect on him. Usually he was picky with his food, choosing when should each dish be savoured and in which order. All it took for that to change was for Y/N to look him in the eye at the Victoria and Albert Museum and say that taking her there was the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. And he simply couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand he had enjoyed knowing that, that he had enjoyed making her happy, and that he was possibly growing infatuated by her. Not in the way he had grown attached to Agatha or Johnny. It was entirely different; a foreign feeling. It had driven him to feast on a board of directors in an attempt to obliterate the memory. And it had worked for a little while but each time she managed to pull at his control until he wasn’t sure if he had any control whatsoever.

Dracula dropped Trent’s lifeless body.

The anesthesia had faded and here he was, thinking of Y/N again.

He groaned in frustration, wiped his chin and left the darkened pub with its new decor of blood carpets and artfully painted walls.

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